How the Light Gets In (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #9) - Louise Penny Page 0,105
did.”
“Only for his funeral. And then to be buried themselves.”
The priest accepted the old keys from Gamache and they parted. But he had one more stop to make before returning to Montréal.
A few minutes later Chief Inspector Gamache pulled into a parking spot and turned the car off. He looked at the high walls, with the spikes and curls of barbed wire on top. Guards in their towers watched him, their rifles across their chests.
They needn’t have worried. The Chief had no intention of getting out, though he was tempted.
The church was just a few kilometers from the SHU, the penitentiary where Pierre Arnot now lived. Where Gamache had put him.
His intention, after he’d spoken to the priest and looked at the register, had been to drive straight back to Montréal. Instead, he found himself tempted here. Drawn here. By Pierre Arnot.
They were just a few hundred meters apart, and with Arnot were all the answers.
Gamache was more and more convinced that whatever was coming to a head, Arnot had started it. But Gamache also knew that Arnot would not stop it. That was up to Gamache and the others.
While tempted to confront Arnot, he would not betray his promise to Thérèse. He started his car, put it in gear and drove away. But instead of heading back to Montréal, he turned in the other direction, back to the church. Once there, he parked by the rectory and knocked on the door.
“You again,” said the priest, but he didn’t seem unhappy.
“Désolé, mon père,” said Gamache, “but did Isidore live in his own home until his death?”
“He did.”
“He cooked and cleaned and cut firewood himself?”
“The old generation,” smiled the priest. “Self-sufficient. Took pride in that. Never asked for help.”
“But the older generation often had help,” said Gamache. “At least in years past. The family looked after the parents and grandparents.”
“True.”
“So who looked after Isidore if not his children?”
“He had help from one of his brothers-in-law.”
“Is he still here? Can I speak with him?”
“No. He moved away after Isidore died. Old Monsieur Ouellet left him the farm, as thanks I guess. Who else was he going to give it to?”
“But he’s not living at the farm now?”
“No. Pineault sold it and moved to Montréal, I think.”
“Do you have his address? I’d like to talk with him about Isidore and Marie-Harriette and the girls. He’d have known them all, right? Even their mother.”
Gamache held his breath.
“Oh yes. She was his sister. He was the girls’ uncle. I don’t have his address,” said Father Antoine, “but his name’s André. André Pineault. He’d be an old man now himself.”
“How old would he be?”
Père Antoine thought. “I’m not sure. We can check the parish records if you like, but I’d say he’d be well into his seventies. He was the youngest of that generation, quite a few years younger than his sister. The Pineaults were a huge family. Good Catholics.”
“Are you sure he’s alive?”
“Not sure, but he isn’t here.” The priest looked past Gamache, toward the graveyard. “And where else would he go?”
Home. No longer the farmhouse but the grave.
THIRTY-ONE
The technician handed Gamache the report and the tuque. “Done.”
“Anything?”
“Well, there were three significant contacts on that hat. Besides your own DNA, of course.” He looked at Gamache with disapproval, having contaminated the evidence.
“Who’re the others?”
“Well, let me just say that more than three people have handled it. I found traces of DNA from a bunch of people and at least one animal. Probably incidental contact years ago. They picked it up, might’ve even worn it, but not for long. It belonged to someone else.”
“Who?”
“I’m getting to that.”
The technician gave Gamache an annoyed look. The Chief held out his hand, inviting the man to get on with it.
“Well, as I said, there were three significant contacts. Now, one’s an outlier, but the other two are related.”
The outlier, Gamache suspected, was Myrna, who’d held the hat, and even tried to put it on her head.
“One of the matches came from the victim.”
“Constance Ouellet,” said Gamache. This was no surprise, but best to have it confirmed. “And the other?”
“Well, that’s where it gets interesting, and difficult.”
“You said they were related,” said Gamache, hoping to head off any long, and no doubt fascinating, lecture.
“And they are, but the other DNA is old.”
“How old?”
“Decades, I’d say. It’s difficult to get an accurate reading, but they’re definitely related. Siblings, maybe.”
Gamache stared at the angels. “Siblings? But could it be parent and child?”