Page 19

At this point, the young SQ agent was lucky to be alive. Or at least conscious.

Once again Inspector Beauvoir swallowed what he really wanted to say, and instead asked, “How do you know all this?”

“It’s all over the internet. Look it up, sir. And don’t get me started on Gamache. Did you know he abandoned the rest of us and saved himself and his family, then faked an injury so no one would suspect him?”

That finally crossed the line.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know what shit you’re reading, but you need to stop. Use your head, use your intelligence.”

But he could see his words had just bounced off this officer.

Beauvoir took his ID back, and, declining the offer of an escort, drove off.

A line formed between Jean-Guy’s brows. It would be there for the rest of his life.

“What are you seeing?” Armand asked.

“This line,” said Reine-Marie. “Your young biologist must’ve drawn it.”

“Yes, we did see it,” said Armand. He was slightly disappointed. He’d hoped she’d noticed something they hadn’t. “I’ve ordered a map of New England, to see where he might have gone.”

“It’s funny, I have the opposite impression.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought it was the other way around.”

“Go on.”

“Well, look there.” She pointed to a mark along the perforated line.

Armand’s face opened in surprise. What she’d seen, and he’d missed, looked like a circumflex, though it was over a printed letter that should not have the little cap. It was actually a very small arrow. Pointing up.

Armand stood back and drew his brows together. Was it possible they were wrong? Was the movement Charles had drawn not south after all, not from Québec into Vermont, but the other way around?

Was something moving, or going to move, north, into Canada from the States?

Was something headed their way?

“Dr. LaPierre?”

“Vivienne, s’il vous plaît.”

“Isabelle Lacoste. Thank you for doing this, and at such short notice.” They were at the Port de Montréal, standing on a quay. “I’m not sure if you remember, but we’ve met before.”

“I do remember.” The image of the young, grim officer in slow march behind Armand, who was leading the cortège with the coffins of his agents, would stay with Vivienne forever. “Armand speaks highly of you.”

“And you,” said Isabelle as they made their way toward the float plane. “There aren’t many he’d trust with this information.”

“Such as it is.” Vivienne tossed her satchel into the hold of the small craft. She’d brought testing equipment, a tent, a sleeping bag, some tools, some food. She’d considered bringing water, despite the fact they’d be camping on the shores of a lake. She’d seen enough pollution to be wary.

Still, this time she left it behind in favor of thermal underwear.

“He didn’t tell me much.”

“He told you as much as any of us knows,” said Isabelle.

Also a habituée of making camp, Isabelle had brought her own kit, which included not just the usual but also flares and a fishing pole. You never knew when you could get stranded. The Canadian wilderness forgave little. And always punished stupidity.