Lacoste was back at work and didn’t see Gamache slip the second book into his pocket too. But Lemieux did.
Gamache knew he was wasting time. The sun would soon set and he sure didn’t want to do it in the twilight.
‘I’m going to search the house. Are you all right here?’
Lacoste and Lemieux looked at him as his children Daniel and Annie had when he’d told them it was time they tried to swim across the bay without life jackets.
‘You’re strong enough swimmers.’
But still they couldn’t believe he’d ask this of them.
‘And I’ll be right beside you in the rowboat.’
He could still see the hesitation in Daniel’s eyes. But Annie dived right in. There was no way Daniel was going to be left behind so in he went too.
Daniel, sturdy and athletic, had swum the bay easily. Annie had barely made it. She was small and scrawny, as Reine-Marie had been at her age. But unlike Daniel, she lost no energy to fear. Still, she was so young and the bay so wide, she’d barely made it, sputtering the last few meters, her father encouraging her and practically dragging her to shore with his words, like ropes attached to the beloved little body. Twice he’d almost reached in and plucked her from the waters, but had waited and she’d found the strength to carry on.
Sun-warmed towels were wrapped around small excited bodies and Armand Gamache, holding and rubbing his children in his big, strong arms, had wondered if he’d made a mistake, having Annie try at the same time as Daniel. Not because Annie almost didn’t make it, but because she had. In his arms he could feel Daniel pull away at first, then finally subside and agree to be held and comforted and congratulated.
Daniel, for all his bulk and strength, was the fragile one. The needy one. And still was.
Looking at Lacoste and Lemieux he had the same impression. But which was strong and which was needy? And did it matter? As with his children, he believed in them both.
‘Would you like some help?’ Lacoste asked, resolved to the terrible task, if he wished it.
‘You have enough to do, thank you. When you’re finished go back to the Incident Room. I’m hoping the coroner will have something.’
Isabelle Lacoste watched him disappear into the darkness as though swallowed by the house.
He was gone and she was alone. With Lemieux. She liked Robert Lemieux. He was young and enthusiastic. There was never any struggle for power with him. Unlike Nichol, he was a pleasure to work with. Nichol was a complete disaster. Smug, sullen, self-absorbed. What disturbed Lacoste was why Chief Inspector Gamache kept her around. He’d fired her once, but when Nichol had been reassigned to homicide he’d simply given in. Without a fight.
And here she was again. Gamache could have assigned Nichol to cases in far-flung regions. He could have given her administrative jobs at Surete headquarters. But instead he assigned her to the most difficult field cases. With him.
Everything happens for a reason, Gamache said. Everything. And Lacoste knew there was a reason for this. She just wished she knew what it was.
‘How’re you doing?’ Lemieux asked.
‘Almost finished. You?’
‘A couple more things I need to do. Why don’t you head back?’
‘No, I’ll wait.’ Lacoste didn’t want to abandon Lemieux in this terrible place.
Lemieux’s phone had been vibrating for five minutes now. All he wanted to do was answer it. Why wouldn’t she leave? ‘Why?’
‘Can’t you feel it?’
He knew he should at least pretend to be uncomfortable but the truth was the old Hadley house did nothing to him. But he could see the others, even Gamache, perhaps especially Gamache, react to it.
‘It’s like there’s something here with us,’ said Lacoste. ‘As though something’s watching us.’
They stood still, Lacoste hyper-vigilant, paying attention to every creak, every cranny, Lemieux riveted on the phone vibrating in his pocket.
‘Careful,’ he said. ‘You’ll scare yourself to death.’
‘The murderer chose well. This place would scare the devil himself.’
‘Look, you have a ton of work back at the Incident Room. I’m fine. Really.’
‘Really?’ she asked, desperate to believe it.
Leave, he wanted to scream.
‘Really. I’m too stupid to be afraid.’ He smiled. ‘I don’t think the devil takes stupid people.’
‘I think he only takes stupid people,’ said Lacoste, and wished they weren’t standing in the old Hadley house talking about the devil. ‘Okay, I’ll see you later. You have your cell in case—’
‘In case?’ he smiled, teasing, and trying to get her to the door. ‘I do.’ Isabelle Lacoste stepped into the dark hallway with its worn carpet and smell of mold and decay. As soon as his back was turned she ran down the hallway, down the stairs almost tripping over her feet, and out the door, as though spewed from some gloomy womb into the world.
‘You knew Madeleine Favreau had breast cancer?’ Inspector Beauvoir asked.
