A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15) - Louise Penny Page 0,61

the glass of cold tea.

The duck raised her head and muttered, Fuck, fuck, fuck. Apparently realizing it wasn’t really scotch.

“And you,” said Clara, “are an ignorant turd.”

There was a hush as everyone else around the fireplace braced for impact. But Ruth, after a moment, just chuckled.

* * *

“I’ll do it,” said Beauvoir, putting out his hand.

“I think I should, sir,” said the young agent. “I’m trained.”

And once again Chief Inspector Beauvoir found himself facing what had become a familiar decision tree.

In fact, since becoming head of homicide, he’d faced a veritable forest of comments like that. Testing his authority and certainly questioning his competence.

Once again, he stood at the verbal crossroads.

Should he reply, “Give me the testing kit, you stupid shit. How do you think I got to be Chief Inspector? By sitting on my thumbs?”

Or should he say, with a patient smile, “That’s all right, I do know what I’m doing. But I appreciate your concern.”

As Gamache might have answered. Had indeed answered many times, sometimes in response to Agent Beauvoir’s own somewhat insulting comments.

When asked about it one night, years into their relationship, Armand had explained, with a laugh.

“After I’d said something especially patronizing to my first chief, he just looked at me and said, ‘Before speaking, Agent Gamache, you might want to ask yourself three questions.’”

“Not the ones that lead to wisdom,” said Beauvoir, who’d heard them before.

“Non. Those are statements, these are questions. Are you paying attention?”

“What?”

They’d been sitting on the front porch of the Gamaches’ home, in the height of summer. An iced tea beside Beauvoir, a beer beside Gamache.

As he spoke, the Chief Inspector raised a finger, counting the questions.

“Is it true? Is it kind? Does it need to be said?”

“You’re kidding, right?” said Jean-Guy, shifting in his seat to look at Armand. “That might work in our private lives, but with other cops? You’d be laughed out of the room.”

“You don’t necessarily say them out loud,” explained the Chief.

Which was true. Beauvoir had never heard Gamache run through those questions, but he had heard, more often than not, a patient and constructive reply.

“Civility,” Armand had said. “How can we expect it if we don’t give it? Besides, when we do get angry, people pay more attention. Otherwise it’s just white noise.”

Is it true? Is it kind? Does it need to be said?

Beauvoir, with effort, ran through the questions as he stood on the bridge, looking at the young agent.

Then he heard himself say, “That’s all right. I do know what I’m doing. But thank you.”

You stupid little shit.

Yes, it did need to be said, but maybe not out loud.

Though he did now wonder what Gamache had chosen not to say out loud.

Beauvoir took the harness from the agent and attached it, expertly, to himself, then put his hand out for the evidence kit.

“I’ll go out first. If it’s safe, you can join me. One at a time. D’accord?”

“Oui, patron,” said the agents.

Turning around to face the rickety old bridge, Beauvoir took a breath and whispered to himself, Don’t pee, don’t pee, don’t pee.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

How can they let that murderer back in the Sûreté? #losingallrespect

dumbass: Do you mean self-respect?

They dropped Agent Cloutier at the local detachment and headed through the bright spring day, into the morgue.

Gamache had insisted on driving when he saw how exhausted Jean-Guy was.

Beside him, Jean-Guy’s lids were heavy, and he fought to keep his eyes open in the warm car as it moved smoothly along the autoroute.

“I couldn’t be happier for Annie and you,” said Armand. “Your family is growing.”

“As is yours.”

As an only child, growing up without parents, Armand had always yearned for a large family. For brothers and sisters. For aunts and uncles. It was an abstract, though potent, wish.

And now, in his late fifties, he had it. Children. Grandchildren. Sons and daughters. Of the flesh and of the heart. Those he’d held in his arms and those comrades-in-arms whose lives he held in his hands.

His family.

“When’s the baby due?”

“October.”

“Boy or girl? Do you know?”

“We do.” Jean-Guy smiled at his father-in-law. “But you’re not going to get it out of me. Annie and I want to keep that to ourselves.”

“Fair enough. Have you chosen a name?”

Jean-Guy laughed. “You’re not really very good at this interrogation thing, are you?”

“I’m hoping to learn from you, patron.”

Beauvoir smiled, and Gamache fell silent. Knowing if he did, Jean-Guy would lose the battle and let himself drift off to sleep.

He’d told Beauvoir about the search of the Tracey home. Then Beauvoir had reported