Cruelest Month

‘Ducks,’ said Clara, smiling, the tension disappearing as she watched Ruth and her two ducklings walk in line back to the small home on the other side of the green.

‘I didn’t see her go across to Monsieur Béliveau’s for groceries, but Gabri did. He called and told me to look. Apparently the little guys waited outside the store for her, then followed her to the green.’

‘I wonder what she was saying to them.’

‘Probably teaching them to swear. Can you imagine? Our own little tourist destination, the village with ducks that speak.’

‘And what would they say?’ Clara looked at Peter with amusement.

‘Fuck!’ they both said at once.

‘Only a poet would have a duck that said fuck,’ said Clara, laughing. Then she noticed the Sûreté officers leaving the bistro and heading to the old railway station. She was considering going over to say hello, and maybe picking up some information, when she saw Inspector Beauvoir take Chief Inspector Gamache aside. From what Clara could see the younger man was talking and gesturing and the Chief Inspector was listening.

‘Is that what you’re doing?’ Beauvoir tried to keep his voice down. He reached into Gamache’s jacket and took the folded newspaper from where it protruded from his pocket. ‘This isn’t nothing. It’s something, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t know,’ Gamache admitted.

‘It’s Arnot, isn’t it? It’s always fucking Arnot.’ Beauvoir’s voice was getting louder.

‘You need to trust me with this, Jean Guy. This Arnot thing has been around far too long. Time to stop it.’

‘But you’re not doing anything. He’s brought the fight to you, with this.’ Beauvoir waved the paper.

From their window Peter and Clara saw the newspaper waved like a baton. Clara knew if they were watching so were others. Gamache and Beauvoir could not have chosen a more public place for their argument.

‘You’ve known for months, years, that it wasn’t over,’ continued Beauvoir. ‘But still you stayed silent. You’re no longer consulted on major decisions—’

‘But that’s different. The senior officers aren’t doing that because they agree with Arnot. They’re punishing me for going against their decision. You know that. It’s different.’

‘But it’s not right.’

‘You think not? Do you really think when I arrested Arnot I didn’t expect this to happen?’ Now Beauvoir’s arm stopped flapping and he grew very still. Gamache seemed to envelop him in a sort of bubble. His brown eyes were so intense, his voice so deep and forceful. He held Beauvoir there, riveted. ‘I knew that it would happen. The senior council couldn’t allow me to disobey orders and get away with it. This is their punishment. And it’s right. Just as what I did was right. Don’t confuse the two, Jean Guy. The fact that I’ll never get another promotion, the fact I’m not involved in deciding the direction of the Sûreté any more, is not important. I saw that coming.’

Gamache reached out and took the newspaper from Beauvoir and held it gently in his large hands. He lowered his voice almost to a whisper. Nothing in Three Pines moved. It was as though the squirrels and chipmunks and even the birds were straining to hear. And he knew perfectly well the people were.

‘This is different.’ He held the paper up. ‘This is the work of Pierre Arnot and the people still loyal to him. This is revenge, not censure. This isn’t Sûreté policy.’

Let’s hope not, thought Beauvoir.

‘I didn’t see this coming,’ admitted Gamache, looking at the newspaper. ‘Not years after the arrest and trial. Not after the Arnot murders were made public. I’d been warned the Arnot case isn’t over, but I failed to appreciate the loyalty he still commands. I’m surprised.’

He steered Beauvoir toward the stone bridge and over the Bella Bella. Once across he stopped and for a moment watched the frothing waters rush by, leaves and clumps of mud caught up in the force of the normally gentle river.

‘He’s caught you off guard, sir,’ said Beauvoir.

‘Not completely,’ said Gamache. ‘Though I must admit I was surprised by this.’ He patted his pocket where the article sat again. ‘I knew he’d try something, but I didn’t know what or when. I thought the attack would be more direct. This shows a subtlety and a patience I didn’t know he had.’

‘But Arnot’s not doing it. Not directly. He must have people inside the Sûreté. Do you know who they are?’

‘I can guess.’

‘Superintendent Francoeur?’

‘I don’t know, Jean Guy. I can’t talk about it. It’s just suspicion on my part.’

‘But Nichol used to work with Francoeur in narcotics. Francoeur and Arnot were best friends. He just missed being arrested himself for being an accessory to the murders. At the very least he probably knew what Arnot was doing.’

‘We don’t know,’ repeated Gamache.

‘And Nichol worked with him. He was the one who had her transferred back to homicide. I remember you argued with him about that.’

Gamache remembered that too. That cloying, reasonable voice moving like syrup down the telephone line. Gamache had known then. Known that there was a reason Nichol was sent back to him after he’d fired her once.