Page 144
When he returned to the Incident Room, cleaned up and feeling more under control, he called Captain Moel.
“Hardye, I have one more question, though I think I know the answer.”
“Go on.”
“Why would Fleming leave that ticket to the exhibition? He must know we’d find it.”
“Why do you think?”
“Because he wanted us to go there. To waste time.”
“It’s not just that, it’s more insidious. He’s toying with you. He wants you to know that he’s in control. He can make you do anything he wants.”
It confirmed what Armand sensed. He was being manipulated. Every step preordained.
Fleming had had years to plan. He’d had just hours to try to catch up.
“There is one other possibility,” said Hardye. “Something that came to me in the car. It’s possible Fleming is working through someone else.”
“Someone who arrived in the village just before the hidden room was discovered,” Armand said. “You’re thinking of Sam?”
“And Fiona, yes. In fact, honestly, most likely Fiona. She has far more access to you. But that would mean there was some connection between Fleming and the Arsenaults.”
It wasn’t the news he wanted, but he did need to face reality.
He called Beauvoir for an update.
“The warden’s terrified. Refuses to admit anything. Should I send out an alert for Fleming?”
Gamache was prepared for the question.
“Non. We have no proof. And we don’t want him to be warned and go to ground. We need to get Annie and Daniel and the kids away. Someplace safe. I have a friend with a cabin on Lac Manitou in the Laurentians. I’ll call him then send you the address.”
“Yes, yes, good.” Jean-Guy was feeling more and more stressed. “I’ll get them there.”
“Jean-Guy?”
“Oui?”
“About what happened in the SHU—”
“Nothing happened.”
“Merci quand même,” said Armand. Thank you anyway.
If a man’s foes were of his own household, Gamache knew that his friends were too.
When he hung up, Armand noticed Robert Mongeau’s car descending into the village and parking by the church.
The minister got out, slowly, as though walking through hardening concrete. Every movement forced. His head bowed. His eyes to the ground.
Armand’s brows drew together as he watched the slow, labored progress. He could guess what had happened. But he didn’t have time …
He called his friend with the lake house and got permission and a promise to tell no one. After sending Jean-Guy the address, he looked at a photo that had just arrived from Reine-Marie. It was a selfie of her, Amelia, and Cecil Clarke. The man looked nothing like John Fleming.
Armand was about to exhale when he read her message. Clarke was an engineer.
“Damn.” He put in a call to Nathalie Provost.
