But the horse came closer and closer.
“I know nothing about it. But I thought it looked bad for Marc so I wanted to be here in case he needed me.”
“Needed you to do what?” demanded Marc. “Scare everyone half to death? Couldn’t you just ring the doorbell or write a letter?”
“I didn’t realize you’d be so sensitive.” The lash, the tiny wound, the monster smiled and retreated. But Marc had had enough. He reached over the fence and bit Vincent Gilbert on the shoulder. Marc the horse, that is.
“What the hell?” Gilbert yelped and jumped out of the way, his hand on his slimy shoulder.
“Are you going to arrest him?” Marc asked Gamache.
“Are you going to press charges?”
Marc stared at his father, then at the wreck of a creature behind him. Black, wretched, probably half mad. And Marc the man smiled.
“No. Go back to being dead, Dad. Mom was right. It is easier.”
He turned and strode back to his home.
What a family,” said Beauvoir. They were strolling into the village. Agent Morin had gone ahead to the Incident Room, and they’d left the Gilberts to devour each other. “Still, there does seem a sort of equilibrium about this case.”
“What do you mean?” asked Gamache. Off to their left he noticed Ruth Zardo leaving her home followed by Rosa wearing a sweater. Gamache had written a thank-you note for the dinner the night before and stuck it in her rusty mailbox during his morning stroll. He watched as she collected it, glanced at it, and stuck it into the pocket of her ratty old cardigan.
“Well, one man’s dead and another comes alive.”
Gamache smiled and wondered if it was a fair exchange. Ruth spotted them just as Beauvoir spotted her.
“Run,” he hissed to the Chief. “I’ll cover you.”
“Too late, old son. The duck’s seen us.”
And indeed, while Ruth seemed happy to ignore them, Rosa was waddling forward at an alarming pace.
“She appears to like you,” said Ruth to Beauvoir, limping behind the duck. “But then she does have a birdbrain.”
“Madame Zardo,” Gamache greeted her with a smile while Beauvoir glared.
“I hear that Gilbert fellow put the body in Olivier’s Bistro. Why haven’t you arrested him?”
“You heard that already?” asked Beauvoir. “Who told you?”