‘Silent Velcro. Apparently the US military has a problem. Now that they’re doing more and more close quarters combat silence is crucial. They sneak up on their enemies.’ Lacoste crouched down at her desk and mimicked skulking around. ‘Then get ready to shoot. But they keep all their equipment attached to their uniforms by Velcro. As soon as the pocket is opened the Velcro rips off and their position is given away. It’s become a huge problem. Anyone who can invent silent Velcro will make a fortune.’
Gamache could see the wheels turning in everyone’s head.
‘And Lyon did?’ he asked.
‘Well, he invented this. It’s a system of keeping pockets shut using magnets.’
‘Ingenious,’ said Gamache.
‘Except that to work through heavy khaki the magnets need to be quite heavy. And you need two per pocket and the average uniform has about forty pockets. The magnets add about fifteen pounds to an already heavy load.’
There were a few snickers.
‘He has nine patents, for various things. All failures.’
‘A loser,’ said Beauvoir.
‘Still, he keeps trying,’ Lacoste pointed out. ‘And if he gets one right, he could be rich beyond his wildest dreams.’
Gamache listened to this and remembered Reine-Marie’s question of the night before. Why had Richard Lyon and CC de Poitiers married? And why had they stayed married? One so ambitious and selfish and cruel, the other so weak and bumbling? He’d have expected CC to kill him, not the other way round.
He realized then that he was almost taking it for granted that Lyon had killed his wife. Very dangerous, he knew, to take anything for granted. Still, was it possible Richard Lyon had finally hit upon an invention that worked? Had he murdered his wife to keep her from sharing in the fortune?
‘There’s something else strange about this case.’ Lacoste smiled her apology to Inspector Beauvoir. The two had worked together on many cases and she knew his mind to be sharp and analytical. This kind of clutter and chaos was torture to him. He braced himself and nodded. ‘I also ran CC de Poitiers through the computer and found nothing. Well, a driver’s license and health card. But no birth certificate, no passport, nothing from more than twenty years ago. I then tried CC Lyon, Cecilia Lyon, Cecilia de Poitiers.’ She lifted her hands in surrender.
‘Try Eleanor and Henri de Poitiers,’ Gamache suggested, looking down at the book in front of him. ‘According to her book, they were her parents. And look up Li Bien.’ He spelled it for her.