Page 100

“And reports, oui. I recorded them as they were being erased.”

“Clever.”

But the taxi ride was too bumpy, the video already too shaky, the messages flashing by too quickly, for them to make anything out.

“Damn,” said Beauvoir, clicking it off. “Have to wait until we arrive.”

“Those messages, they were to and from Carole Gossette?” said Gamache. “Your boss? A senior executive? Is that—”

“Unusual? Very. She oversees some projects, but only the really big ones.”

“And she’s the one who quoted Auden, right? About the crack in the teacup leading to death. About something small, some everyday issue, that can be devastating. It was an odd thing to say. What were you talking about at the time?”

Jean-Guy threw his mind back. “About my job. Whether I was there to police.”

Gamache looked out the window as Paris slipped by. Thinking. “We don’t know what those messages are about. She might’ve placed herself on the project because she had suspicions.”

“That’s true,” said Beauvoir, brightening.

Gamache turned to him. “You like her.”

“I do. I can’t see her being involved in anything criminal.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.” But he wondered how much they ever really knew anyone. Even someone they’d known all their lives. “They must’ve panicked when they realized you’d opened the files.”

“Except that I used Arbour’s computer.”

“So they’d think it was her?” said Gamache, nodding. “That was smart. But … still …” His mind was working quickly, trying to put it together. “If someone was monitoring that project and noticed that Séverine Arbour had accessed it, and that set off alarms, that would mean—”

Beauvoir’s eyes opened wider. “That she’s not in on it. If she was, they wouldn’t be concerned, and they sure wouldn’t erase those files. By using her terminal, have I just put Arbour in danger?”

“It’s possible. Do you know where she lives?”

“Non. But I have her number.” He lifted his iPhone, but Gamache touched his arm.

“Just a moment. She might still be in on it. It’s possible what set off alarms wasn’t the computer but the security cameras. They might’ve seen you at her desk.”

Gamache thought, then remembered something curious. “You went to the window of Daniel’s apartment during the interview with Fontaine. You told her you were checking on the kids, but you can’t see the park from there. What were you really looking for?”

“I’m not sure it’s anything, but a guard came up while I was at GHS. They’d never done that before. He asked all sorts of questions.”

“Did he go over to Madame Arbour’s desk?”

“Non. But I saw him again on my ride back. In the métro. He got onto the same car as me.”

Gamache had grown very still. Very focused. His eyes on Jean-Guy were sharp. Quickly absorbing the information.

And Jean-Guy wondered if, maybe, Irena Fontaine had been right. And Chief Inspector Gamache had done more than just instruct recruits to Canada’s elite tactical team, Joint Task Force Two.

Though it did occur to Beauvoir to wonder what had happened to Task Force One.

“You were looking out the window for him,” said Gamache.

“Yes. But no sign of him. He was probably just going home. He didn’t get off at my stop. I think I was just spooked.” Jean-Guy tapped his phone then showed it to Gamache. “I took a picture of him. His name’s Xavier Loiselle.”

Gamache studied the photo, in case he saw the man again, then looked at Jean-Guy. “You have good instincts. What do they tell you?”

Jean-Guy shifted. He really hated it when Gamache talked about instincts, or accused him of being intuitive. It was, he was pretty sure, an insult.