‘Well you were fucking wrong,’ snarled Lemieux.
‘Yes, Dad, I think he’ll say yes now.’ She turned to Gamache. ‘He’s been bugging me to invite you for tea sometime.’
‘Tell your father I’d be honored.’
‘Yup, Dad. He says he’ll come. No I don’t have a gun on him.’ She raised her brows at Gamache. ‘Now. No, I didn’t fuck up, but thanks for asking.’
‘Did you know?’ Lemieux asked Beauvoir as his hands were yanked behind him and cuffs clamped on.
‘Of course I knew,’ Beauvoir lied. He hadn’t known until he’d confronted the chief on the side of the road. Until they told each other everything. Then it had come out. Nichol was working for them. He was glad he hadn’t thrown her into the spring-bloated Rivière Bella Bella, as all his instincts had told him to do. That caul really couldn’t be completely trusted.
‘I knew she wasn’t Francoeur’s spy. Too obvious,’ said Gamache, handing the gun to Beauvoir. ‘I spoke to her almost a year ago, told her my plan and she agreed to play along. She’s a courageous young woman.’
‘Don’t you mean psychotic?’ asked Lemieux.
‘Not likeable, I’ll grant you, but that’s what I was counting on. As long as you thought I suspected her, you were free to do what you wanted. And I was free to watch you. I told Nichol to be as annoying as she could to everyone, but to focus on you in particular. To rattle you. Your armor’s your likeability. If we could keep you off balance you might say or do something stupid. And you did. That day here you sneaked up on me. No agent of mine would ever draw his gun on me. You did it to shake me up. Instead you put beyond doubt that you were the spy. But I made a massive mistake.’ Gamache turned to Brébeuf. ‘I thought the near enemy was Francoeur. It never occurred to me it would be you.’
‘Matthew 10:36. A man’s foes shall be they of his own household,’ quoted Brébeuf, softly. The hysteria gone, the anger gone, the fear gone. Everything gone.
‘But so shall his friends.’ Gamache watched as Beauvoir and Nichol herded Brébeuf and Lemieux to the door.
Fourteen days, thought Michel Brébeuf. Fourteen days of happiness. It was true. But what he’d forgotten until this very moment was that most of them had been with this man.
‘What the hell did you hit me with?’ Lemieux demanded.
‘A rock,’ said Nichol, preening. ‘One fell out of Inspector Beauvoir’s coat the other day and I picked it up. I threw it at you just as you fired.’
Armand Gamache walked down the dim corridor. Something odd was happening to the old Hadley house. It was becoming familiar. He could move about without turning on his flashlight. But he stopped partway along.