‘She’s a witch,’ whispered Gabri to Myrna. ‘We know,
‘I knew who I was, but not where I belonged. I felt a stranger everywhere. Until I came here. As soon as I drove down that road into Three Pines I knew I’d found home.’
‘But you also found Madeleine,’ said Gamache.
Jeanne nodded. ‘At the seance that Friday night. And I knew she’d steal my light again. Not because she was greedy, but because I’d hand it to her. I could feel it. I’d found myself, I’d found a home and the only thing missing was finding a friend. And as soon as I saw Mad I knew I’d do it all over again. Try to be her friend, and be rebuffed.’
‘But why kill her?’ asked Clara.
‘I didn’t kill her.’
There were murmurs of disbelief around the circle.
‘She’s telling the truth,’ said Gamache.
‘She didn’t kill Madeleine.’
‘Then who did?’ asked Gabri.
Jeanne stood up, staring into the darkness at the door.
‘Sir?’ The voice at the door was young, tentative, but that made it more frightening somehow, like discovering the devil was a family friend.
Gamache rose too and turned to the door. He could see nothing but black, then eventually an outline appeared. He’d run out of time. He turned back to the circle. All eyes were on him, their faces round and open like searchlights, probing for reassurance.
‘I’ll be back in a few minutes.’
‘You’re not leaving us?’ said Clara.
‘I’m sorry. I have to, but nothing bad will happen to you.’
Gamache turned and walked away from the flickering light, disappearing over the edge of the world.
FORTY-TWO
Agent Lemieux led him to the very end of the corridor and into a dim room where someone sat cross-legged, a flashlight cradled in his lap.
‘Hello, Armand.’
The voice was so familiar. The body, even in the struggling light, immediately recognizable. Beloved over the decades. Sneaking into bars underage, double-dating, cramming for exams, long walks as young men picking apart the world’s problems. And putting it together again, perfect. Smoking together. Quitting together. They’d been each other’s best man. Stood for each other, chosen each other to be godparent to a precious and beloved child.
Suddenly Armand Gamache was back at home, his cheek resting on the back of the rough sofa, eyes trained on the road. Waiting for Mom and Dad. Every other night they’d come home. But tonight a strange car drove in. Two men got out. A knock on the door. His grandmother’s hand finding his, the suddenly strong scent of mothballs from her sweater as she shoved his head into her side, to shield him from the words. But still the words found him and washed over him and clung to him for the rest of his life.
A terrible accident.
And his little friend Michel Brebeuf had been there for him even then. It had been somehow comforting as he grew to know that almost certainly nothing would ever be that devastating again.
Until now.
Now he stood facing the man he loved most in the world. The horsemen were loose and pounding down the slope, horses screaming, weapons raised. There would be no prisoners.
‘
‘You knew, didn’t you? I saw it in your face as I left the elevator this afternoon.’
Gamache nodded.
‘How?’ Brebeuf asked.
Gamache looked round and found Agent Lemieux standing by the door.
‘He stays, Armand.’
Gamache stared at Lemieux, searching his face. But all he found was a cold, hard stare.
‘It’s not too late,’ said Gamache.
‘It’s way too late,’ said the young man. ‘For both of us.’
‘I didn’t mean you,’ said Gamache.
‘How did you know?’ Brebeuf stood up.
‘Secrets,’ said Gamache, surprised to hear his own voice so normal. It seemed like so many conversations he’d
