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“And what has she told you?”
“Frankly? Nothing useful. Nothing I hadn’t already read in reports, including yours. Certainly nothing about another attack. If you know more, you need to tell me. Now.”
But Gamache remained focused on his own line of questioning. “How did your prints get on Charles Langlois’s laptop? A computer he hid just before he was murdered.”
“Are you interrogating me, Chief Inspector?”
“We’re having a conversation, a useful and mutual exchange of information, as a defense against ignorance.”
Woodford stared at him, making up his mind. “Jeanne Caron and Charles Langlois came to see me shortly before he was murdered. They had suspicions. To be honest, I never trusted, never liked Madame Caron. She’s a walking bag of dirty tricks. Still is, as far as I know. But the biologist seemed to trust her.”
“You feigned ignorance when I first mentioned Frederick Castonguay. As Caron’s assistant, you must have known him.”
Gamache knew that one skill any ambitious politician developed was a memory for faces and names. The PM could not fail to know a bureaucrat that close to his own office. Never mind one mentioned more than once in subsequent investigations.
“I’m sorry about that. It’s a habit I learned in the army. To gather and hold information close. To not always be completely transparent.” He again studied Gamache. “I suspect we have that in common.”
“It would be helpful, sir, if you could bring yourself to be less opaque. Can you tell me about that meeting?”
“Langlois had found some sort of evidence of a possible attack. He first took it to Caron, and after doing some investigating herself, they came to me. Most of it seemed gibberish. Dark web crap. It amounted to some marginal site hinting at a terrorist attack to do with our water. By the way, the same site also claimed Canada was salting the clouds so that acid rain would melt American cities.”
“In fact, what he’d found were references to the poisoning of Montréal’s drinking water.”
“In retrospect, yes.”
“And you did nothing?”
Prime Minister Woodford shifted in his chair, recrossing his legs.
“What was I supposed to do, Chief Inspector? Like you, I need evidence before I act, and there was none. Just some vague references to threats. I get them by the truckload every day. We can’t react to every one of them. What’s that expression? ‘Saving our powder.’ I told them to come back when they had proof. And now you say something else is planned. But like them, you have no proof.”
It was Gamache’s turn to shift in his seat. “True. But we do have enough circumstantial evidence to warrant investigation. Including the murder of Frederick Castonguay.”
Isabelle, listening and watching, noticed that the Chief Inspector hadn’t told the PM about Charles’s map. Or his suspicions about the second notebook.
Woodford was shaking his head. “So, in other words, you have nothing. Just, what? A feeling? An inkling?”
“A lifetime of experience. Hard-won. It’s not over. Not by a long shot. You saved your powder once, and by that you mean power, and tens of thousands almost died. When exactly do you plan to use it?”
Gamache had crossed a line, and all three knew it. Prime Minister Woodford colored but managed to keep his temper.
“What is it you expect me to do, Chief Inspector?”
“I’m not asking for any action. You’re right, until we know what’s planned, there’s nothing to do.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To warn you. To ask you to be vigilant. To see if you’ve heard any rumblings, any whispers.” Gamache took a deep breath and exhaled. “Anything at all. Something’s stirring. Something that seems to involve you.”
“How so?”
“Some of the posts we found on the dark web are saying you set the forest fires on purpose. They’re calling for your assassination.”
“God, just what I need. More loons making up shit. And why would I set those fires? They’re a disaster. Never mind the environmental catastrophe, but the other issue no one appreciates is the cost of fighting them. And we all know there’ll be more, if not this year or next, then eventually.” He looked out the window, and the others followed his gaze. Sleet was drumming against it. He brought his attention back to the room. “And now those fucking corporations want me to give them compensation for broken illegal contracts. And the American government’s hinting they also want compensation for all the ash.” Prime Minister Woodford held up his hands. “Forgive me. I asked for the job. You’re not here to listen to my problems.”
Gamache smiled. “I’m afraid we’re just adding to them. Pardon, I need to take this.”
He walked a few steps away to take the call, leaving Lacoste and the Prime Minister to stare at each other.
