A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15) - Louise Penny Page 0,54
Gamache do it.
And he himself had reached out, come within inches of that brute sorrow, but something stopped him every time.
They were different men, with different strengths. And maybe, he thought, that was one of the many reasons he was leaving the Sûreté. Heading to Paris. He knew, deep down, that there was a level, deep down, he could never reach as an investigator.
While Jean-Guy Beauvoir explored the tangible, what could be touched, Armand Gamache explored what was felt. He went into that chaotic territory. Hunting. Searching. Tracking. Immersing himself in emotions until he found one so rancid it led to a killer.
Beauvoir stopped at the door. Gamache went through it.
Which wasn’t to say Beauvoir was insensitive to feelings. Watching Agent Cloutier, he’d picked up on hers.
There was something between her and Homer Godin, he was sure of it. Though he doubted Godin knew that. He wondered if Cloutier had even admitted it to herself.
“May I go with them, sir?” she asked again.
Beauvoir looked over at Homer. As though the day wasn’t bad enough, now he found himself alone in the back of a police car. While the man who killed his daughter was standing in the sunshine.
“Go.”
He might not be able to hold Homer’s hand, but he could offer comfort in other ways.
* * *
Clara, Myrna, and Ruth stepped back as the cop car passed them.
Ruth shook her head and looked over at Gamache and Beauvoir, conferring on the village green.
“Shouldn’t there be a third Stooge?” Just then another car arrived. “Never mind. Spoke too soon.”
Isabelle Lacoste got out and walked, limping slightly, over to her two colleagues.
* * *
“Was that Monsieur Godin in the back of the patrol car?” Lacoste asked. “Is he under arrest?”
Gamache explained to both of them what he’d done, and why.
“I know Reine-Marie won’t press charges. It was an accident. But maybe we can hold him long enough to collect evidence.”
“Against Tracey, oui,” said Beauvoir, glancing over his shoulder at the man lounging, like a reptile, in the early April sun.
He turned to Lacoste and Gamache. “Walk with me, please.”
Isabelle raised her brows in amusement and wondered if Gamache recognized those words. It was something he’d often said to them during murder investigations.
Now they fell into step and waited for Beauvoir to speak.
“What do you think?” he said.
“This one might be difficult,” said Lacoste. “Proving she was murdered.”
“Is it possible she wasn’t?” asked Gamache.
Beauvoir considered, glancing over at Tracey, then back to his two colleagues. “Possible, I suppose, but I don’t believe it was an accident, or suicide. Do you?”
“Not for a moment,” said Lacoste.
Gamache nodded. It was murder. He knew that. What he didn’t know was whether they could prove it.
“Did you know that Agent Cloutier was Vivienne Godin’s godmother?” Beauvoir asked.
“Huh,” said Gamache. “Why didn’t she tell us that before?”
“Says she was afraid of being taken off the case. But I’m not convinced. Why keep that a secret unless there’s more there?”
Gamache then told them about Bob Cameron.
“Merde,” said Beauvoir. “He was having an affair with her?”
“Denies it,” said Gamache.
“You don’t believe him?” asked Lacoste.
“I don’t.”
“You think he might’ve killed Vivienne?” Beauvoir couldn’t keep the skepticism out of his voice.
“I think he and Vivienne were much more involved than he admits. And where there’re secrets—”
“There’s fire. What do you think happened?”
“I think one possible scenario is that they arranged to meet on that side road by the bridge. Where they wouldn’t be seen. If she told him then that the child was his and that she’d left Tracey to be with him—”
“Is he married?” Lacoste asked.
“Oui. With two children.”
“You think in a moment of madness he pushed her off the bridge,” she said.
“Or just pushed her away and she fell against the railing. I’ve seen him play. He’s strong. And it’s the sort of instinctive move a left tackle makes.” Gamache mimicked the pushing motion. “It wouldn’t take much for Vivienne to break through the railing and fall.”
“And he just left?” asked Lacoste.
“Once she was in the water, he couldn’t save her even if he wanted to.” Once again, and just for an instant, Gamache felt himself submerged in the bitterly cold water. Unable to breathe.
“And now he’s too afraid to admit anything,” said Beauvoir. “Still, do you think that’s what happened?”
It didn’t take Gamache long to answer that. “Non.”
“We all know who did this,” said Lacoste.
“Bon,” said Gamache, and turned to continue walking, but when he realized Beauvoir had not joined him, he stopped and returned.