A Trick of the Light

“She’s a natural,” said Suzanne, not needing to read the review, “producing art like it’s a bodily function.” She looked up from the table, and smiled. “Never had another solo show. Too humiliated. Even if gallery owners had forgotten I hadn’t. I didn’t think I could survive another review like that.”

She looked at Chief Inspector Gamache.

“All the King’s horses, and all the King’s men,” he said quietly. And she nodded.

“I’d had a great fall.”

“You lied to us,” said the Chief.

“I did.” She looked directly into his eyes.

“Suzanne.” The Chief Justice placed a hand on her arm.

“It’s OK,” she said. “I was always going to tell them the truth, you know that. It’s just a shame they came for me first, before I had a chance to volunteer it.”

“You had plenty of chances,” said Beauvoir.

Pineault jerked, springing to her defense, but contained himself.

“You’re right,” said Suzanne.

“She’s telling the truth,” said Brian.

Everyone turned to him, surprised by the words, but also the voice. It was shockingly young, reminding them that beneath the ink and torn skin was a boy.

“Suzanne asked Thierry and me to join her for dinner. To talk,” said Brian. “She told us all about that.” He gestured an inked hand casually toward the article. “And said she was going to speak to you first thing in the morning.”

It was also shocking to hear this tattooed, pierced kid call the Chief Justice by his first name. Gamache looked at Pineault and couldn’t decide if he admired him for helping such a damaged young man, or felt he’d lost all sense.

What other mistakes in judgment was the distinguished jurist making?

The Chief Inspector turned experienced eyes on Brian. The young man was relaxed, comfortable even. Was he high? Gamache wondered. He certainly seemed removed from the situation. Not amused, but not upset either. Sort of floating above it.

“And what did you tell her?” asked Beauvoir, keeping his eye on Brian. He’d met punks like this before, and it rarely ended well.

“I was torn,” admitted Pineault. “The jurist in me thought she should get a lawyer, who’d probably tell her to keep quiet. Not volunteer information. The AA member thought she should tell the truth immediately.”

“And who won?” asked Beauvoir.

“Your people arrived before I could say anything.”

“You must have known, though, that this was improper,” said Gamache.

“The Chief Justice giving advice to a murder suspect?” Thierry asked. “Of course I knew it was improper, perhaps even unethical. But if your daughter or son were suspected of murder and came to you, would you send them off to someone else?”

“Of course not. But you’re not saying Suzanne is a blood relative?”

“I’m saying I know Suzanne better than most, and she knows me. Better than any parent, sibling, child. Just as we know Brian, and he us.”

“I appreciate that you understand each other’s addiction to alcohol,” said Gamache. “But you can’t claim to know what’s in each other’s hearts. You can’t be saying that just by virtue of being sober and belonging to AA Suzanne is innocent. You can’t possibly know if she’s even telling the truth now. And you can’t possibly know if she’s guilty of murder.”

Thierry bristled at that and the two powerful men stared at each other.

“We owe each other our lives,” said Brian.

Gamache leaned forward, fixing sharp eyes on the young man. “And one of you is dead.”

Still staring at Brian he pointed to the wall behind him. Filled with photographs of Lillian, sprawled in the Morrows’ garden. Gamache had deliberately placed all three facing the wall. And facing the pictures. So that none could forget why they were there.

“You don’t understand,” said Suzanne, her voice rising, an edge of desperation in it now. “When Lillian did that to me,” she pointed to the review, “we were different. Two drunks. I was nearing the end of my drinking and she was just starting. And yes, I hated her for it. I was already fragile and it pushed me right over the edge. After that I spent all day getting pissed and high. Whoring for my next drink. It was disgusting. I was disgusting. And finally I hit bottom and came into AA. And started to put my life together again.”

“And when Lillian walked through the doors of AA twenty years later?” Gamache asked.

“I was surprised how much I still hated her—”

“Suzanne,” the Chief Justice cautioned again.

“Look, Thierry, I’m either going to tell it all, or why bother. Right?”

He looked unhappy, but agreed.

“But then she asked me to be her sponsor,” said Suzanne, turning back to the investigators, “and something weird happened.”

“What?” asked Beauvoir.

“I forgave her.”

This was met with silence, broken eventually by Beauvoir.

“Just like that?”

“Not quite just like that, Inspector. I first had to agree. There’s something freeing, when you help your enemy.”

“Did she ever apologize for that review?” the Chief asked.

“She did. About a month ago.”

“Was she sincere, do you think?” Agent Lacoste asked.