A Great Reckoning (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #12) - Louise Penny Page 0,120

so pleased to hear it. I was—”

“Roof Trusses?” asked Armand. He could see the two women were settling in to discuss the human condition and the nature of happiness. Normally a conversation he’d love to hear, but not that evening.

“There.” Ruth’s gnarly finger landed on the map, squishing a spot about ten kilometers from Three Pines. “That’s where Roof Trusses used to be. But the name was changed to Notre-Dame-de-Douleur a while back.”

Nathaniel wrote that down, then took a closer look at the map.

“But there’s nothing there. You’re just pointing to a field.”

He stared at Ruth. Ruth glared at him.

“And now, Cadet Smythe, comes another lesson in police work,” said the Commander. “Who to believe. Is Madame Zardo telling you the truth, or messing with you?”

“Could be a mind-fuck,” agreed Ruth.

“How can you tell?” Nathaniel asked Gamache.

“You can’t, with certainty. You can be taught to gather facts, evidence, but the very best investigators learn to trust something we’re told early in our lives is useless. Even dangerous. Instinct. You use your head and your heart and your gut. The whole animal, like a good hunter. What does your instinct tell you about Madame Zardo? Is she telling the truth?”

Nathaniel turned back to Ruth, who was watching him with some interest.

“I think she is. At least, I think she believes it. I’ll go tomorrow and find out.”

Gamache nodded approval at the distinction between truth and fact.

“May I?” The cadet pointed to the map and Ruth grunted.

Armand watched the boy carefully fold up the worn paper. His red hair just touching his pale forehead as he bent over. There was the ready blush, the smooth, perfect skin. The bashful personality.

And Armand reflected on his conversation with Gélinas in the garden.

Gamache knew Gélinas was wrong. The real criminals, the worst criminals, weren’t found off the beaten path. They were found in our kitchens, at our tables.

Unspectacular and always human.

CHAPTER 35

“I’m telling you, it should be here.”

Nathaniel Smythe looked around, almost frantic now, barely wincing as sleet slapped his face. The map he’d borrowed from Madame Zardo was just a sodden mess in his hands.

The other three had turned so that the combination of rain and snow and ice pelted against the backs of their coats and hoods. The relentless noise almost drowned out Nathaniel’s protests, which were rapidly descending into whining.

“There’s nothing here,” called Jacques. “Gamache fucked with you.”

His shoulders were hunched and his chin was bent into his chest, so that from behind he could have been a crooked old man. The winter coat he wore came to his hips. More a ski jacket than something appropriate for standing on the side of a muddy half-frozen road, in a sleet storm, staring at flat gray fields and forest.

Jacques’s slacks were soaked through, he could barely feel his legs, and he was beginning to shiver uncontrollably.

Nathaniel looked from him to the other two, but they also had their backs turned against the rain and snow and the cadet who’d brought them there with the claim of having found Roof Trusses.

Nathaniel turned full circle, blinking against the sleet that slid off his face. He squinted at the fields, scanning the horizon. Desolate.

No sign of the village. No sign of life.

“Come on,” shouted Jacques, trudging back to the car.

Huifen and Amelia followed. Nathaniel stood rooted in place, obstinate, until he heard the car start up. Then he ran back to it, more than a little afraid they’d leave him there. He got into the backseat beside Amelia, who had her arms wrapped tightly around her chest and her nose tucked into her sodden jacket.

Notre-Dame-de-Pissed-Off.

The heater was on full blast and the tight car smelt of wet wool.

“This was a waste of time,” said Jacques from the driver’s seat, holding his trembling hands to the heat vent.

“But she said it would be here,” said Nathaniel.

“She? I thought it was Gamache.”

“He suggested we investigate, but the information came from the woman I’m staying with.”

“I must’ve missed that class at the academy where they told us to believe old drunks,” said Jacques.

Huifen snorted. In amusement or because she’d caught pneumonia.

Back in Three Pines, they went to change, but when Nathaniel came down the stairs at Ruth’s place in warm, dry clothes, he found Amelia in the living room with the poet.

When they both looked at him with sharp, assessing eyes, he felt he’d descended into a Grimms’ tale. Those stories rarely ended well for fey boys with bright red hair and a smile he hoped was ingratiating but