Bury Your Dead

One team was trying to trace the call, another was analyzing the farmer’s voice, teams were combing the countryside and following leads on the ground. All coordinated by Chief Superintendent Francoeur.

Though there was no love lost between the two men, Gamache had to admit he was grateful to the Chief Superintendent. Someone had to take charge and he clearly couldn’t.

Gamache’s voice with Morin was calm, almost jovial, but his mind was racing.

Something was very wrong. It didn’t make sense, none of this did. As Morin talked about his puppy Gamache was thinking, trying to put it together.

Then he had it. Leaning into his computer he fired off an instant message.

The farmer isn’t a farmer. It was an act. Get the voice analysts to verify his accent.

They have, came Agent Isabelle Lacoste’s response. The accent’s genuine.

She was in Ste-Agathe, gathering information at the scene of the shooting.

Get them to look harder. He’s not the bumpkin he wanted us to believe. He can’t be. So what is he? In his ear he heard Morin talking about dog food.

What are you thinking? Beauvoir joined in. He was outside in the Incident Room, helping the investigation.

Suppose this wasn’t an accident? wrote the Chief, his fingers pounding the keyboard, typing quickly as his thoughts raced. Suppose he wanted to kill an agent and kidnap another? Suppose this was the plan all along.

Why? asked Beauvoir.

There was a pause on the telephone line. “What’s your dog’s name?” Gamache asked.

“We call her Bois because she looks like a log.” Morin laughed, as did the Chief.

“Tell me all about her.”

I don’t know, Gamache typed while Agent Morin told him about taking the dog home from the SPCA to Suzanne. But let’s say this is all planned, then that includes the timing. 11:18 tomorrow morning. They want us occupied until then. It’s misdirection. They want us looking one way while they do something somewhere else.

Something is planned to happen at 11:18 tomorrow morning? Both Beauvoir and Lacoste typed.

Or, typed the Chief, something that ends at 11:18 tomorrow morning. Something that’s going on right now.

There was a pause. The cursor throbbed on Gamache’s quiet screen while in his ears he heard about Bois’s current habit of eating, and pooping, socks.

So what do we do? Beauvoir asked.

Gamache stared at his blinking cursor. What do they do?

You do nothing, appeared on the screen.

Who is this? typed Gamache quickly.

Chief Superintendent Francoeur, came the equally quick response. Gamache looked up and saw the Chief Superintendent in the Incident Room at a computer also staring at him through the window. You, Chief Inspector, will continue to talk to your agent. That’s your one and only job. Inspector Beauvoir and Agent Lacoste will continue to follow my orders. There can only be one leader of this investigation, you know that. We’ll get your agent back, but you need to focus and follow a clear chain of command. Do not splinter off. That only helps the criminals.

I agree, wrote Gamache. But we need to consider other possibilities, sir. Including that this is all part of a well-organized plan.

A plan? To alert every cop in North America? An agent’s been killed, another kidnapped. Pretty crappy plan, wouldn’t you say?

Gamache stared at the screen then typed. This farmer isn’t who he appears to be. We’d have found him by now. We’d have found Agent Morin. Something is going on.