The Brutal Telling - Page 146/160

The voice came from behind them and both men turned to see Roar standing in the doorway to the mudroom. He was four-square, stocky and powerful. His hands were on his hips and his elbows out, like a threatened animal trying to make itself appear larger.

“Then perhaps we can speak to you,” said Gamache.

Roar didn’t budge.

“Please, come into the kitchen,” said Hanna. “It’s warmer there.”

She led them deeper into the house and shot Roar a warning look as she passed.

The kitchen was filled with natural warmth from the sun that spilled in.

“Mais, c’est formidable,” Gamache said. Out of the floor-to-ceiling windows he could see field then forest and in the distance St. Thomas’s steeple, in Three Pines. It felt as though they were living in nature, that the house was no intrusion at all. It was unexpected, certainly unusual. But it wasn’t foreign. Just the opposite. This home belonged here. It was perfect.

“Félicitations.” He turned to the Parras. “This is a magnificent achievement. It must’ve been something you’d dreamed of for a long time.”

Roar dropped his arms and indicated a seat at the glass table. Gamache accepted.

“We talked about it for a while. It wasn’t my first choice. I wanted something more traditional.”

Gamache looked at Hanna, who’d taken the chair at the head of the table. “Must’ve taken some convincing,” he smiled.

“He did,” she said, returning his smile. Hers was polite, without warmth or humor. “Took years. There’d been a cabin on the property and we lived there until Havoc was about six, but he was growing and I wanted a place that felt like ours.”

“Je comprends, but why this?”

“You don’t like it?” She didn’t sound defensive, only interested.

“Just the reverse. I think it really is magnificent. It feels as though it belongs here. But you must admit, it’s unusual. No one else has a place quite like it.”

“We wanted something completely different from where we grew up. We wanted a change.”

“We?” asked Gamache.

“I came around,” said Roar, his voice hard, his eyes wary. “What’s all this about?”

Gamache nodded and sat forward, splaying his large hands on the cool surface of the table. “Why did your son work for Olivier?”

“He needs the money,” said Hanna. Gamache nodded.

“I understand. But wouldn’t he make more money working in the woods? Or working construction? Surely a waiter is paid very little, even with the tips.”

“Why’re you asking us?” Hanna asked.

“Well, I would ask him, if he were here.”

Roar and Hanna exchanged glances.

“Havoc takes after his mother,” said Roar finally. “He looks like me, but has his mother’s temperament. He likes people. He enjoys working in the woods but prefers working with people. The bistro suits him perfectly. He’s happy there.”

Gamache nodded slowly.

“Havoc worked late at the bistro every night,” said Beauvoir. “What time did he get home?”

“About one, rarely later.”

“But sometimes later?” Beauvoir asked.

“Sometimes, I guess,” said Roar. “I didn’t wait up.”

“I imagine you did.” Beauvoir turned to Hanna.

“I did,” she admitted. “But I can’t remember him ever coming home after one thirty. If customers were late, especially if there was a party, he’d have to clean up, so he’d be a little later than usual, but never much.”

“Be careful, madame,” said Gamache quietly.

“Careful?”

“We need the truth.”

“You’re getting the truth, Chief Inspector,” said Roar.

“I hope so. Who was the dead man?”

“Why do you people keep asking us that?” asked Hanna. “We didn’t know him.”

“His name was Jakob,” said Beauvoir. “He was Czech.”

“I see,” said Roar, his face twisting in anger. “And all Czech people know each other? Do you have any idea how insulting that is?”

Armand Gamache leaned toward him. “It’s not insulting. It’s human nature. If I lived in Prague I’d gravitate to the Québécois there, especially at first. He came here more than a decade ago and built a cabin in the woods. He filled it with treasures. Do you know where they might have come from?”