How the Light Gets In (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #9) - Louise Penny Page 0,116
distance. Scanning.
Where are you, Armand? You haven’t given up at all, have you? What’s going on in that head of yours?
But then another thought occurred to Francoeur. Maybe like the failure of the dam plan, and the death of Audrey Villeneuve, and even Tessier’s people missing the river with her body, maybe this was a godsend too.
It meant that while Gamache had figured out the Arnot connection, that was as far as he’d gotten. Tessier was right. Arnot was not enough. Gamache might suspect Arnot was involved, but he didn’t know the full picture.
Gamache was standing in front of the right door, but he hadn’t yet found the key. Time was now on their side. It was Gamache who’d run out of it.
“Find him,” said Francoeur.
When Tessier didn’t answer, Francoeur looked at him. Tessier glanced up from his BlackBerry.
“We can’t.”
“What do you mean?” Francoeur’s voice was now low, completely in control. The panic gone.
“We followed him,” Tessier assured his boss. “But then the signal disappeared. I think that’s a good thing,” he hurriedly said.
“How can losing Chief Inspector Gamache with only hours to go, after he’s clearly connected Arnot to the plan, be a good thing?”
“The signal didn’t die, it just disappeared, which means he’s in an area without satellite coverage. That village.”
So he hadn’t doubled back.
“What’s the village called?” he asked.
“Three Pines.”
“You’re sure Gamache is there?”
Tessier nodded.
“Good. Keep monitoring.”
If he’s there, thought Francoeur, he’s as good as dead. Dead and buried in a village that didn’t even register. Gamache was no threat to them there.
“If he leaves, I need to know immediately.”
“Yessir.”
“And tell no one about the SHU.”
“Yessir.”
Francoeur watched Tessier leave. Gamache had been close. So close. Within meters of finding out the truth. But had stopped short. And now they had Gamache cornered, in some forgotten little village.
* * *
“That must’ve smarted,” said Jérôme Brunel, stepping back from an examination of Gamache’s face and eyes. “There’s no concussion.”
“Shame,” said Thérèse, sitting at the kitchen table watching. “Might’ve knocked some sense into him. Why in the world would you confront Inspector Beauvoir? Especially now?”
“It’s difficult to explain.”
“Try.”
“Honestly, Thérèse, can it matter at this stage?”
“Does he know what you’re doing? What we’re doing?”
“He doesn’t even know what he’s doing,” Gamache said. “He’s no threat.”
Thérèse Brunel was about to say something, but seeing his face, the bruise and the expression, she decided not to.
Nichol was upstairs, sleeping. They’d already eaten, but saved some for Gamache. He carried a tray with soup and a fresh baguette, pâté and cheeses into the living room and set it in front of the fire. Jérôme and Thérèse joined him there.
“Should we wake her up?” Gamache asked.
“Agent Nichol?” asked Jérôme, with some alarm. “We only just got her down. Let’s enjoy the peace.”
It was odd, thought Gamache as he ate the lentil soup, that no one thought to call Nichol by her first name. Yvette. She was Nichol or Agent Nichol.
Not a person, certainly not a woman. An agent, and that was all.
When dinner and the dishes were done, they took their tea back to the living room. Where normally they’d have had a glass of wine with their dinner, or a cognac after, none of them considered it.
Not that night.
Jérôme looked at his watch. “Almost nine. I think I’ll try to get some sleep. Thérèse?”
“I’ll be up in a moment.”
They watched Jérôme haul himself up the stairs, then Thérèse turned to Armand.
“Why did you go to Beauvoir?”
Gamache sighed. “I had to try, one more time.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “You mean one last time. You think you won’t get another chance.”
They sat quietly for a moment. Thérèse kneaded Henri’s ears while the shepherd moaned and grinned.
“You did the right thing,” she said. “No regrets.”
“And you? Any regrets?”
“I regret bringing Jérôme into this.”
“I brought him in,” said Gamache. “Not you.”
“But I could’ve said no.”
“I don’t think any of us believed it would come to this.”
Superintendent Brunel looked around the living room, with its faded slipcovers and comfortable armchairs and sofas. The books and vinyl records and old magazines. The fireplace, and the windows looking to the dark back garden in one direction and the village green in the other.
She could see the three huge pine trees, Christmas lights bobbing in the slight breeze.
“If it had to come to this, this’s a pretty good place to wait for it.”
Gamache smiled. “True. But of course, we’re not waiting. We’re taking the fight to them. Or Jérôme is. I’m just the muscle.”