the murky past and in the emotions hidden there.
The paper in his hand would yield the facts but not the truth. For that he had to go to Three Pines. For that he’d have to go, yet again, into the old Hadley house.
‘Who will you take on your team?’ The question brought Gamache back to his friend’s office. Brebeuf had tried to sound casual but the oddity of his query couldn’t be hidden. Never before had he questioned Armand Gamache, his chief of homicide, about procedure and certainly not about anything as mundane as personnel assignments.
‘Why do you ask?’
Brebeuf picked up a pen and tapped it rapidly on a stack of undone paperwork.
‘You know very well why I’m asking. You’re the one who brought her behavior to my attention. Are you going to assign Agent Yvette Nichol to this case?’
There it was. The question that had hounded Gamache on the drive from Mont Royal. Should Nichol be on the team? Was it time? He’d actually sat in his Volvo in the near-empty car park of Surete headquarters, trying to decide. But still, he was surprised his friend had asked.
‘What’s your advice?’
‘Have you made up your mind or is there a chance I might influence you?’
Gamache laughed. They knew each other too well.
‘I’ll tell you, Michel, I’ve just about decided. But you know how much I value your opinion.’
‘
‘A brioche,’ admitted Gamache with a smile. ‘But so would you.’
‘
Michel Brebeuf wasn’t smiling any more.
Gamache opened his mouth to speak but changed his mind. Instead he let his friend vent. And vent he did.
‘One day that ego of yours’ll kill you. That’s all it is, you know. You pretend it’s selfless, you pretend to be the great teacher, the wise and patient Armand Gamache, but you and I both know it’s ego. Pride. Be careful, my friend. She’s dangerous. You’ve said so yourself.’
Gamache could feel his heat rising and had to take a few breaths to keep his calm. To not match anger with anger. He knew Michel Brebeuf was saying this because he was the Superintendent, but also because they were friends.
‘It’s time the Arnot case was ended,’ said Gamache firmly.
And there it was. He’d said it out loud.
Goddamned Arnot, rotting in prison but still haunting him.
‘I thought so,’ said Brebeuf, returning to his chair.
‘Why are you here, Michel?’
‘In my own office?’
Gamache was silent, watching his friend. Finally Brebeuf leaned forward, putting his elbows on his wide desk as though he intended to crawl across and wrap himself around Gamache’s head.
‘I know what happened to you once in the old Hadley house. You were almost killed there—’
‘It wasn’t so bad.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Armand,’ Brebeuf warned. ‘I wanted to be the one to tell you about this case and see how you feel.’
Gamache was silent, deeply touched.
‘There’s something about the place,’ he admitted after a moment. ‘You’ve never been there, have you?’
Brebeuf shook his head.
‘There’s something in there. It’s like a hunger, some need that has to be met. I must sound crazy.’
‘I think there’s a need in you that’s equally destructive,’ said Brebeuf. ‘Your need to help people. Like Agent Nichol.’
‘I don’t want to help her. I want to expose her and her bosses. I believe she’s working for the faction that supports Arnot. I’ve already told you that.’
‘So fire her,’ snapped Brebeuf, exasperated. ‘The only reason I haven’t is because you asked me not to. As a personal favor. Listen, the Arnot case will never be over. It goes too deep into the system. Every officer in the Surete is involved in one way or another. Most support you, you know that. But the ones who don’t,’ Brebeuf now raised his palms in a simple, eloquent gesture of defeat, ‘they’re powerful and Nichol is their eyes and ears. As long as she’s near you you’re in danger. They’ll bring you down.’
‘It works both ways, Michel,’ said Gamache wearily. Talking about former Superintendent Arnot always drained him. It was, he’d thought, an old case. Long dead and buried. But now it was back. Risen. ‘As long as she’s close I can watch her, control what she sees and does.’
‘Foolish man.’ Brebeuf shook his head.
