Chapter 40

C HAPTER 40

It all happened in seconds.

Bang! Bang, bang, bang!

Wood exploded into splinters, people flew everywhere. The air was filled with cordite.

Bang! Gamache hit the floor and saw Beauvoir turn onto his back, aim his gun, and…

The shooting stopped.

Gamache twisted and looked in the direction of the gunfire. The RCMP officer was standing with his weapon in both hands, pointing at the floor and the body of a woman. Scrambling to his feet, Gamache ran over to the prone Beauvoir.

"Jean-Guy, are you—"

"I'm all right," he said, getting to his feet.

"Lights," said Gamache.

By the time Beauvoir hit the switch, seconds later, Gamache was already kneeling beside the motionless man splayed on the altar.

"It's all right," he was saying. His hands were pressing down on the wound on the Abbot's chest. Dom Philippe's eyes were wide, and a trickle of blood was coming out the side of his mouth.

He was dying. And knew it. With each beat of his heart, more blood was pumped from his body. Armand couldn't stop it, and even if he could, there was too much internal damage. So he stopped trying, and instead picked up Dom Philippe's cold hands and held them to his own chest.

The Abbot's blue eyes began to glaze over.

"Our Father, who art—" was as far as Armand got. Just before the Abbot's eyes emptied completely, Armand leaned forward and whispered into his ear, "God, take this child. Take Yves." Then he crossed himself.

" Patron? "

Gamache looked up.

"She's gone. Caron's gone."

"Dead?"

"Disappeared. And so's the satchel. But there's blood. She's wounded."

"Find her. And find that satchel."

Jean-Guy ran out the back door, while Armand walked quickly over to the RCMP officer. At Gauthier's feet was the bloody body of the woman from Open Da Night. The one they'd been trying to find.

Instead, she'd found them.

Jean-Guy reappeared. "The car's gone."

"Her assistant?"

"Gone."

"Do we know if Caron made it to the car?"

"She did. There's blood by where it was parked."

Gamache nodded, wiping his bloody hands on his slacks. "May I have your gun, please?"

It was said so mildly, so casually, Jean-Guy wasn't sure he understood until he again saw Gamache's hand out.

Beauvoir gave him the weapon, then watched in surprise as Gamache took it and in one easy movement placed it against the temple of the RCMP officer.

"Drop your weapon."

"Sir?"

"Now."

There was a pause before he released his handgun. Beauvoir grabbed it.

" Patron? " said Jean-Guy.

"Monsieur Gamache?" said Gauthier.

"Stay still." Without taking his eyes off his prisoner, Gamache said to Beauvoir, "You have ties?"

" Oui. " He took them out, and at Gamache's nod he reached for the right hand of the RCMP officer. The Mountie jerked it away.

"What the fuck? Are you insane? Are you on their side? Shit."

"Cuff him to the pew."

When the Mountie was secure, Gamache lowered the gun and searched the body of the killer. Nothing. He stood up and contemplated her. Then he looked at Gauthier.

"How did she find us?"

"She followed us. Isn't that obvious? For God's sake, Gamache. What's got into you?"

"We weren't followed," said Beauvoir.

"Someone told her where we were going," said Gamache. "I have Castonguay's phone, so it wasn't him. You were sending a message. I assumed it was to your family to warn them about the poison. Perhaps even to Commissioner Lavigne to update him." Here Gamache paused and then continued. "But you were telling the shooter where we were headed."

"That's bullshit!"

"You were guarding the back door. How did she get by you?"

"It's dark."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," murmured Beauvoir.

"Were both Caron and Dom Philippe supposed to die? And then your instructions were to kill the shooter? I imagine the satchel was an unpleasant surprise. Are you named in the papers?"

"You're insane. I saved your life. She'd have killed you too." He jabbed his free hand toward the dead woman.

Gamache held the man's eyes until the officer blinked.

"Your orders were to keep me alive at least until I could warn the politicians about the attack. They'd then sound the alarm and, in doing that, start the panic. And the attack would happen anyway." He turned to Beauvoir. "Why weren't we hit? I was closer to the shooter than Dom Philippe or Caron. If she'd wanted us dead, we would be." He turned back to the Mountie. "You need us alive. But this also means the attack on the water is imminent. What do you know?" Pause. "Tell us!"

Gauthier appealed to Beauvoir. "This's insane. You see that, right? I didn't want to believe Diane when she told me Gamache was dangerous. Not listening to anyone. She said he'd get them all killed, and you did." The Mountie turned back to Gamache. He'd worked himself into a rage. "You got my sister killed."

"I don't have time for this." Gamache had given the gun back to Beauvoir and was calling the local S?reté detachment and the coroner.

" Patron , the conference call."

"Cancel it. Put out an APB on Caron and the vehicle."

Armand spread the altar cloth over Dom Philippe. As he did, he noticed something sticking out from the Abbot's breast pocket. Kneeling beside the man, Gamache pulled it out.

It was the photo of young Yves, his sister Eunice, and niece Jeanne. The only thing he'd kept with him all those years in Saint Gilbert Between the Wolves. The only thing he'd taken with him.

Armand tucked it back in.

"The killer shot Caron, so maybe she was telling the truth."

"Maybe. Or maybe the cleanup has started," said Gamache. "Maybe Lauzon realized she was planning to blackmail him once he took power. The evidence in the satchel might be Langlois's notes. In the middle of an attack, when she was wounded, she stopped to pick it up. It must be valuable."

"So she either took it to maybe stop the attack," said Beauvoir. "Or she took it because she needs to have something to hold over Lauzon."

Gamache nodded.

"So we know nothing."

"Perhaps not nothing."

They could hear sirens. The local police and coroner were arriving. Gamache took Beauvoir aside and whispered.

"I had breakfast today with Shona Dorion."

"The blogger? The one who hates you? Why…" As Armand watched, the light went on for his second-in-command. "For the same reason Caron came to you."

"No one would think we could be allies. I think Langlois did the same thing. I think I know where he hid his notes."

Brother Constantine was indeed in the small room behind the infirmary. Alive, well, and oblivious. The little round man was happily preparing his concoction. He looked up as they entered, clearly expecting someone else.

His expression changed when he saw Sébastien. And changed even more when he saw who was with him. A woman.

"What's going on? You shouldn't be here." He placed a pudgy hand over a huge manuscript on the table in front of him.

"Have you been here all day, mon frère ?" Lacoste asked.

"Who are you? Why're you here? You can't be here. I'm making up the recipe. And you're a woman."

It wasn't clear which was the greater transgression, but the two together were more than the monk could immediately grasp.

"Where's Brother Robert? I expected him half an hour ago. You need to leave."

Constantine waved at them, knocking over one of the many mortars and pestles lined up on the table.

The shelves behind him were chockablock full with jars of dried herbs and nuts that no doubt produced spices.

There were so many scents it was impossible to identify any one of them. But it was pleasant. The sense Isabelle got, as she inhaled the scents, was one of comfort. As though Christmas and Easter, Thanksgiving, and the height of summer were holding a party.

She hated to break it up but had no choice. "I'm afraid Brother Robert is dead."

"Dead?" Now the monk was bewildered. "But he can't be. He's so young. What happened?"

Brother Constantine looked from one to the other. It was clear he'd grown attached to the quiet young newcomer to their community.

"Did he give you anything to keep safe?" Lacoste asked.

"Safe? Of course he kept something safe. The formula."

"No, I mean something else." She looked around. "Where did he keep his copy?"

"I'm not going to tell you."

Now the elderly monk stood up straight. He looked incredibly dignified. And very brave. Because he also looked very afraid.

"Who are you? Where are the others?"

"Please, Brother Constantine. You know me. Brother Sébastien."

"You're a lay monk. Not a brother at all."

"I came here to try to protect Brother Robert. I'm a Gilbertine."

This did nothing to allay his fears.

"And I'm a police officer."

It seemed to be getting worse, not better, for the Carthusian. "Not from here. You have a strange accent."

"I'm from Québec."

Moments ago, this happy monk had been doing something he'd done for decades. Continuing a tradition, a ritual, a scared duty that brother monks had done for centuries.

But now, a Gilbertine, and a woman. A cop. From Québec. Had invaded his safe place. Telling him the other holder of the recipe was dead.

" Mon frère , I have no need to see the recipe for Chartreuse. But I do need to know if there's something Brother Robert has hidden. Please. We'll stay here, but can you at least look?"

" Oui? "

The door was closed and no doubt locked, and the voice that came from the other side tentative.

"Monsieur Langlois? It's Armand Gamache. We met when I came here to tell you about your son."

Before leaving Three Pines to head into Montréal, Armand and Jean-Guy had gone home, reassuring their family and the other villagers that they were safe. They could unlock the doors.

"So those were gunshots," said Reine-Marie as she looked at his bloody hands and the smears on his slacks. Though it was clear he and Jean-Guy were themselves unhurt.

" Oui. "

He told them what had happened, then went upstairs to wash up and change. Before leaving, he picked up the aspirin bottle and considered. He might need it. Slipping it into his pocket, he went downstairs and into his study, where he quickly wrote out all that he'd discovered. A light had caught his eye. Not, this time, the glint of a gun. These were fireflies, lighting up just outside his window.

Armand watched them for a moment. Losing himself, briefly, in what looked like a lighthearted dance. He tried to guess where the next one would appear, but couldn't. He wondered what part of evolution this served. Why had a fly been given the ability to light itself?

Or perhaps, he thought as he placed the paper where only Reine-Marie could find it, there was no purpose. Perhaps being a small light in the night was purpose enough. A show of defiance. These tiny creatures were the resistance against a vast darkness.

"I need to go," Armand said as he sat beside Reine-Marie and took her hand. Jean-Guy was upstairs with Annie and the sleeping children.

"Will you be all right?" Reine-Marie asked.

"Yes. I know what to do, where to go." He smiled. " ?a va bien aller. "

" Fais attention, monsieur. "

"I'll be careful. I promise, madame . And I'll bring Jean-Guy home."

"Did someone say my name?" asked the younger man, coming down the stairs with Annie.

"Numbnuts?"

Jean-Guy jumped, then turned to the unexpected voice. As did Armand and Reine-Marie. Ruth's head appeared from behind the sofa where she'd been napping. Or "napping."

"Jesus, you old hag," said Jean-Guy. "You almost scared me to death."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," said the duck.

"True. We'll need to try harder."

The old poet struggled to get up. Jean-Guy held out his arms, and she gripped them as he lifted her to her feet.

She looked into his eyes. "You'd better come home."

"I will," he whispered and kissed her on both cheeks. "Thank you for looking after the family."

As the vehicle drove past the chapel, now lit up and surrounded by cop cars and ambulances, Ruth muttered, " I just sit where I'm put, composed / of stone and wishful thinking. " The elderly poet was quoting from one of her more obscure works. " That the deity who kills for pleasure / will also heal. "

"Come." Reine-Marie put a fleshy arm through Ruth's scrawny one, and with Annie on the other side, they walked back into the home, Rosa waddling behind. Silent, for once.

At the threshold, Reine-Marie looked up the hill as the car disappeared.

… that in the midst of your nightmare,

the final one, a kind lion

will come with bandages in her mouth…

Then her gaze dropped to the church, as the thin body of a kindly monk, covered in an altar cloth, was placed in an ambulance.

and pick your soul up gently by the nape of the neck

and caress you into darkness and paradise.