A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15) - Louise Penny Page 0,96
Vachon just admitted they’d discussed killing Vivienne. That Tracey planned to do it.”
“She’ll sign the statement? Testify against him?”
“Yes.”
* * *
They knocked on the door.
By now it was dark. Not even the porch light was on. Though there was still the one light on. Upstairs.
They knocked again. Still no answer.
Beauvoir turned to the two uniformed Sûreté agents and signaled them to go around back. Then he and Gamache exchanged glances.
Beauvoir turned the handle of the front door. It was unlocked. He swung it open.
“Tracey? Carl Tracey?” Beauvoir called. “Sûreté. We have a warrant for your arrest.”
He walked in, slowly, carefully, with Gamache right beside him. Both seasoned officers scanned the room. Looking for a killer.
They found him passed out, drunk, on the bed. In a puddle of his own vomit.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The arraignment was held the next morning, in Superior Court at the Palais de justice in Montréal.
Once he’d sobered up, Carl Tracey had been given a shower and a change of clothes. He spent the night at the Cowansville detachment, where he’d been booked for murder.
From there, early in the morning, he’d been driven to a cell in the Montréal courthouse.
Chief Inspectors Beauvoir and Gamache met there first thing and interviewed him, with his court-appointed lawyer present. Predictably, his lawyer told him not to say anything. Equally predictably, Tracey couldn’t help but talk.
After Tracey claimed he had nothing to do with Vivienne’s death, Beauvoir presented him with Pauline Vachon’s statement.
“She says you talked about killing your wife—”
Tracey snorted. “Who doesn’t say that every now and then?”
“I don’t,” said Chief Inspector Beauvoir.
“You will.”
Beauvoir knew he shouldn’t let this man get up his nose, but Tracey was firmly lodged there. That smug, weaselly look. From a man who’d just killed his wife and unborn child.
“You know nothing—” Beauvoir began.
“Chief Inspector,” said Gamache, a warning in his voice.
Carl Tracey turned to Gamache. “I wouldn’t kill my own wife. Too obvious. But someone else’s … That was your wife in that village, right? Looks like you and I have something in common. That bruise on her face?”
Gamache grew very still, very quiet. Then he turned back to Beauvoir, who was staring, dumbfounded by what Tracey just said.
The lawyer ended the session there.
Beauvoir and Gamache walked down the hallway. Finally Gamache spoke.
“He’ll confess.”
“You think?”
“Oui. He’s a foolish, weak man. If he doesn’t actually mean to confess, he’ll incriminate himself with his bravado. He’ll hang himself.”
“If only.”
Gamache glanced at Beauvoir but said nothing.
* * *
They stood as the judge took her seat.
The prosecutor, with Chief Inspector Beauvoir beside him, was on one side of the courtroom. Tracey and his lawyer on the other.
Gamache and Agent Cloutier sat immediately behind the prosecution desk, with Homer Godin between them. Behind them sat Simone Fleury with at least twenty other women.
Young. Middle-aged. Elderly. Stony-faced.
Valkyries. Warrior Fates. Magnificent and terrifying.
Gamache caught Madame Fleury’s eye. She nodded.
The seats behind Tracey were empty.
Barry Zalmanowitz, a prosecutor they knew well, had been given the case. He was feeling confident enough to kid Gamache when the Sûreté officers showed up at his office.
“I see you’re trending, Armand. Of course, I knew the video was faked. You’re not that good a shot.”
He smiled. Obviously trying, with a spectacular lack of success, to lighten the mood.
Seeing the grim look on Chief Inspector Gamache’s face and the anger on Beauvoir’s, the prosecutor dropped his voice and added, “I also saw the real thing. I can’t believe it was posted again. I’m sorry. I hope they find out who did that. Someone calling themselves ‘dumbass.’”
“We have an idea,” said Beauvoir.
He’d stayed away from Three Pines, not wanting to see Ruth. Not wanting to say things that could never be taken back. He knew that the elderly woman actually meant well. But in true Ruth fashion, she’d managed to inflict a wound.
And this one went deep.
Before the proceedings started, Beauvoir had pulled Vivienne’s father aside and said, “This won’t take long. The judge will ask Tracey how he pleads—”
“What will he say?”
“We think his plea will be not guilty.”
Beauvoir waited for the outburst, but there was none. Monsieur Godin, in the past twelve hours, had managed to harness his emotions. Though Beauvoir could see it was a struggle.
Gamache had prepared the man the night before, as much as possible, for what would happen.
Carl Tracey would be led in. He’d sit at a distance from them, but Godin would certainly see him.
“Will you be able to control yourself?” Gamache had asked.