‘Brilliant, mon ami. Just what will appeal to a woman on her own.’ Gamache turned and walked down the corridor, looking back at Beauvoir. ‘I only let you do that because I know she’s not in there.’
‘And I only did it because I knew you’d be amused.’
‘There’s a key on the peg,’ Lemieux pointed out when they returned. ‘Couldn’t we let ourselves in?’
‘Not yet,’ said Beauvoir. ‘Not without a warrant and not until we know it’s murder.’ Still, he liked Lemieux’s thinking. ‘What now?’ he asked Gamache.
‘Search the place.’
While Beauvoir and Lemieux searched the dining room, gourmet kitchen, bathrooms and basement, Gamache walked into the living room and sat in the oversized leather chair.
He closed his eyes and cleared his mind. He was worried. Where was Jeanne Chauvet? What was she doing? What was she feeling? Guilt? Remorse? Satisfaction?
Was the séance a tragic failure or a spectacular success?
Agent Robert Lemieux stood on the threshold between the living and dining rooms watching the Chief Inspector.
At times young Agent Lemieux was racked with doubt. A kind of crisis of faith that his parents talked of suffering decades ago. But his church was the Sûreté, the place that had taken him in, given him purpose. While his parents eventually left their church, he’d never leave his. Never leave it, and never, ever betray it. His parents had raised him, fed him, disciplined and loved him. But the Sûreté had given him a home. He loved his parents and sisters, but only other officers knew what it was like to be in the Sûreté. To walk out of the door, all cocky and swaggering, but being careful to tell his cat he loved her, just in case.
Watching Chief Inspector Gamache, eyes closed, head tilted back exposing his throat, so trusting, Lemieux wondered just for an instant. Had what he’d been told about Gamache really been true? Once, not so long ago, Lemieux had worshipped Gamache. On his first visit to headquarters as a recruit he’d seen the famous man striding down the hall, junior officers in tow, decoding the most intricate and brutal of cases. And yet he’d had time to smile and nod a greeting. They’d studied his cases. They’d watched and cheered as Armand Gamache had brought down the dirty Superintendent Arnot. And saved the Sûreté.
But things weren’t always as they seemed.
‘Nothing.’ Beauvoir brushed by Lemieux into the living room. Gamache opened his eyes and looked at the two men, his gaze resting on Lemieux. Their eyes held.