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Think, think. Think.
Fleming’s eyes followed Armand’s. Then returned.
“All will not be well, of course.” It took Armand a fraction of a second to figure out what he was talking about. Fleming thought he was looking at Florence’s drawing. Not the clock.
Fleming didn’t realize Gamache knew the significance of the time.
“For you or, sadly, little Florence,” said Fleming. “Or Zora. Or Honoré, or even Idola.”
Jean-Guy shrieked, struggling, flailing against his restraints. “Fuck you. Fuck you!” he screamed. “I’ll kill you!!”
Fleming was smiling. Clearly fed and made plump by rage and terror.
“You didn’t think I’d stop with you? I’d hoped they’d all be here, but you were smart enough, Armand, to send everyone to the lake house. Lac Manitou. You didn’t pick up on that either, did you? In our conversation in the chapel I mentioned Lac Manitou. And even intimated I knew that Reine-Marie was in London. You’d sent out word that she was in Gaspé with a sister, so how could I possibly know she was in England? I wondered if I’d gone too far. But you didn’t notice. You were blinded by my grief, my sorrow at losing Sylvie. And so you missed the very clues that could have saved your wife. Your whole family. You were too slow.”
Armand was silent. Thinking. Thinking.
“If you loved her, why did you kill her?” asked Reine-Marie.
“I bet you can guess.” When Reine-Marie was silent, he turned to Armand. Who also remained quiet. “Guess!” Fleming shrieked.
The dogs set up more barking, throwing themselves against the study door.
Fleming’s restraints were weakening, Gamache could see. The outbursts coming more frequently, with greater and greater force.
Whether this was in their favor or not, he didn’t know.
“Release Reine-Marie, let her come over here, and I’ll tell you.”
Fleming grinned. “Really? That’s your idea of bargaining? Telling me something I already know in exchange for a hostage?” He looked at Reine-Marie. “Did you know you married not just a coward but an idiot? I’ll tell you what, Armand. I won’t slit her throat right now if you tell me. But make sure you’re right. If you’re wrong…”
Armand stared at him for a moment. His mind working fast. “You killed her because she’d invited Myrna over for tea.”
He’d considered this before, but with all that had happened in the meantime, he had to recall the details. The theory.
“Sylvie made it sound like it was for the book, but you knew you weren’t even halfway through the one you were reading together, so why would Sylvie ask for another? You were afraid it was about something else. You were afraid of what Sylvie was going to say to Myrna. A therapist.” As he said that he could see that it was wrong. Regroup. Regroup. “But more than that, she’s Harriet’s aunt. You were afraid that Sylvie, so close to death, might be trying to make amends. It wouldn’t be much, could not right the balance of what you and she have done, but it might save at least one life. She would warn Myrna about Sam.”
He looked over at the young man, smirking.
“Did you kill her?” Armand asked. “Harriet.”
“What do you think?”
Reine-Marie groaned, and took several quick, shallow breaths.
“You were afraid that, doped up on painkillers, she’d even confess who you really are,” Armand continued. “And so you killed her.”
Fleming’s face had grown hard, his grip on the knife had tightened. Armand had to do something. Say something.
“But finally, you did it out of love and kindness. As you say, kindness kills.”
Sam, Fiona, Jean-Guy, Reine-Marie, and even Fleming all looked at him, astonished.
“Sylvie was facing a long, painful death.” Armand glanced at Jean-Guy, then continued. “It wasn’t murder, it was a mercy killing.”
“It wasn’t a mercy killing,” Jean-Guy shouted. “It wasn’t love. It was the cold-blooded act of a lunatic.”
Sam made a move, but Fleming stopped him. Recognizing what Jean-Guy was trying to do. Perhaps even seeing the collusion between the two Sûreté officers.
