“Mary Fraser and Sean Delorme,” said Myrna. “They aren’t CSIS?”
“I don’t know who they are,” said Lacoste.
“Well, I’m sure they won’t get far,” said Clara.
“What do you mean?” asked Lacoste.
“Well, you’re going after them, aren’t you?”
“For what?”
Clara looked dumbfounded. “Well, for threatening to kill the professor and Armand and Jean-Guy, for starters.”
“Delorme pulled a gun on us, yes,” said Armand. “But stood down. No one was hurt. Beyond that they did nothing wrong.”
“Isn’t that enough?” asked Gabri.
“We have to choose our battles,” said Beauvoir. “And if there’s a trial, we’d have to explain about Bull and the plans—”
“And why you burned them,” said Gamache. He knew why Beauvoir had dropped them in the fire. It was a father’s instinct. Jean-Guy would rather die than have his child born into a world that contained Gerald Bull’s monstrosity.
“It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, letting them go,” said Professor Rosenblatt.
“It’s a dangerous world,” said Armand. “Even nine-year-old boys know that.”
“But, but—” Clara sputtered.
“But they killed Antoinette,” said Brian. “And Laurent. They must have. They all but admitted it by threatening to kill you too, for those goddamned plans.”
He waved toward the fireplace, where the plans were no longer even ash. Project Babylon had disappeared into the atmosphere.
“But how did Mary Fraser and Delorme know Laurent had found the gun?” Gabri asked. “They weren’t here. Someone must’ve told them.”
“That’s true,” said Brian. “They were in Ottawa. Someone here must’ve called and told them about Laurent. That must be why it was a day between when Laurent found the gun and when he was killed. They had to drive down and find the boy.”
“Yes, that was our thinking,” said Lacoste.
“Was?” asked Reine-Marie.
“The murders got all complicated by the gun itself,” said Lacoste. “And when Antoinette was killed and we found out about her uncle’s connection to Gerald Bull and Project Babylon, the case took on a whole other aspect. But I was trained that, at its heart, murder is always human and often simple.”
She looked at Gamache, who nodded acknowledgment.
“While you were reading the play this afternoon, I was going back over the case. It started here, as you said, when Laurent came running in.”
She pointed to the door, and they saw again the boy, covered in dirt and pieces of bark and lichen. He was shouting about his find, opening his skinny arms wide, straining to capture the enormity of his find.
A huge gun. In the woods. With a monster on it.
Had it been any other child, had it been an adult, they might have listened.
But it was Laurent Lepage. A boy who slew dragons and rode Pegasus, and fought back invading armies to protect the village.
And did it again the next day. A new day, a new adventure, a new story of great danger and ever greater heroics.
It had been funny, when he was six. By seven it was tiresome. By eight it was annoying. By nine it was too much. But it was in his nature, as his father said, and Laurent would not be stopped.
“No one believed him,” said Lacoste. “Or so it seemed. But there was one person here that afternoon who did believe him. Who knew it could be true. He followed him the next day, knowing Laurent would probably return to the gun, which he did. Partly to see the thing again, but also because in his excitement Laurent had left one of his father’s cassette tapes behind. This person killed Laurent and took his body to the side of the road, making it look like an accident.”
Once again, she looked over at Gamache.
“We didn’t believe the boy,” she said. “We thought his death was an accident. We were wrong.”
“I didn’t believe him either. His death didn’t seem like an accident, but finally it was something human and simple that confirmed it. Something you two asked about.” He looked at Gabri and Olivier, listening intently.
“His stick,” said Olivier.
“Oui. Whoever killed the boy didn’t know him well. Didn’t realize he carried that stick with him everywhere. It would be by his body.”
Even more than “death,” even more than “murder,” the word “body” shook Armand. He paused to regain his composure.