Bury Your Dead

The two men looked at each other. Finally Tom Hancock sighed.

“With my luck, you’d be the one to go over the cliff.”

“That would be disappointing.”

Hancock smiled wearily. “I give up. No more fight.”

“Merci,” said Gamache.

At the door Hancock turned. Gamache’s hand, with a slight tremble, reached for the latch. “I shouldn’t have accused you of trading on your grief. That was wrong.”

“Perhaps not so far off,” smiled Gamache. “I need to let it go. Let them go.”

“With time,” said Hancock.

“Avec le temps,” Gamache agreed. “Yes.”

“You mentioned the video just now,” said Hancock, remembering another question he had. “Do you know how it got onto the Internet?”

“No.”

Hancock looked at him closely. “But you have your suspicions.”

Gamache remembered the rage on the Chief Superintendent’s face when he’d confronted him. Theirs was a long battle. An old battle. Francoeur knew Gamache well enough to know what would hurt him most wouldn’t be criticism over how he handled the raid, but just the opposite. Praise. Undeserved praise, even as his people suffered.

Where a bullet had failed to stop the Chief Inspector, that might.

But he saw, now, another face. A younger face. Eager to join them. And denied, yet again. Sent back into her basement. Where she monitored everything. Heard everything. Saw everything. Recorded everything.

And remembered, everything.

TWENTY–SIX

“Give Reine-Marie my love,” said Émile.

He and Armand stood by the door. Gamache’s Volvo was packed with his suitcase and assorted treats from Émile for Reine-Marie. Pastries from Paillard, paté and cheese from J.A. Moisan, chocolate made by the monks, from the shop along rue St-Jean.

Gamache hoped most of it made it back to Montreal. Between him and Henri, he had his doubts.

“I will. I’ll probably be back in a few weeks to testify, but Inspector Langlois has all the evidence he needs.”

“And the confession helps,” said Émile with a smile.

“True,” agreed Gamache. He looked around the home. He and Reine-Marie had been coming for many years, since Émile had retired and he and his wife moved back to Quebec City. Then, after Alice died, they came more often, to keep Émile company.

“I’m thinking of selling,” said Émile, watching Armand look around.

Gamache turned to him and paused. “It’s a lot of house.”

“The stairs are getting steeper,” agreed Émile.

“You’re welcome to come live with us, you know.”

“I do know, merci, but I think I’ll stay here.”

Gamache smiled, not surprised. “You know, I suspect Elizabeth MacWhirter is finding the same thing. Difficult living in a large home alone.”

“Is that right?” said Émile, looking at Gamache with open suspicion.

Armand smiled and opened the door. “Don’t come out, it’s cold.”

“I’m not that frail,” snapped Émile. “Besides, I want to say good-bye to Henri.”

At the sound of his name the shepherd looked at Émile, ears forward, alert. In case there was a biscuit involved. There was.

The sidewalk was newly plowed. The blizzard had stopped before dawn and the sun rose on a white, unblemished landscape. The city glowed and light sparkled off every surface making it look as though Québec was made of crystal.

Before opening the car door Gamache scooped up some snow, pressed it into his fist and showed Henri the snowball. The dog danced, then stopped, intent, staring.

Gamache tossed it into the air and Henri leapt, straining for the ball, believing this time he’d catch it, and it would remain perfect and whole in his mouth.

The snowball descended, and Henri caught it. And bit down. By the time he landed on all fours he had only a mouthful of snow. Again.

But Henri would keep trying, Gamache knew. He’d never give up hope.

“So,” said Émile, “who do you think the woman in Champlain’s coffin was?”

“I’d say an inmate of Douglas’s asylum. Almost certainly a natural death.”

“So he put her into Champlain’s coffin, but what did he do with Champlain?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“Of course I don’t. I wouldn’t be asking if I did.”

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s in Chiniquy’s journals, you read it to me the other night. I’ll call you when I get home, if you haven’t figured it out I’ll tell you.”