A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15) - Louise Penny Page 0,48
for his arm to try to stop him—”
Armand brought one shaking finger to within a millimeter of the bruise on Reine-Marie’s cheekbone, below her eye. It was swollen, and swelling further.
Gamache could feel himself begin to tremble uncontrollably. It came in waves, sending shudders through his body.
It was, he recognized, the beginning of hypothermia. And outrage.
“My God, Armand, you’re soaked. You need to get warm.” She looked down the path and only then noticed that Jean-Guy and Homer were also dripping wet. Homer was standing on the shore of the Bella Bella, staring. She followed his eyes. “Is that…?”
“Oui.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The water cascaded over Armand’s body as he showered. Over his head, over his upturned face. He opened his mouth and shut his eyes. And felt his body finally getting warm.
But then, unbidden, a sudden panic took him.
He was back in the water. Submerged. But this time Jean-Guy wasn’t there. No one was there, to reach down and save him.
His eyes flew open, and he dropped his head, away from the water. Reaching out, he leaned against the wet tiles of the shower.
As he breathed, he knew his momentary terror was just a tiny part of what Vivienne must have gone through.
The horror of those final moments. Breaking through the railing. Hanging in midair. Nothing between the bridge and the water to stop her fall.
And then she fell.
Hitting the freezing-cold water. The breath knocked out of her. The shock. The bitter Bella Bella closing over her. And then she breached. Breaking the surface. Mouth open, fighting for air.
The struggle to keep head, mouth, nose above the water. To take a breath. Turning, tumbling, thrashing in the current. Hitting rocks and branches.
The terror. The tumult. The desperate struggle. Growing less and less desperate as the cold and the battering began to win.
And finally the knowing.
Both hands on the tiles, his head hanging down, warm water hitting his back, Armand gasped for breath. And watched the water swirl around the drain.
Annie’s pregnant. Annie’s pregnant, he repeated, following the words to the surface. And trying not to allow the rest of that thought to seep in. But still, it was there.
And so was Vivienne.
He opened his eyes and finished his shower.
Then went downstairs, to face Vivienne’s father.
* * *
Homer and Jean-Guy were in the kitchen, in front of the woodstove, wrapped in Hudson’s Bay blankets. Mugs of strong tea in their hands.
Armand kissed Reine-Marie, softly, on her bruised cheek. “You okay?” he whispered.
The bruise wasn’t as bad as he feared, more a glancing blow. But a blow nonetheless.
“I am.”
Armand looked at her, closely, to make sure she was telling the truth. Then he turned his attention to the others.
Jean-Guy had stopped trembling.
Homer had not.
As soon as they’d returned to the house, they’d called the Sûreté divers and a Scene of Crime squad from homicide. But with the state of emergency across the province, they were told it could take some hours. Not before morning, for sure.
After letting Isabelle Lacoste and Agent Cloutier know what had happened and asking them to come down, they’d split up.
Jean-Guy had grabbed a shower first, while Armand helped Homer to strip off his wet clothing and get into his own shower. He stayed with the man, who’d sunk into silence, until the shower was over and Homer was in warm, dry clothes.
Armand stayed with him in the kitchen until Jean-Guy returned.
While he knew it wasn’t Homer’s fault, and it would almost certainly never happen again, he was damned if he’d leave Reine-Marie alone with Homer. Mad with grief, Vivienne’s father was capable of almost anything.
Certainly, Armand knew, capable of murder. Though that was aimed at only one person.
After his own shower, Armand returned to the kitchen and caught Jean-Guy’s eye. Both men turned to Reine-Marie.
“What?” she asked.
“Jean-Guy has something that might make you feel better,” said Armand quietly.
“Can you come with me?” Jean-Guy stood up.
After a brief, baffled, glance at Armand, Reine-Marie followed her son-in-law out of the kitchen.
Fred had put his large head on Homer’s slippered feet, and Henri did the same with Armand. Little Gracie was curled up on a blanket close to the fire.
The only sound was the slight rattle of the old windows as the night tried to get in. Not, perhaps, realizing it was already dark in there.
A few minutes later, Reine-Marie and Jean-Guy returned.
She was flushed, and her eyes were moist. And when she met Armand’s, his, too, began to burn. She brought her hands to her mouth, and he embraced her.