“Again, he’s treating you like a child. As though you can be so easily manipulated. If you don’t trust him with a weapon, Armand, I do.” Francoeur unclipped his own holster and approached Beauvoir. “Take it, Inspector. I know you’re not an addict. Never were. You were in pain and needed the medication. I understand.”
Gamache turned to Francoeur and fought the urge to take out the gun now clipped to his belt and finish what he started.
Deep breath in, he told himself. Deep breath out.
When he felt it was safe to speak he turned back to Beauvoir.
“You need to choose.”
Beauvoir looked from Gamache to Francoeur. Both stretched out their hands to him. One offered a slight tremble, the other a gun.
“Are you going to take me to rehab?”
Gamache stared for a moment. Then nodded.
There was a long, long silence. And finally Beauvoir broke it. Not with a word, but with an action. He stepped away from Gamache.
* * *
Armand Gamache stood on the shore and watched the float plane leave the dock with Francoeur, Frère Luc and Beauvoir on board.
“He’ll come to his senses,” the Dominican said, as he joined the Chief Inspector.
Gamache said nothing, but just watched as the plane bounced over the waves. Then he turned to his companion.
“I suppose you’ll be leaving soon too,” said Gamache.
“I’m in no rush.”
“Is that right? Not even to get the Book of Chants back to Rome? It’s what you came for, isn’t it?”
“True, but I’ve been thinking. It’s very old. Might be too fragile to travel. I’ll give it a good, hard think before doing anything. Might even pray on it. A decision could take awhile. And ‘awhile’ in Church time is a very long time indeed.”
“Don’t wait too long,” said Gamache. “I hate to remind you, but the foundations are collapsing.”
“Yes, well, about that. I’ve had a conversation with the head of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. He was impressed by the abbot’s insistence on keeping their vows of silence and humility. Even in the face of great pressure, including the possible collapse of the monastery.”
Gamache nodded. “A steady hand on the tiller.”
“Exactly what the Holy Father said. He was also impressed.”
Gamache raised his brows.
“So much so that the Vatican is considering paying for the restoration of Saint-Gilbert. We lost them once. It would be a shame to lose the Gilbertines again.”
Gamache smiled and nodded. Dom Philippe had his miracle.
“When you asked me to sing Frère Mathieu’s new chant, did you know it was Frère Luc who’d react?” the Dominican asked. “Or was that a surprise?”
“Well, I suspected it might be him, but I wasn’t sure.”
“Why’d you suspect Frère Luc?”
“For one thing, the murder happened after Lauds. When I watched where everyone went after the service, it was clear only Frère Luc was alone. No one visited him in the porter’s office. No one went down that corridor. Only Frère Luc could’ve gone to the garden unseen because everyone else worked in groups.”
“Except the abbot.”
“True, and I suspected him for a while too. In fact, right up until the end I suspected almost everyone. I realized while Dom Philippe wasn’t confessing to the crime, neither was he completely exonerating himself. He told a lie he knew we’d uncover. Said he was in the basement looking at the geothermal. He wanted us to know he was alone.”
“But he must have known that would make him a suspect,” said Frère Sébastien.
“That’s what he wanted. He knew one of his monks had committed the crime, and he felt some measure of responsibility. So he deliberately left himself open to take the blame. But that was another reason I suspected Frère Luc.”
“How so?”
The plane was just skimming the waves. Beginning to get airborne. Gamache spoke to the monk, but had eyes only for the small plane.
“The abbot kept wondering how he could have missed it. How he didn’t see it coming. Dom Philippe struck me from the beginning as an unusually observant man. Very little got by him. So I began to wonder the same thing. How could the abbot have missed it? And there seemed two possible answers. That he hadn’t missed anything because he himself was the killer. Or, he had missed it only because the killer was the one monk the abbot didn’t know very well. The newest among them. Who chose to spend all his time in the porter’s office. No one knew him. Not even the prior, as it turns out.”
