Page 137

“Captain Moel? Hardye?”

“Armand? What can I do for you?”

“I’m sorry for the early-morning call, but I need to see you.”

“Of course, let me just check my agenda—”

“Now. Can you come down to Three Pines?”

The head of counseling at the Sûreté paused for just a moment, looking at her packed schedule. “Of course. I’ll leave right away.”

Once off the phone, and still sitting on the side of the road, he called Reine-Marie.

There was no answer. He called Agent Choquet. No answer.

Trying to keep his anxiety in check, he told himself they were safe. They were far away and well out of it. They were just busy.

But he also knew that John Fleming could be anyone, anywhere. Including at the Norwich Castle Museum.

Armand tried again. No answer. He shot off a text. You okay? Call me.

Then he placed a call to Florida to speak to the former head guard of the SHU.

The number on file had been disconnected.

He then called the local sheriff. After checking, the sheriff said that the man Chief Inspector Gamache was looking for was dead. Murdered. Two years ago.

No one had been arrested for the crime.

Armand placed another call to Reine-Marie and felt his heart pound with each unanswered ring.

CHAPTER 31

Reine-Marie saw the man looking around, and waved.

The docent at the Norwich Castle Museum waved back and walked across the flagstone floor to greet them.

The castle was a huge cube dropped, nine hundred years earlier, onto the highest point in the city of Norwich. It was now a public space that included an art gallery and museum.

Reine-Marie and a revived Amelia had turned off their cell phones, as per the request on the noticeboard.

“Madame Cloutier?” the smiling guide said.

“Yes, that’s right. And this is my assistant, Amelia Choquet.”

He looked at Amelia as though trying to decide where in the gallery she should be placed.

“My name is Cecil Clarke, I’m the head docent here. I understand you’re interested in The Paston Treasure?”

He gestured for them to follow him.

He was in his late sixties or early seventies, Reine-Marie guessed. Of average height. Slender. His head was shaved close, as many balding men do. He had a trim white beard and cheerful blue eyes.

He sounded mid-Atlantic. Neither British nor North American.

They strolled by glass cases displaying a wide and wild variety of animals, including a polar bear.

Amelia paused to stare at the great auk, then ran to catch up to Madame Gamache and the docent.