Chapter 8

C HAPTER 8

"Charles" stared at the paper with the list of herbs, then at Gamache.

"I have no idea what that is."

"Why did you put it in my coat?"

"I didn't." He seemed genuinely astonished. "Can I see it?"

Gamache handed it to him.

"What's the mystery? It's a shopping list." He turned it over and his brows rose, then he handed it back. "Must've been in your coat already."

"It was not. Which means someone put it there. If not you, then who?"

Armand watched a drop of perspiration slowly make its way down "Charles's" face.

If it hadn't been involuntary, Gamache would have suspected the sweat was part of the act.

"I don't know."

Gamache stared at "Charles" so long that the perspiration had time to make its slow way to his jawline. And then the drop dropped. Splat. Onto the wooden table.

"How was your employer supposed to prove he'd been in the apartment?"

"What?"

"You said it was a bet, so he'd have to prove he'd succeeded. If you weren't to steal something personal, then what proof would he have?"

"I was told to take a photograph."

"Let me see." Gamache held out his hand.

"I erased it. Didn't want any evidence."

"But you must have sent it to the guy who hired you. I want to see your emails."

His hand was still out.

"I don't have a phone."

"Come on, you can do better than that," said Gamache, exasperated. "How did you take the photo? How did you send it? Do I need to teach you how to lie?"

"The guy gave me his phone."

"You're not even trying to make this believable."

Over "Charles's" shoulder, Gamache could see Lacoste watching this. He was wearing a wire, of course. She and Beauvoir would be listening in. Recording this on audio and video. Jean-Guy would have already put this man's photo into the system.

Gamache lowered his hand to the table. It was now clear that this was all bullshit. Except, perhaps, for the sweat. The drops plump with deceit.

The man knew he was cornered. And not only by Chief Inspector Gamache. There was someone else. Someone he feared more than Gamache. Actually, it was clear to the Chief Inspector that this "Charles" did not fear him at all. The opposite seemed to be true. He viewed Gamache as the lifeguard. The one swimming out to save him.

And yet, despite the fact he'd invited Gamache here for that reason, despite Gamache's entreaties, this man seemed reluctant to accept the help.

For his part, Armand Gamache was keenly aware that a drowning man could take them both down.

"Tell me." His voice was soft now, not confronting but compelling.

"Charles" took a deep breath. A decision would have to be made. Sink or swim? Clearly the truth was dangerous. But surely it had gone far too far now. What was this man's hesitation?

"All right, I'll tell you."

Gamache knew that whatever was said next would be a demi-truth. Not a whole lie, not the entire truth. They were coming to the endgame. And that was always the most dangerous.

He was suddenly very glad Beauvoir had pretty much emptied S?reté headquarters into Open Da Night. Though he did briefly wonder how he'd explain to accounting all the caffè cremas and bomboloni.

"Charles" had said that this meeting had been a mistake. Armand now wondered if he had made the same blunder.

His eyes traveled over to where the grandfather and little girl had been sitting and was relieved to see the seats were empty. A table had opened up on the terrasse and they'd grabbed it. If something happened, they were more likely to be out of it.

"I was told to go in and take the jacket. As proof. But not to take anything else. I thought it was a joke. I really didn't know it was your place."

"Enough," said Gamache, eyes sharp on the man across from him, but alert to all movement around them. "I have no idea if you knew, and right now it doesn't matter. But I want you to think, to really think. You were told to break into the home of the head of homicide. A senior S?reté officer. There's a reason for it, something that goes far beyond a jacket and a joke." He looked around, then his eyes swung back to "Charles." "What's going to happen here?"

"What do you mean?"

"You were told to put the note in my jacket, the one saying you wanted to meet me here. Now. Why? To what purpose?"

"Charles" was silent.

" Bon ," said Gamache, standing up. "I've had enough. You're on your own. Good luck."

"No, wait." "Charles's" hand shot out and grabbed Gamache's wrist, tight.

"For what?" demanded Gamache, breaking the grip. "Are you expecting someone?"

"No. I don't know. Maybe."

"Who?"

"Look, sit. Please."

"Charles" seemed genuinely desperate.

Gamache sat. "You have two minutes, then I'm leaving. The truth. Who are you?"

"Okay. I don't live at The Mission, not anymore. I got into cocaine, then fentanyl. But I got my shit together when I got clean. I volunteer there now. I was approached by someone to do this job. He gave me a thousand, half before, half after. I was to drop the coat off on a peg at The Mission and that would be that."

This, at least, was beginning to make sense. Gamache knew this "Charles" had lied when he said he'd been paid up front. And "Charles" had realized he'd made a mistake, which partly explained the wild swings from anger to pleading. He was off-balance, and he wanted to throw Gamache off too.

"Do you know the man?"

"Not his name, but I'd seen him around. He seemed a sort of assistant. He'd shown up at The Mission when there was an official tour."

"What sort of tour?"

"You know, politicians. They're photographed handing out meals to the great unwashed. I was once served by the Premier."

Gamache grew very still before asking the next question. "Was the person who contacted you with the Premier? Could he have been part of his security detail?"

Guarding the Premier was the responsibility of the S?reté since the Premier was the head of the provincial government. If the fellow who'd approached "Charles" was on that detail, then—

"I don't know."

"Think," snapped Gamache, then reined himself in. He continued, his voice gentle now, coaxing. "Did you see him there when the Premier wasn't around?"

"Charles" thought. And nodded. "Yes. A few times, on other tours."

"All provincial politicians, or others?"

"I don't know." "Charles" sounded annoyed by what must've seemed a trivial question.

But Gamache knew it was anything but that.

"Please. Think."

And to Armand's astonishment, "Charles" did.

"There was a tour of federal politicians including the minister of something. Someone important. High up. The guy was there then."

"And no provincial politician was present? Not the Québec Premier or anyone else?"

"Not that I know of, but I don't know all of them."

It wasn't conclusive, but it helped. Gamache brought a hand up to his mouth, thinking. His mind working quickly.

"Do you know the dates?"

"Of the tours when the guy was there?" asked "Charles." "Are you kidding? I barely know today's date."

"When do you volunteer?" probed Gamache. "Specific days?"

"Yes. Every second Sunday."

That was something at least. A place to start.

The Mission had cameras up. He'd get those tapes and review them for tours when this "Charles" was also there. Have him identify the man who approached him. It should not be difficult.

"The coat," Gamache began, working his way forward slowly. "You were told to take it."

" Oui. "

"You put one note in the pocket, but not the other. So someone else put this one in." Gamache placed his hand on the list of herbs and spices.

And now "Charles" colored. "I lied. I did. I put both in. I was told to."

"That's a lie. I saw your face when I handed you this second note. You were surprised. You need to tell me the truth. That's why you wanted to see me, non ? You're afraid, and I think you're right to be. You asked to see me. Why? What do you want to tell me?"

Gamache reached for his glass of water, but before he could get there, "Charles" also reached for it, knocking it over. Gamache reacted quickly, grabbing the paper off the table before the wave of water soaked it.

"Why did you just do that?"

"What? It was an accident."

"It was not. You did it on purpose. You wanted to destroy the paper. Why?"

Now "Charles" smiled. "You think water will destroy that? Believe what you want, but actually, you're partway there."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Charles's" lips pressed together, as though he'd said too much already.

Then Gamache had it. He'd been wrong. Very wrong. This whole thing was a lie. And it started with the note.

Please, I need to speak to you. Meet me today. Four o'clock at Open Da Night. I'm sorry. I didn't know it was your home.

"How did you know what the man was going to do with my coat?"

"I didn't."

"But you put the note in the pocket. You must've known the coat was going to be returned to me."

And there it was. They were finally at the center of the labyrinth Armand had been wandering in since opening the package that morning.

Now he saw his companion for who he really was. Not some ruined creature chosen at random and being set up. This man was at the center of it all. He knew everything.

The man smiled and nodded. His demeanor, his posture, his face, his entire being transformed into someone else.

"You might not believe it, Monsieur Gamache, but I am trying to help." Even his voice had changed. The joual gone.

"Then why these lies? Why not just tell me? What's going on? What's going to happen?"

"Not ‘going to,'" said "Charles." "Is happening. And has been for a while."

"What?" demanded Gamache. "For Chrissake, out with it."

"To be honest, I don't know the full extent, but the person I work for does, though I'm beginning to wonder which side he's on. And until just now, I didn't know which side you were on."

This shocked Gamache. "Why would you have any doubts about me?"

"I just need to be careful."

"Who told you to break into my home? Who are you working for? A name, man."

"Look, I asked to meet you in person to look you in the eye, to see if you really could be trusted. The fact you kept pushing, the fact you stayed even when you were faced with a pile of bullshit, even when you suspected this might be a setup, told me you will see this through."

"See what through? Come on, enough of the games."

The man stared at Gamache. "This's no game. You have no idea how deep this goes."

"Of course I don't. You haven't told me anything."

"And yet you have suspicions."

Gamache's eyes widened and his voice rose in frustration. "I don't know what you think I know, but I have nothing."

"But you do." The man looked around. "We should go. I've been here too long." Seeing the look on Gamache's face, he smiled. "No. Nothing's going to happen here. This meeting was just to make sure I could trust you."

"And the other note? The list? The one you tried to spill water all over. What does it mean? Why was it given to me?"

For the first time since admitting who he was, the man looked concerned. "I actually don't know. I've never seen it. I don't know why it was put in your coat."

"You didn't put it there?"

"No."

"Then who did? Who had access to the coat once you stole it?"

"My boss. I gave it to him."

"Did you know your boss planned to send the coat back to me?"

"I did. That's why I put my message in the pocket."

"Didn't you wonder why he had it stolen, only to send it right back?"

"He said it was to get your attention."

"And you believed him?"

"Well, it worked." The man almost smiled. Gamache did not.

"Come on, man," said Gamache. "Think. Simply sending my own coat back, without anything else, would've been strange, but it would not get my attention. The notes did. Your note, but also his. You must've known there'd be more to it."

Then Gamache had it. "You wanted to tell me something, but you also want me to tell you something. What?"

And he had. He'd shown this "Charles" the other note. Had that been the blunder?

"I knew there was more," admitted "Charles." "But I didn't know why my boss was trying to get your attention. That list means nothing to me, but the paper does."

"In what way? What does it tell you?"

"The same thing it tells you. I know I've lied my way through this meeting, and you have no reason at all to trust me. Maybe one day you will. But the only thing I really needed out of this was to know if I could trust you. And I do."

Gamache's face told him that his trust was of no concern to him.

"I'll tell you something for free," said Gamache, getting up and putting cash on the table with a large tip. He caught the eye of an agent standing behind "Charles" and glanced down at the coffee mug. "Unless your boss is a complete fool, he found your note and knows about this meeting."

"Charles" grew very still. This was clearly a new and disconcerting thought.

"You need to tell me who he is."

"Charles" shook his head. "Not until I know if he can be trusted. I owe him that much. He's either incredibly brave or…"

Or , thought Gamache. He'd met his share of the "ors." But he'd also met his share of incredibly brave people. He thought, despite the lying, that he might be in the company of one at that moment.