Chapter 41

C HAPTER 41

"I'm with the S?reté du Québec." Armand slid his ID under the door.

We wait…

He and Beauvoir exchanged glances.

"It's late. What do you want?" The voice of Charles Langlois's father was querulous, tremulous.

"I'm sorry, I can't explain from out here. Can you let us in?" The home was in darkness. But now a shaft of light appeared under the door. The ID was pushed back out.

"Come back in the morning."

Armand searched his mind for something to say, something that would get them inside.

Beauvoir had his ear to the door. "Madame Langlois is saying something. I can't hear, but they seem to be arguing."

Gamache turned back to the door. "I'm not sure if you've seen the videos posted online. I hope you haven't, but if you have, you know that I spoke to Charles. You can't hear what I said, but I was begging him to tell me what he'd found out. That's when he said ‘family.' He wanted me to come here, not just to comfort you, but to find what he'd given you for safekeeping. He trusted you." Gamache paused. "He trusted me. Now you need to."

We wait…

There was a click, and the door opened.

Brother Constantine put a worn leather bookmark in the huge volume and closed it with a thump. Then, clutching it to his chest, he walked to the back of the workshop.

When he returned, he still carried the manuscript, but there was something else in his hands.

" Merci. " Gamache accepted the seat at the kitchen table and looked at the couple, whose only child had died within inches of this stranger now sitting in the heart of their home.

Beside him, Jean-Guy's knee was bobbing up and down. Time, time was slipping away from them.

"Charles gave you something to keep," said Gamache, without preamble. "His notebooks. He knew no one would come looking for them here since he'd made it known you hadn't spoken in years."

Monsieur and Madame Langlois did not react. They sat side by side, not saying a word. Vitally, what Armand did not hear was a denial.

Beauvoir's knee slowed but didn't stop completely.

"We need to see them."

Charles's parents looked at each other, then both got up and left the room. They returned less than a minute later with a canvas bag. On it was a yin-and-yang design and a leaping fish. The logo of Action Québec Bleu.

It wasn't heavy. There were just two notebooks inside.

Beauvoir took the bag while Armand thanked them. There was a clear question in Madame Langlois's expression.

" Oui ," said Gamache. "You've done the right thing."

Isabelle Lacoste took what Brother Constantine was offering.

Two clippings, in French, from the Québec newspaper Le Soleil . They were dated two days apart. One described the murder of a postal worker in Chicoutimi. The other the murder of a retired teacher on Les ?les de la Madeleine.

There were no markings on the clippings. Just creases where they'd been folded for mailing.

"Nothing else?" she asked the monk, who shook his head.

"What are they?" asked Sébastien, straining to see.

"Just a moment." She took a photo of them and sent it to Gamache and Beauvoir.

Gamache read Lacoste's email and looked at the photo.

Any news? she wrote.

Found Langlois's notebooks , he quickly replied. More soon.

Lacoste put away her phone. Then, holding up the clippings, she turned to Frère Sébastien. "Proof."

"Of what?"

"That the threats were real. These two"—she waved the clippings—"were killed to warn Brother Robert. One of them's his aunt."

"And the other?"

"I'm guessing a stranger, chosen at random. To make sure Robert realized who he was dealing with, in case there was any doubt, and to let him know he was responsible for two deaths."

"Responsible? How?"

"He met with Dom Philippe, despite their warnings not to tell anyone. But one thing I can't figure out is how they knew he'd met the Abbot. Can you?"

She watched as Brother Sébastien thought, then shook his head. He held Lacoste's eyes as she continued to stare at him.

Brother Constantine, sensing something had changed, gripped the manuscript tighter to his barrel chest.

Jean-Guy drove to a side street and parked. The immense Charles-J.-Des Baillets water-treatment plant was lit up in the dark and loomed a block away.

The two of them took out the notebooks, setting aside the first, where the young biologist documented his visits to central and northern lakes in Québec. It was, Gamache now recognized, just for show. Meant to mislead, misdirect anyone who came looking into thinking the biologist was investigating pollution in lakes.

The important information was in the second notebook. That one covered his time working first at the Atwater treatment plant, then, the last few pages, at the Charles-J.-Des Baillets facility.

Gamache went right to the final entry. There was no mistaking what Charles Langlois had found out. Writ large and underlined several times was:

Botulinum. 08/25 @ 23:50

"Jesus," said Beauvoir, turning pale. "That's today. In"—he looked at his phone—"forty-seven minutes."

Gamache was silent. Below the time, Langlois had written, Which pump???

"Question marks?" said Beauvoir. "Question marks? For God's sake, he wasn't sure?"

Gamache was skimming through the notebook, looking for names. He saw Caron, with question marks beside her name. He saw Lauzon, the Deputy Prime Minister.

There were others. Some with question marks, some not.

His heart sank when he saw both Madeleine Toussaint, the head of the S?reté, and Evelyn Tardiff, the head of their Organized Crime division, on the list.

There was one name that did not surprise him.

David Lavigne. The deputy commissioner of the RCMP and his friend.

As soon as he'd realized the Mountie who'd been sent to "protect" him was working against them, he'd known Lavigne must be behind it.

"So he's not Diane's brother?"

"No. That was said so that I'd accept him without question. Someone thinks I'm far more fragile than I actually am."

But still, Jean-Guy could see that the mention of the murdered agent had found a wound that would never fully heal. The Chief had learned to live with it. As people in chronic pain do.

While Beauvoir scanned the notebook, Gamache accessed the background checks done on the employees by the S?reté.

Charles Langlois, at least in his written records, seemed unsure who was involved in the plot. It would have to be someone who could get access to the massive pumps. Who could turn off the sophisticated levels of treatment.

One person couldn't do it. It would need to be a small team of trained terrorists, and at least some engineers familiar with the plant.

Gamache stared at the building, lit up and ominous.

If Langlois was right, they were now… Gamache checked his phone… forty-three minutes away from the attack.

The conspirators must already be in the plant. Gamache and Beauvoir could not risk warning anybody and setting it off, even if they knew who to warn. But there was something he could do.

Gamache called the agent on duty in homicide at S?reté headquarters.

"Forrest, I need you to get a tactical squad together. Heavily armed. I can't tell you more. Be ready."

He hung up before he heard the "Yessir."

"Is there a way to shut down the plant completely?" Beauvoir asked.

Gamache shook his head. "I don't know." He thought there must be, but had no idea how. "We need help."

"But who?"

"Her."

Gamache was pointing to the name of a junior engineer.

"Why her?" asked Beauvoir.

"Because she'll know how to shut it down, and she isn't on shift. Whoever is going to poison the water would need to be on duty so no one would challenge them."

"You just chose her at random."

"Pretty much. But we have to trust someone."