“What do you think happened?” Roar leaned in to the Chief Inspector. “You Québécois, so insular. What happened all those years ago? Let’s see. There was a sovereignty referendum in Quebec, there was a huge forest fire in Abitibi, there was an election in the province. Nothing much else to report.”
The shaving on the table trembled as his words brushed past on their way to Gamache.
“I’ve had it,” Roar said. “God, how can you not know what happened back then?”
“Czechoslovakia broke up,” said Gamache. “And became Slovakia and the Czech Republic. That actually happened twenty years ago, but the impact can take time. Those walls came down, and these ones,” he glanced at the bank of glass, “went up.”
“We could see our families again,” said Hanna. “So many of the things we left behind we could have again. Family, friends.”
“Art, silver, heirlooms,” said Beauvoir.
“Do you think those things mattered?” asked Hanna. “We’d lived without them for so long. It was the people we missed, not the things. We barely dared hope it was real. We’d been fooled before. The summer of ’68. And certainly the reports we were seeing in the West were different from the stories we heard from people back home. Here we only heard how wonderful it was. We saw people waving flags and singing. But my cousins and aunts told a different story. The old system was horrible. Corrupt, brutal. But it was at least a system. When it went they were left with nothing. A vacuum. Chaos.”
Gamache tilted his head slightly at the word. Chaos. Again.
“It was terrifying. People were being beaten, murdered, robbed, and there were no cops, no courts.”
“A good time to smuggle things out,” said Beauvoir.
“We wanted to sponsor our cousins but they decided to stay,” said Roar.
“And my aunt wanted to stay with them, of course.”
“Of course,” said Gamache. “If not people, what about things?”
After a moment Hanna nodded. “We managed to get some family heirlooms out. My mother and father hid them after the war and told us they were to be kept for barter, for bargaining, if things got bad.”
“Things got bad,” said Gamache.
“We smuggled them out and sold them. So that we could build the home of our dreams,” said Hanna. “We struggled with that decision a long time, but finally I realized both my parents would understand and approve. They were only things. Home is what matters.”
“What did you have?” asked Beauvoir.
“Some paintings, some good furniture, some icons. We needed a house more than we needed an icon,” said Hanna.
“Who did you sell them to?”
“A dealer in New York. A friend of a friend. I can give you his name. He took a small commission but got a fair price,” said Parra.
“Please. I’d like to speak to him. You certainly made good use of the money.” The Chief Inspector turned to Roar. “Are you a carpenter too?”
“I do some.”
“And you?” Gamache asked Havoc, who shrugged. “I’ll need more than that.”
“I do some.”
Gamache reached out and slowly pushed the wood shaving along the glass table until it sat in front of Havoc. He waited.
“I was in the woods whittling,” admitted Havoc. “When I finish my work I like to sit quietly and shave down a piece of wood. It’s relaxing. A chance to think. To cool off. I make little toys and things for Charles Mundin. Old gives me chunks of old wood and showed me how. Most of the stuff I make is crap and I just throw it away or burn it. But sometimes it’s not too bad, and I give it to Charles. Why do you care if I whittle?”
“A piece of wood was found near the dead man. It was carved into the word Woo. Jakob didn’t do it. We think the murderer did.”
“You think Havoc—” Roar couldn’t finish the sentence.
“I have a search warrant and a team on the way.”
“What’re you looking for?” asked Hanna, blanching. “Just the whittling tools? We can give them to you.”
“It’s more than that, madame. Two things are missing from Jakob’s cabin. The murder weapon and a small canvas sack. We’re looking for them too.”
“We’ve never seen them,” said Hanna. “Havoc, get your tools.”
Havoc led Beauvoir to the shed while Gamache waited for the search team, who showed up a few minutes later. Beauvoir returned with the tools, and something else.
