The Beautiful Mystery
“I didn’t get a chance to say hello when I arrived. My apologies, Inspector Beauvoir.”
Jean-Guy hesitated, then took it.
A bell rang and Beauvoir made a face. “Not again.”
Superintendent Francoeur laughed. “My feelings exactly. But perhaps while the monks go about their business of praying we can go about ours. At least we’ll know where they are.”
He all but winked at Beauvoir, then turned back to Gamache.
“Think about what I said, Chief Inspector.” His voice was warm, almost cordial. “That’s all I ask.”
He made to leave and Gamache called after him.
“I think, Chief Superintendent, you’ll find that bell isn’t for prayers but for lunch.”
“Well,” Francoeur smiled fully, “then my prayers are answered. I hear the food here is excellent. Is it?” he asked Beauvoir.
“Not bad.”
“Bon. Then, I’ll see you at lunch. I’ll be staying a few days, of course. The abbot has been good enough to give me one of the rooms. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just freshen up and meet you there.”
He nodded to both of them, then walked off confidently. A man in complete command of himself, of the situation, of the monastery.
Beauvoir turned to Gamache.
“What was that about?”
“I honestly haven’t a clue.”
“You all right?”
“Just fine, thank you.”
“Fucked up, insecure, neurotic and egotistical? F.I.N.E.?”
“I think that would be the Chief Superintendent’s assessment,” Gamache smiled and they walked down the corridor toward the Blessed Chapel, and the dining hall.
“He came here to tell you that?”
“No, according to him he came to help. He also brought with him the coroner’s report and the findings of the forensics team.”
Gamache told Beauvoir what the reports said. Beauvoir listened as they walked. Then stopped and turned to Gamache in anger.
“He knew that’s what the report said, that the weapon wasn’t a rock at all, and he didn’t tell us right away? What’s he playing at?”
“I don’t know. But we need to focus on the murder, not be distracted by the Superintendent.”
“D’accord,” agreed Beauvoir, begrudgingly. “So where’s the damned murder weapon? We searched outside the wall and didn’t find anything.”
Except, he thought, wild blueberries. And they probably weren’t lethal, until dipped in dark chocolate.
“I know one thing,” said the Chief. “The report tells us something crucial.”
“What?”
“The murder of Frère Mathieu was almost certainly premeditated. If you’re in a garden you might pick up a rock in a moment of overwhelming emotion, and kill someone—”
“But not a piece of metal,” said Beauvoir, following the Chief’s thoughts. “That had to be brought with the murderer. There’s no way a pipe or a poker would just be lying around the abbot’s garden.”
Gamache nodded.
One of the monks hadn’t just lashed out at the prior, killing him in a fit of rage. It was planned.
Mens rea.
The Latin legal phrase came to Gamache.
Mens rea. A guilty mind. Intent.
One of these monks had met the prior in the garden, already armed with a metal pipe and a guilty mind. The thought and the act collided, and the result was murder.
“I can’t believe Francoeur’s staying,” said Beauvoir as they crossed the Blessed Chapel. “I’ll admit to the crime myself if it means that stupid shit’ll leave.”
Gamache stopped. They were dead in the center of the chapel.
“Be careful, Jean-Guy.” Gamache kept his voice low. “Superintendent Francoeur’s no fool.”
“Are you kidding? As soon as he stepped off the plane he should have handed you the dossiers. But instead he ignores you, in front of everyone, and sucks up to the abbot.”
“Lower your voice,” cautioned Gamache.
Beauvoir gave a furtive glance around then spoke in an urgent whisper. “The man’s a menace.”
He glanced toward the door from the corridor, for Francoeur. Gamache turned and they resumed their walk to the dining hall.
“Look,” Beauvoir hurried to catch up to the Chief’s long strides. “He’s undermining you here. You must see that. Everyone saw what happened on the dock, and they now think Francoeur’s in charge.”
Gamache opened the door and motioned Beauvoir through to the next corridor. The aroma of fresh baked bread and soup met them. Then, with a swift glance behind him into the dimness of the Blessed Chapel, Gamache closed the door.