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Until, of course, the day of the raid, which, as fate would have it, was a Sunday.
“Look,” Isabelle was saying, “it’s natural to be afraid. We’ve all been scared. But Comeau’s something else. He’s a coward. He saved himself.”
They looked at Jean-Guy, who’d suddenly gasped.
His hand closed tight over the stolen life preserver as he slid and shoved and fought his way through the frigid water to the cabin door. And the corridor that would take him to Annie and the children. Or …
He turned right.
Papa! Papa!
“You should have known that, patron.” Isabelle’s voice was quiet now.
She was no longer angry. She could see the pain this had caused, still caused Armand. The pain she was causing by throwing salt in a wound reopened by the reappearance of Gaston Comeau.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”
“No, it’s all right.”
Chief Inspector Armand Gamache did not owe Inspector Lacoste any explanation of his reasoning or actions. The head of homicide did not need to apologize.
But Armand did. He owed Isabelle and Jean-Guy that much.
“You’re right. It was a mistake in judgment on my part. I am sorry.” Now he smiled. “But you needn’t worry. He’s had his second chance.”
Help me, patron.
Yes, help him, patron.
While Isabelle and Jean-Guy returned to the Incident Room, Armand turned left up the path to the B&B.
What was he afraid of? It wasn’t overwhelming. Just a low-grade hummm in the background. An anxiety perhaps more than a fear.
Non, best be honest. It’s fear.
He was afraid that, when faced with Gaston Comeau, he’d do something he’d deeply regret.
He’d come close in the past, after arresting a particularly horrific criminal. Sitting across from the unrepentant, leering, smiling killer in the interrogation room, he’d had the almost overwhelming desire to lash out. To punch them so hard in the face it might jar loose a conscience.
So far, he’d managed to control his rage so that it didn’t become outrage. He had to be satisfied with just imagining it.
Yes, he was afraid that this time …
Now he wished he had brought Jean-Guy or Isabelle with him.
He paused at the bottom of the steps.
“Look, there!” The young manager jabbed at the screen. “I don’t know them.”
Chief Inspector Gamache watched as two men and a woman entered the fast-food restaurant and stood just inside the door. They looked around, as though unclear where to go, though the counter was right in front of them.
“Steady. Steady,” said Gamache. “If it is them, we need the leaders.”
Jean-Guy, sitting in a corner by the door with an uneaten burger in front of him, said, “Got ’em. One’s entering by the back, the other—hey!”
A movement on one of the monitors caught Gamache’s eye. He looked behind him.
Comeau was gone. He’d slipped out of the office and now appeared behind the counter. Apparently preparing to take action. To redeem himself. To prove what had happened before was not who he really was.
