“You know, I actually did. Amazing, isn’t it, our capacity for self-deceit.”
Gamache looked at him quizzically.
“All right, my capacity for it,” snapped Gilbert. He studied Gamache. Tall, powerfully built. Probably ten pounds overweight, maybe more. Go to fat if he’s not careful. Die of a heart attack.
He imagined Gamache suddenly clutching his chest, his eyes widening then closing in pain. Staggering against the wall and gasping. And Dr. Vincent Gilbert, the celebrated physician, folding his arms, doing nothing, as this head of homicide slipped to the ground. It comforted him to know he had that power, of life and death.
Gamache looked at this rigid man. In front of him was the face he’d seen staring, glaring, from the back of that lovely book, Being. Arrogant, challenging, confident.
But Gamache had read the book, and knew what lay behind that face.
“Are you staying here?” They’d told Gilbert not to leave the area and the B and B was the only guesthouse.
“Actually, no. I’m the first guest at Marc’s inn and spa. Don’t think I’ll ask for a treatment, though.” He had the grace to smile. Like most stern people, he looked very different when he smiled.
Gamache’s surprise was obvious.
“I know,” agreed Gilbert. “It was actually Dominique who invited me to stay, though she did suggest I might want to be . . .”
“Discreet?”
“Invisible. So I came into town.”
Gamache sat in an armchair. “Why did you come looking for your son now?”
It had escaped no one that both Gilbert and the body had shown up at the same time. Again Gamache saw the cabin, with its two comfortable chairs by the fire. Had two older men sat there on a summer’s night? Talking, discussing? Arguing? Murdering?
Vincent Gilbert looked down at his hands. Hands that had been inside people. Hands that had held hearts. Repaired hearts. Got them beating again, and restored life. They trembled, unsteady. And he felt a pain in his chest.
Was he having a heart attack?
He looked up and saw this large, steady man watching him. And he thought if he was having a heart attack this man would probably help.
How to explain his time at LaPorte, living with men and women with Down’s syndrome? At first he’d thought his job was to simply look after their bodies.
Help others.