welcome to join me for a drink and a talk.'
Crime was deeply human, Gamache knew. The cause and the effect. And the only way he knew to catch a criminal was to connect with the human beings involved. Chatting in a cafe was the most pleasant, and disarming, way to do it.
'Any questions?'
'Are we in danger?' Hanna Parra, the local elected representative, asked.
Gamache had been expecting this. It was a tough one since they really didn't know whether it was an accident or murder.
'I don't think so. Should you be locking your doors at night? Always. Should you be careful walking in the woods or even around the Common? Yes. Should you not do these things?'
He paused and saw a whole congregation of concern.
'Did you lock the door last night?' Clara whispered to Peter. He nodded and Clara gave his hand a relieved squeeze. 'Did you?' she asked Ben, who shook his head, 'No, but I will tonight.'
'That's up to you,' Gamache was saying. The reaction I see most is caution for about a week after an event of this sort. Then people go back to the way of life that's most comfortable. Some continue the precautions all their lives, others revert to their old way of doing things. Most find a middle ground of prudence. There's no right or better way. Frankly, I would take care right now, but there is absolutely no need for panic.'
Gamache smiled and added, 'You don't look like the panicking kind.' And they didn't, though most did have slightly wider eyes then when they had walked in. 'Besides, I'll be staying at the B. & B. here, if you have any concerns.'
'My name's Old Mundin.' A man aged about twenty-five got up. He was impossibly handsome with curly dark hair, chiseled, rugged face, and a body that spoke of lots of lifting. Beauvoir shot Gamache a look both amused and confused. Was this man's name really 'Old' Mundin? He wrote it down but without conviction.
'Yes, Mr Mundin?'
'I heard as that Lucy weren't with Jane when she died. Is that right?'
'Yes. I understand that's very unusual.'
'You're right there, boy. She went everywhere with that dog. She wouldn't have gone into the woods without Lucy.'
'For protection?' Gamache asked.
'No, just because. Why would you have a dog and not take it on your walk? And first thing in the morning, when a dog yearns to run and do its business. No, sir. Makes no sense.'
Gamache turned to the gathering. 'Can any of you think why Jane would leave Lucy behind?'
Clara was impressed by the question. Here was the head of the investigation, a senior Surete officer, asking for their opinion. There was suddenly a shift, from mourning and a kind of passivity, to involvement. It became 'their' investigation.
'If Lucy was sick or in heat Jane might leave her,' Sue Williams called out.
'True,' called Peter, 'but Lucy's fixed and healthy.'
'Could Jane have seen some hunters and put Lucy back in the house so they didn't shoot her by mistake?' Wayne Robertson asked, then a coughing jag caught him and he sat down. His wife Nellie put her generous arm around him, as though flesh could ward off sickness.
'But', asked Gamache, 'would she go back alone into the woods to confront a hunter?'
'She might,' Ben said. 'She's done it before. Remember a couple of years ago when she caught -' he stopped and grew flustered. Some uncomfortable laughter and a hum followed his aborted remarks. Gamache raised his brows and waited.
'That was me, as you all know.' A man rose from his seat. 'My name's Matthew Croft.' He was in his mid- thirties, Gamache guessed, medium build, pretty nondescript. Beside him sat a slim, tense woman. The name was familiar.
'Three years ago I was hunting illegally on the Hadley property. Miss Neal spoke to me, asked me to leave.'
'Did you?'
'Yes.'
'Why were you there at all?'
'My family has been here for hundreds of years and we were raised to believe that private property doesn't exist in hunting season.'
'That's not right,' a voice resonated from the back of the room. Beauvoir busily made notes.
Croft turned to face the interruption. 'That you, Henri?'
Henri Lariviere, the stone artist, rose majestically to his feet.
'It's the way I was raised,' Croft continued. 'I was taught it was only right to be able to hunt where you chose, since your very survival depended upon getting enough meat for the season.'
'Grocery stores, Matthew. Loblaws not good enough?' Henri said, quietly.
'IGA, Provigo,' others yelled.
'Me,' said Jacques Beliveau, the owner of the local general store. Everyone laughed. Gamache was letting this go on, watching, listening, seeing where it would go.
