How the Light Gets In
And the shoveled front path.
Last time Beauvoir had been in Three Pines, Emilie Longpré’s home had been empty. Now it was not.
* * *
“Christ,” said Jérôme, standing to the side of Myrna’s upstairs window and peering out. “He’s leading them right to Emilie’s place.”
“Who is?” Gabri asked. He was seated by the woodstove with Agent Nichol, while the Brunels looked out the window and reported back.
“Inspector Beauvoir,” said Thérèse. “He’s with Francoeur.”
“Impossible.” Gabri got to his feet and went over to see for himself.
Glancing quickly out the frosted window, Gabri saw large men entering Emilie’s home. Jean-Guy Beauvoir did not. Instead he stood on the snowy steps and looked around the village. Gabri swung away from the window a moment before Beauvoir’s eyes reached him.
“I don’t believe it,” he whispered.
“Inspector Beauvoir’s an addict,” said Thérèse from the other side of the window. “Has been for a while.”
“Since the factory,” said Gabri quietly. “I know. But I’d thought…”
“Yes, we all thought,” said Thérèse. “Hoped. Addiction’s a terrible thing. It’ll steal your health, your friends, family, careers. Judgment. It’ll steal your soul. And when there’s nothing left, it takes your life.”
Gabri dared a quick glance out the window. Beauvoir was still on the porch, staring straight ahead. He looked like he had nothing left to steal.
“He’d never turn on Gamache.”
“Jean-Guy Beauvoir wouldn’t, you’re right,” said Jérôme. “But drugs have no friends, no loyalty. They’ll do anything.”
“Inspector Beauvoir may very well be the most dangerous person out there,” said Superintendent Brunel.
* * *
“They were here,” said Francoeur, coming out of Emilie’s home. “But they’ve gone. We need to get the truth out of the owner of the bistro.”
“I know where they are.”
Beauvoir stepped off Emilie Longpré’s porch and pointed.
FORTY
It took a split second to break through the Yale lock, then they were in the schoolhouse.
Tessier stepped through first, followed by the two large agents. Sylvain Francoeur strolled in last and looked around. Monitors, cables, wires, and boxes were against one wall. Five empty chairs circled the still warm woodstove.
Francoeur took off his gloves and let his hand hover over the cast-iron woodstove.
Yes. They’d been here, and not long ago. They’d gotten out in a hurry, leaving behind all that incriminating equipment. Gamache, the Brunels, and Agent Nichol were shut down and on the run. Incapable of more damage. It was just a matter of time before they were found.
“How’d you know?” Francoeur asked Beauvoir.
“The schoolhouse was closed,” Beauvoir explained. “But the path to it’s been cleared. Like the Longpré place.”
“Gamache makes a habit of abandoning places,” the Chief Superintendent said. “And people.”
He turned his back on Beauvoir and joined the others at the computers.
Jean-Guy watched for a moment, then left.
His boots crunched on the snow, munch, munch, munch, as he walked across the village green, which was very, very, suspiciously, quiet. Normally kids would be playing hockey, parents either watching or out cross-country skiing. Families would be tobogganing down the hill, shedding passengers as they flew over bumps.
But today, despite the sunshine, Three Pines was quiet. Not abandoned, he felt. Not a ghost town. Three Pines seemed to be waiting. And watching.
Jean-Guy walked over to the bench and sat down.
He didn’t know what Francoeur and Tessier were about. He didn’t know why they were here. He didn’t know how Gamache figured in. And he didn’t ask.
He pulled a pill bottle out of his pocket, shook two out and swallowed them. He looked at the OxyContin bottle. He had two more in his apartment, and a nearly full bottle of anti-anxiety pills.
Enough to do the job.
“Hello, numb nuts,” said Ruth, as she sat on the bench beside Jean-Guy. “Who’re your new friends?”
Ruth waved her cane toward the old schoolhouse.
Beauvoir watched as one of Francoeur’s agents carried something from the van into the schoolhouse.
Beauvoir said nothing. He simply stared ahead of him.