stood. The large man had diminished, lost weight. He looked careworn. Tired.
“Gabri,” said Gamache, and the two old friends stared at each other.
“Monsieur,” said Gabri. He shifted a jar of allsorts and another of jelly beans on the polished wood counter, then came around. And offered Gamache a licorice pipe.
Myrna walked in a few minutes later to find Gabri and Gamache sitting quietly by the fire. Talking. Their heads together. Their knees almost touching. An uneaten licorice pipe between them.
They looked up as she entered.
“I’m sorry.” She stopped. “I can come back. I just wanted to show you this.” She held a piece of paper out to Gabri.
“I got one too,” he said. “Ruth’s latest poem. What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know.” She couldn’t get used to coming into the bistro and seeing only Gabri. With Olivier in jail it felt as though something vital was missing, as though one of the pines had been cut down.
It was excruciating, what was happening. The village felt torn and ragged. Wanting to support Olivier and Gabri. Appalled at the arrest. Not believing it. And yet knowing that Chief Inspector Gamache would never have done it unless he was certain.
It was also clear how much it had cost Gamache to arrest his friend. It seemed impossible to support one without betraying the other.
Gabri rose, as did Gamache. “We were just catching up. Did you know the Chief Inspector has another granddaughter? Zora.”
“Congratulations.” Myrna embraced the grandfather.
“I need fresh air,” said Gabri, suddenly restless. At the door he turned to Gamache. “Well?”
The Chief Inspector and Myrna joined him and together they walked slowly round the village green. Where all could see. Gamache and Gabri, together. The wound not healed, but neither was it getting deeper.
“Olivier didn’t do it, you know,” said Gabri, stopping to look at Gamache directly.
“I admire you for standing by him.”
“I know there’s a lot about him that sucks. Not surprisingly, those are some of my favorite parts.” Gamache gave a small guffaw. “But there’s one question I need answered.”
“
“If Olivier killed the Hermit, why move the body? Why take it to the Hadley house to be found? Why not leave it in the cabin? Or stick it in the woods?”
Gamache noticed the “he” had become an “it.” Gabri couldn’t accept that Olivier had killed, and he certainly couldn’t accept that Olivier had killed a “he” not an “it.”
“That was answered in the trial,” said Gamache, patiently. “The cabin was about to be found. Roar was cutting a path straight for it.”
Gabri nodded, reluctantly. Myrna watched and willed her friend to be able to accept the now undeniable truth.
“I know,” said Gabri. “But why move it to the Hadley house? Why not just take it deeper into the woods and let the animals do the rest?”
“Because Olivier realized the body wasn’t the most damning evidence against him. The cabin was. Years of evidence, of fingerprints, of hairs, of food. He couldn’t hope to clean it all up, at least not right away. But if our investigation focused on Marc Gilbert and the Hadley house he might stop the progress of the paths. If the Gilberts were ruined there was no need of horse trails.”
Gamache’s voice was calm. No sign of the impatience Myrna knew it could hold. This was at least the tenth time she’d heard the Chief Inspector explain it to Gabri, and still Gabri didn’t believe it. And even now Gabri was shaking his head.
“I’m sorry,” said Gamache, and clearly meant it. “There was no other conclusion.”
“Olivier isn’t a murderer.”
“I agree. But he did kill. It was manslaughter. Unintentional. Can you really tell me you believe he’s not capable of killing out of rage? He’d worked years to get the Hermit to give him the treasure, and feared he might lose it. Are you sure Olivier wouldn’t be driven to violence?”
Gabri hesitated. Neither Gamache nor Myrna dared breathe, for fear of chasing away timid reason fluttering around their friend.
“Olivier didn’t do it.” Gabri sighed heavily, exasperated. “Why would he move the body?”
The Chief Inspector stared at Gabri. Words failed him. If there was any way to convince this tormented man, he would. He’d tried. He hated the thought that Gabri would carry this unnecessary burden, the horror of believing his partner falsely imprisoned. Better to accept the wretched truth than struggle, twisting, to make a wish a reality.
Gabri turned his back on the Chief Inspector and walked onto the green, to the very center of the village, and sat on the bench.
“What a magnificent man,” said Gamache, as he and Myrna resumed their walk.
“He is that. He’ll wait forever, you know. For Olivier to come back.”
Gamache said nothing and the two strolled in silence. “I ran into Vincent Gilbert,” he finally said. “He says Marc and Dominique are settling in.”
“Yes. Turns out when he’s not moving bodies around the village Marc’s quite nice.”
