Page 159

Time’s up.

Gamache went directly to the church, but there was no sign of the caretaker. Just the scraper still lying on the landing. He placed it in a tissue and put it in his pocket. Then he carefully entered the chapel, standing with his back to the door, allowing his eyes to adjust.

He could see Robert Mongeau sitting where he’d left him, his head bowed in prayer.

Taking a quick look around to see if he could spot the caretaker, Gamache walked quietly up to the minister.

“Robert?” But he didn’t move. “Robert?”

When he got close, Gamache noticed a dark patch on the side of Mongeau’s head. He slipped into the pew, just as the minister slumped. Gamache caught him and laid him down, feeling for a pulse.

He was alive, but there was a lot of blood. Mongeau’s eyes opened but seemed unfocused.

“It’s all right, Robert. It’s Armand. It’s going to be all right.” His hands moved swiftly over the minister’s body, looking for other wounds. “Everything will be fine. Stay with me.”

But Robert’s eyes had rolled to the back of his head, and his lids had closed.

Armand tore off his jacket and pressed it to the minister’s head wound, then he quickly considered. He could call an ambulance, but that would take too long.

Lifting Mongeau, he carried him out of the church, down the stairs, and to his car. Seeing this, Gabri and Olivier came running out of the bistro, and Ruth limped quickly across the green.

“Help me,” said Gamache as he struggled to gently lay the minister across the back seat.

Mongeau groaned as Gabri crawled in the other side, took his shoulders, and pulled him across.

“I’m coming with you,” said Ruth. “I know first aid.”

Gamache did not protest. As much as Gabri liked to refer to the elderly poet as the Labrador on the leg of life, she was indeed trained.

Besides, she was already in the car, cradling Robert’s head.

They watched in surprise as Gamache ran back to the church. Once inside, he quickly searched between the pews. Then behind the curtains at the altar. Then downstairs he raced.

But Claude Boisfranc was gone.

Returning to the car, he waved off their questions, then drove as fast as he could to the hospital. When they arrived at Emergency, Mongeau was wheeled in semiconscious, protesting feebly that he was all right, before throwing up and asking for Sylvie.

“You okay?” Armand asked Ruth.

Ruth was looking unwell too.

“Yes, I suppose.” She looked at the swinging doors through which the emergency staff had wheeled the minister. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I found him like that.”

“That’s why you went back to the church, to see if you could find whoever attacked him.”

“Yes.”

“But why would anyone want to hurt the minister?” She turned her rheumy blue eyes on him. “And so soon after Sylvie died. A coincidence?”

It was clear she did not believe that for a moment.

“I don’t see how.” But he had a pretty good idea who. “Can you stay here and wait to see how Robert is?”

“Where will you be?”

“I’m going downstairs to the morgue.”