“Did you mean what you said?” asked Gamache. “Is that how you feel? Because if it is you need to tell me now, in the light of day. We need to talk about it.”
“Do I believe what?”
“What you said last night. That I wanted the video released, that in your opinion I’m as bad as the hacker.”
Beauvoir’s eyes widened. “Did I say that? Last night?”
“You don’t remember?”
“I remember watching the video, getting upset. But I can’t remember why. Did I really say that?”
“You did.” The Chief peered at Beauvoir. He seemed sincerely shocked.
But was this better? It meant Beauvoir might not believe what he’d said, but it would also mean his Inspector couldn’t remember. Was in a sort of blackout.
Chief Inspector Gamache studied Beauvoir for a moment. Beauvoir, feeling the scrutiny, reddened.
“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “Of course I don’t think that. I can’t believe I said it. I’m sorry.”
And he looked it.
Gamache held up his hand, “I know you are. I’m not here to punish you. I’m here because I think you need help—”
“—I don’t. I’m fine, I really am.”
“You’re not. You’re losing weight, you’re stressed. You’re testy. You let your anger show last night in the interrogation of Madame Coates. Lashing out at the Chief Justice was reckless.”
“He started it.”
“This isn’t a school yard. Suspects push us all the time. We need to stay calm. You let yourself be thrown off balance.”
“Fortunately, you were there to right me,” said Beauvoir.
Gamache regarded him again, not missing the slight acid in the words. “What’s wrong, Jean Guy? You need to tell me.”
“I’m just tired.” He rubbed his face. “But I am getting better. Stronger.”
“You’re not. You were for a while but now you’re getting worse. You need more help. You need to go back to the Sûreté counselors.”
“I’ll consider it.”
“You’ll more than consider it,” said Gamache. “How many OxyContin pills do you take?”
Beauvoir had a protest on his lips, but silenced it.
“What the prescription says.”
“And what’s that?” The Chief’s face was stern, his eyes sharp.
“One pill every night.”
“Do you take more?”
“No.”
The two men stared at each other, Gamache’s deep brown eyes unyielding.
“Do you?” he repeated.
“No,” said Beauvoir, adamant. “Listen, we deal with enough junkies, I don’t want to turn into that.”
“And you think that’s what the junkies wanted?” demanded Gamache. “You think that’s what Suzanne and Brian and Pineault expected to happen? No one starts out with that as the goal.”
“I’m just tired, a little stressed. That’s all. I need the pills to take the edge off the pain, to sleep, but nothing more. I promise.”
“You’ll go back to counseling, and I’ll be monitoring it. Understand?” Gamache got up and carried the chair back to the corner of the room. “If there’s really nothing wrong the counselor will tell me. But if there is, you need more help.”
“Like what?” Beauvoir looked shocked.
“Whatever the counselor and I decide. This isn’t a punishment, Jean Guy.” Gamache’s voice softened. “I still go to counseling myself. And still I have bad days. I know what you’re going through. But no two of us were hurt the same way, and no two of us will get better the same way.”
Gamache regarded Beauvoir for a moment. “I know how horrible this is for you. You’re a private man, a good man. A strong man. Why else would I have chosen you, of the hundreds of agents? You’re my second in command because I trust you. I know how smart and brave you are. And you need to be brave now, Jean Guy. For me, for the department. For yourself. You need to get help to get better. Please.”
Beauvoir closed his eyes. And then he did remember. Last night. Seeing the video over and over, as though for the first time. Seeing himself hit.
And Gamache leaving. Turning his back. Leaving him to die alone.
He opened his eyes and saw the Chief looking at him, with much the same expression as in the factory.
“I’ll do it,” said Beauvoir.
Gamache nodded. “Bon.”
