Cruelest Month

‘What do you know about Sarah Binks?’

He could see by Hazel’s face the question sounded like nonsense. Blahdity-blah, blah-binks.

‘The Chief Inspector found a book called Sarah Binks in Madeleine’s bedside drawer.’

‘Really? That’s odd. No, I’ve never heard of it before. Was it a—’

‘A dirty book? I don’t think so. The Chief Inspector’s been reading it and laughing.’

‘Sorry, I can’t help.’ It was said politely but Beauvoir could see something else at work. Hazel was disconcerted. By the book or the fact her best friend had kept something secret?

‘You’ve told us about the night Madeleine died, but there was another seance, a few days earlier.’

‘On Friday night at the bistro. I wasn’t there.’

‘But Madame Favreau was. Why?’

‘Didn’t I tell you this before? With the Chief Inspector?’

It was all a bit of a blur to Hazel.

‘You did, but sometimes people’s minds are a little cloudy when we first talk to them. It’s good to hear the story again.’

Hazel wondered if that was true. Her mind, far from clearing, was becoming more and more befuddled.

‘I don’t really know why Mad went. Gabri had put up a notice in the church and the bistro telling everyone that the great psychic Madame Blavatsky was staying at his place and had agreed to bring back the dead. For one night only.’ Hazel smiled. ‘I don’t think anyone took it seriously, Inspector. Certainly not Madeleine. I think it was just a fun evening. Something different.’

‘But you didn’t approve?’

‘I think there’re some things best not toyed with. At best it would be a waste of time.’

‘And at worst?’

Hazel didn’t answer right away. Instead her eyes flitted around the kitchen as though seeking some place safe to land. But finding nothing she returned to his face.

‘It was Good Friday, Inspector. Le Vendredi saint.’

‘So?’

‘Think about it. Why is Easter the most important Christian holy day?’

‘Because that’s when Christ was crucified.’

‘No. Because that’s when Christ rose.’

   TWENTY-SEVEN

As Lacoste snapped pictures in the bedroom of the old Hadley house and Lemieux bagged the tape Gamache opened and closed drawers in the cabinets, bedside table and vanity. Then he walked over to the bookcase.

What had someone wanted in here so much they’d been desperate enough to break the Surete cordon?

Gamache smiled as he saw Parkman’s Works, that odious history of Canada, taught in schoolhouses more than a century ago to kids willing to believe natives were shifty savages and Europeans actually brought civilization to these shores.

Gamache opened one of the volumes at random.

In the form of beasts or other shapes abominable and unutterably hideous, the brood of hell, howling in baffled fury, tore at the branches of the sylvan dwelling.

Gamache closed the book and looked again at the cover, astonished. Was this really Parkman’s Works? Parched and dry and guaranteed to kill of ennui? The brood of hell? It was Parkman’s Works, he confirmed. And the section he’d opened was about Quebec.

‘Agent Lacoste, could you come here?’

When she did he handed her the book. ‘Could you open it, please?’

‘Just open it?’

‘S’il vous plait.’

Isabelle Lacoste held the cracked leather volume between her hands then slowly splayed the cover. The frail pages fanned then after a stunned moment they fell, until the book was open. Gamache leaned over and read, In the form of beasts or other shapes abominable and unutterably hideous …

The book opened itself to that page.

Gamache stared then finally replaced it on the bookcase and took down the one next to it. A Bible. He wondered if it was coincidence, or whether the hand that placed the books together knew the one needed the other. But which needed which? He glanced at the Bible and slipped it into his pocket. He knew what he still needed to do, and every little bit helped. The dark slit in the bookcase, where the Bible had sat, revealed the cover of the next book. A book that was blank on its spine.