there.”
Gamache nodded slowly.
“Havoc worked late at the bistro every night,” said Beauvoir. “What time did he get home?”
“About one, rarely later.”
“But sometimes later?” Beauvoir asked.
“Sometimes, I guess,” said Roar. “I didn’t wait up.”
“I imagine you did.” Beauvoir turned to Hanna.
“I did,” she admitted. “But I can’t remember him ever coming home after one thirty. If customers were late, especially if there was a party, he’d have to clean up, so he’d be a little later than usual, but never much.”
“Be careful, madame,” said Gamache quietly.
“Careful?”
“We need the truth.”
“You’re getting the truth, Chief Inspector,” said Roar.
“I hope so. Who was the dead man?”
“Why do you people keep asking us that?” asked Hanna. “We didn’t know him.”
“His name was Jakob,” said Beauvoir. “He was Czech.”
“I see,” said Roar, his face twisting in anger. “And all Czech people know each other? Do you have any idea how insulting that is?”
Armand Gamache leaned toward him. “It’s not insulting. It’s human nature. If I lived in Prague I’d gravitate to the Quebecois there, especially at first. He came here more than a decade ago and built a cabin in the woods. He filled it with treasures. Do you know where they might have come from?”
“How would we know?”
“We think he might have stolen them from people back in Czechoslovakia.”
“And because they came from Czechoslovakia we’d know about it?”
“If he’d stolen the things do you really think the first thing he’d do is come to a potluck dinner with the Czech Association?” Hanna demanded. “We don’t know this Jakob.”
“What did you do before you came here?” Gamache asked them.
“We were both students. We met at Charles University in Prague,” said Hanna. “I was studying political science and Roar was studying engineering.”
“You’re a councilor for the area,” said Gamache to Hanna, then turned to Roar. “But you don’t seem to have pursued your interests here. Why not?”
Parra paused, then looked down at his large, rough hands, picking at a callus. “I was fed up with people. Wanted nothing to do with them. Why do you think there’s a huge Czech community out here, away from cities? It’s because we’re sickened by what people can do. People goaded by others, emboldened. Infected by cynicism and fear and suspicion. By jealousy and greed. They turn on each other. I want nothing to do with them. Let me work quietly in a garden, in the woods. People are horrible creatures. You must know that, Chief Inspector. You’ve seen what they can do to each other.”
“I have,” Gamache admitted. He stopped talking for a moment, and in that moment lived all the terrible things the head of homicide might see. “I know what people are capable of.” He smiled then, and spoke quietly. “The bad, but also the good. I’ve seen sacrifice, and I’ve seen forgiveness where none seemed possible. Goodness exists, Monsieur Parra. Believe me.”
And for a moment it seemed Roar Parra might. He stared wide-eyed at Gamache as though the large, calm man was inviting him into a home he longed to enter. But then he stepped back.
“You’re a fool, Chief Inspector,” he laughed derisively.
“But a happy one,” smiled Gamache. “Now, what were we talking about? Ah, yes. Murder.”
“Whose car’s in the driveway?” The young voice floated to them from the mudroom and a moment later a door slammed shut.
Beauvoir stood up. Hanna and Roar also rose and stared at each other. Gamache went to the door of the kitchen.
“It’s my car, Havoc. Can we have a word?”
“Sure.”
The young man walked into the kitchen, taking off his cap. His face was sweaty and dirty and he smiled disarmingly. “Why so serious?” Then his expression changed. “There hasn’t been another murder, has there?”
“Why’d you say that?” asked Gamache, watching him.
“Well, you all look so glum. I feel like it’s report card day.”
“In a way it is, I guess. Time to take stock.” Gamache pointed to a chair next to Havoc’s father and the young man sat. Gamache also sat.
“You and Olivier were the last people in the bistro last Saturday night?”
“That’s right. Olivier left and I locked up.”
“And where did Olivier go?”
