Myrna, Clara, Dominique grew quiet and watched as the officers walked between the tables, leaving silence in their wake.
Past the three women.
Past the art dealers.
At Normand and Paulette’s table they stopped. And turned.
“May I have a word?” Agent Lacoste asked.
“Here? Now?”
“No. I think perhaps someplace more private, don’t you?” And Agent Lacoste quietly placed the photocopied article on the round wooden table.
Then that table too fell silent.
Except for Suzanne’s groan, “Oh, no.”
* * *
Chief Inspector Gamache rose as they entered and greeted them as though it was his home and they honored guests.
No one was fooled. Nor were they meant to be. It was a courtesy, nothing more.
“Would you have a seat, please?” He motioned to the conference table.
“What’s all this about?” Chief Justice Thierry Pineault asked.
“Madame,” said Gamache, ignoring Pineault and concentrating on Suzanne, pointing to a chair.
“Messieurs.” The Chief then turned to Thierry and Brian. The Chief Justice and his tattooed, pierced, shaved companion took chairs across from Gamache. Beauvoir and Lacoste sat on either side of the Chief.
“Can you explain that, please?” Chief Inspector Gamache’s voice was conversational. He pointed to the old La Presse article in the middle of the table, an island between their sparring continents.
“In what way?” Suzanne asked.
“In any way you choose,” said Gamache. He sat quietly, one hand cupped in the other.
“Is this an interrogation, Monsieur Gamache?” the Chief Justice demanded.
“If it was, neither of you would be sitting with us.” Gamache looked from Thierry to Brian. “This is a conversation, Monsieur Pineault. An attempt to understand an inconsistency.”
“He means a lie,” said Beauvoir.
“You’ve gone too far.” Pineault turned to Suzanne. “I’m going to advise you to stop answering questions.”
“Are you her lawyer?” Beauvoir asked.
“I’m a lawyer,” snapped Pineault. “And good thing too. You can call this what you like, but using a soothing voice and nice words doesn’t disguise what you’re trying to do.”
“And what’s that?” demanded Beauvoir, matching the Chief Justice’s tone.
“Trap her. Confuse her.”
“We could have waited until she was alone and questioned her then,” said Beauvoir. “You should be glad you’re even allowed in here.”
“All right,” said Gamache, raising his hand, though his voice was still reasonable. Both men paused, mouths open, ready to attack. “Enough. I’d like to speak with you, Mr. Justice Pineault. I think my Inspector has a good point.”
But before speaking with the Chief Justice, Gamache took Beauvoir aside and whispered, “Keep yourself in check, Inspector. No more of that.”
He held Beauvoir’s gaze.
“Yessir.”
Beauvoir took himself off to the bathroom and sat once again in a stall. Quietly. Gathering himself up. Then he washed his face and hands, and taking half a pill he looked at his reflection.
“Annie and David are having difficulties,” he whispered and felt himself calm down. Annie and David are having difficulties. The pain in his gut began to slip away.
Outside in the Incident Room, Chief Inspector Gamache and Chief Justice Pineault had walked a distance from the others and now stood beside the large red fire truck.
“Your man is treading too close to the line, Chief Inspector.”
“But he’s right. You need to decide. Are you here as Suzanne Coates’s advocate or her AA—” he paused, not sure what word to use, “—friend.”
“I can be both.”
“You can’t, and you know it. You’re the Chief Justice. Decide, sir. Now.”
Armand Gamache faced Chief Justice Pineault, waiting for an answer. The Chief Justice was taken aback, clearly not thinking he’d be challenged.
“I’m here as her AA friend. As Thierry P.”
The answer surprised Gamache and he showed it.
“You think that’s the weaker role, Chief Inspector?”
Gamache didn’t say anything, but he obviously did.
Thierry smiled briefly, then looked very serious. “Anyone can make sure her rights aren’t violated. I think you can. But what you can’t do is guard her sobriety. Only another alcoholic can help her stay sober through this. If she loses that she loses everything.”
