A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15) - Louise Penny Page 0,137
Tracey through blue lips, “sometimes ya gotta do something stupid.”
Hands trembling, Jean-Guy took off the warm coat and gave it to Carl Tracey.
* * *
Safe now, warm and dry in the familiar kitchen, Jean-Guy walked over to Armand and, without a word, embraced him, then took the bandaged hand.
“Merci.”
They’d said the word together.
“Homer?” Jean-Guy asked as they subsided with groans into comfortable chairs by the woodstove.
“Found at the bend in the river,” said Isabelle.
Where the Bella Bella left Three Pines.
“Where Vivienne was found?”
Armand nodded.
He’d stood on the banks of the river and waited for the divers to bring Homer ashore.
The coroner, Dr. Harris, also waiting, noticed Armand’s hand wrapped in a scarf. She’d taken the splinters out and put on disinfectant and a bandage.
Lysette Cloutier had asked if she could be there when Homer’s body was brought in. They’d agreed, and while Lacoste directed the recovery efforts, Lysette had stood next to Gamache, squinting into water that now gleamed and danced with reflected sunlight.
Finally, when Homer was back, Gamache turned to her and asked, “Why did you do it?”
* * *
“Is she arrested?” Reine-Marie asked.
“Not yet,” said Isabelle. “She’s outside with Cameron, waiting for the coroner’s car to take the body away. I wanted to speak with you.” She turned to Jean-Guy. “I think you should be the one to lay the charges and take her in, if you’re up to it. Your last arrest. It was manslaughter, of course.”
“No it wasn’t,” said Armand. “She was lying.”
“It was premeditated?” asked Jean-Guy. “She planned it?”
“We’ll let her explain,” said Armand. “She wants to talk. I’ve asked Cameron to bring her here, once she’s seen Homer off.”
They’d get the truth this time, with or without malice. But first, Armand wanted to tell them what Homer had said to him on the bridge.
* * *
After the coroner’s car drove away, Lysette Cloutier and Bob Cameron joined them around the woodstove.
Reine-Marie, having heard what happened, gave Bob Cameron a bear hug. As he accepted the embrace, he breathed in the subtle scent of rose. And below that, barely there, a hint of sandalwood.
“Merci,” she’d whispered into his ear. “Merci.”
Lysette was trembling so badly with cold and shock that Armand did up a hot-water bottle while Reine-Marie wrapped her in a heavy Hudson’s Bay blanket.
“Better?” she asked, and got a small nod. Warmer, if not better.
When they’d settled in again, hands around mugs of hot sweet tea, all eyes turned to Lysette Cloutier, who sat staring into the fire.
“I have a few questions, Agent Cloutier,” Beauvoir said, pulling the blanket tighter as another wave of shivers passed through him. “To get things straight.”
She nodded. No more fight left. Nothing to fight for anymore.
“If you killed Vivienne, why did you get us involved? Why tell us she was missing in the first place?”
“I had to. How could I explain to Homer if I didn’t? Besides, this way I could see what was happening.”
“Not just see but influence?”
“If necessary, oui.”
“That Saturday night she was killed, you said you met Vivienne on the bridge. How did you arrange that?”
“Like I said, I called and we set it up.”
“But there’re no records of your calling their home in the days before her death.”
“I called from another line.”
“Non. Every number is accounted for. Every call. There weren’t many, so it didn’t take long. There were no calls from an unidentified number.” Beauvoir put his tea down and leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “So how did you do it?”
“I called,” she repeated.
“Why’re you lying?” asked Beauvoir. “You know you didn’t do it.”
“What?” said Cameron, looking from Beauvoir to Cloutier. Then back to Beauvoir. “Didn’t do what?”
“Agent Cloutier didn’t kill Vivienne,” said Chief Inspector Beauvoir.
“So it was Tracey,” said Cameron. “We were right all along.” He turned to Gamache. “You told Homer that Tracey didn’t do it, but that was a lie. You just wanted him to drop Tracey.”
“Non,” said Gamache, holding the gaze of the man who’d saved his life. “I wasn’t lying. We were wrong all along. I was wrong. I’d warned you not to assume Tracey was guilty, and then I fell into the same trap. The evidence against Tracey was strong but circumstantial. He was vile, but he was also telling the truth. Those posts between himself and Pauline Vachon were about the clay. That night, after their fight, he left Vivienne bruised but alive. Carl Tracey did not murder his wife. She’d arranged to meet someone else on that bridge.”