A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15) - Louise Penny Page 0,76

perplexed him.

“It’s strange that Madame Vachon would let you see those private messages,” he said, returning to the laptop. “Even if she didn’t know you’re with the Sûreté.”

“She might’ve forgotten they were there,” said Lacoste. “And unless you knew they were planning a murder, you wouldn’t guess from those posts. On the surface, they could be about anything.”

“Oui,” said Gamache. “And that could be a problem.”

“One thing I don’t understand,” said Beauvoir, leaning forward and putting his elbows on the table, “is how Tracey managed to send those messages if he doesn’t have internet at home.”

“You can log into an account from anywhere,” said Cloutier. “He must’ve been in town and used someone else’s device or an internet café. I’ll see if I can track down where they originated.”

Beauvoir paused to study the posts again.

Stuff’s in the bag. Everything’s ready. Will be done tonight. I promise.

“I don’t want to blow this,” said Beauvoir. “It needs to stick.”

Lacoste was nodding. “It will.”

“On another issue, I’d like to release Monsieur Godin,” said Gamache.

“But,” said Cloutier, “won’t he—”

“Try to kill Tracey?” said Gamache. “Maybe. But I’m hoping we can convince him that an arrest is imminent. That putting Tracey through a trial and then in prison is far worse than killing him.”

“Would you?” Cloutier asked. “Be convinced?”

Gamache stared at her. She turned beet red and stammered an apology.

“I’m sorry, sir, it’s just that I know you have a daughter about Vivienne’s age, and I thought—”

“Don’t presume, Agent Cloutier,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically hard. Showing Lacoste and Beauvoir, who knew him well, that while Cloutier’s comment was inappropriate, she had indeed hit a nerve.

While they studied him, Gamache studied Agent Cloutier.

He realized that something about her made him wary. And he knew Jean-Guy felt the same way.

While it was obvious that his love for his own daughter had created an emotional frisson about this case, it was equally obvious that Lysette Cloutier cared very deeply for Homer Godin. Perhaps too deeply.

But did that matter?

And was it even true? Could her protectiveness toward him not be the natural instincts of a close friend?

That was one of the problems with being a homicide cop. Interpreting innocent, even admirable, acts as somehow suspicious. Once that started happening, it was hard to change the perception.

“I’d like you to come with me,” he said to Cloutier. “You might be able to help calm Monsieur Godin. Talk sense into him.”

“I’ll try,” she said. “Merci.”

She seemed to think it was a peace offering, never dreaming this courteous senior officer might have other motives for asking her along.

“Is this all right with you?” Gamache asked Beauvoir.

“Can we talk?” Beauvoir jerked his head toward the window at the far end of the room, away from the others.

Gamache followed him, and despite himself he felt, if not annoyed, then perplexed, and he realized with some amusement that he’d asked Beauvoir out of consideration, not expecting he might actually disagree.

As they walked to the window, Beauvoir heard the Chief’s footsteps. Familiar yet foreign. He was used to hearing them in front of him. Leading. Not behind, following.

This was not getting any easier, he realized. He’d certainly disagreed with Gamache in the past, sometimes arguing quite forcefully. But he’d always understood that the final word would be Gamache’s. As would the responsibility.

But now it was his. He was in charge. The decisions, and responsibility, were his.

He turned and faced his mentor and father-in-law.

“Cloutier’s right. Homer Godin’s gonna try to kill Tracey. You know that. I think you’re making a mistake.”

He watched Gamache closely. And saw him nod.

“Would you rather we didn’t release Monsieur Godin?”

Jean-Guy relaxed and realized Armand Gamache would not make this difficult. “I’d like to understand your reasoning.”

Gamache considered Beauvoir for a moment. His protégé, now his boss.

He remembered the first time he’d seen the younger man. They met at the outpost where Agent Beauvoir had been assigned straight out of the academy. He’d been placed, by the station commander, in the basement evidence locker because none of the other agents liked working with the arrogant, cocky, disgruntled new guy.

Agent Beauvoir was composing his letter of resignation, in which he’d tell them, yet again, what he really thought of them, when the famed head of homicide for the Sûreté showed up to investigate a murder.

The station commander had assigned this difficult young agent to help the Chief Inspector, in hopes that he’d run afoul of either Gamache or the killer, and one or the other would rid them of the problem that was