The Nature of the Beast

Was she really threatening him? Was this more artifice? A posture? Or did this woman genuinely believe he might be mixed up in this?

Were they on the same side? He knew what his role was, and wasn’t, in this. But he could not figure her out. Mary Fraser appeared socially inept, a little bumbling, maladroit. Soft-spoken and bookish. But she was also fiercely intelligent, and strong.

Armand Gamache never, ever, made the mistake of demonizing strong women. Indeed, he’d been raised by one, married one, promoted one. But he was far from certain he trusted this one.

He took a few steps back and examined her, trying to figure out if she was sincere in her suspicions of him or just trying to toss the rock back.

“What’s at Highwater?” he asked.

“Are you threatening me?” she asked. And she looked genuinely alarmed.

It was not the reaction he’d expected.

He’d hoped to speak to Lacoste and Beauvoir first, but when he saw them leaving Three Pines that morning, he’d made the call himself to Agent Yvette Nichol, a former colleague in the Sûreté. He asked her to track the movements of the CSIS investigators the day before through their cell phones. She reported back half an hour ago.

Instead of spending the day examining Gerald Bull’s Supergun, or searching for the plans, the pings from their cell phones indicated Mary Fraser and Sean Delorme had driven twenty miles away, to the village of Highwater, right on the Vermont border.

“Is what I said threatening?” Gamache asked. “I had no idea. My apologies.”

He left, feeling her eyes on his back until he was out the door of the small library.

He knew where he was going next.

*   *   *

He didn’t get there.

Armand Gamache got as far as the front porch of the bed and breakfast when he saw Lacoste and Beauvoir return. Their car slowed, pulled over, and Jean-Guy leaned.

“We need to talk,” both men said at once.

“I’ll come over to the Incident Room,” said Gamache. He could tell by their faces that something had happened.

As the car pulled away, he noticed a copy of Fleming’s play on the backseat, its cover covered with scribbled notes.

Lacoste and Beauvoir were waiting for him beside the car as he walked across the bridge to the old railway station.

“What’s happened?” he asked.

“You first,” said Lacoste as they went inside and took seats at the conference table.

“I know where the CSIS agents went yesterday,” said Gamache. “I asked Agent Nichol to track their cell phones. I realize I was overstepping—”

Lacoste smiled and held up a hand to stop the apology. “Please, don’t. We want your help.”

Gamache gave a curt nod. “They went to a place called Highwater. It’s in Québec, close to the border with Vermont, about thirty kilometers from here.”

“Do you know it?” Jean-Guy asked, getting up to consult the huge map tacked to the wall.

“No,” he said, joining Beauvoir along with Lacoste. He pointed it out, having already looked it up. “I’ve never been there. I gather it’s pretty small.”

“Hmmm,” said Lacoste. “Any idea what they were doing there? Meeting someone?”

“Could be,” said Gamache, as they returned to their chairs. “They stayed in one place for most of the day, then came straight back. Your turn.”

“Antoinette Lemaitre’s been murdered,” said Isabelle Lacoste, and saw the shock on Gamache’s face. “I know she was a friend of yours.”

He sat back in his chair and stared at them. Taking it in. “What happened?”

“The place was ransacked,” said Beauvoir. “Looks like she interrupted a robbery, or it was made to look like that. She seems to have fallen and hit her head on the corner of the fireplace. Dr. Harris says it happened last night between nine thirty and two thirty in the morning.”

“She was supposed to be at Clara’s,” said Armand. “But she called to cancel. I wonder if the killer—”

“—also thought she’d be at Clara’s and the place would be empty?” asked Lacoste. “Could be.”

Beauvoir excused himself to make some calls while Lacoste told Gamache, succinctly, the story as they understood it so far. Gamache was quiet, focused. Not taking notes, but taking it all in.

“We asked the neighbors if they saw anything but they were all watching Les Filles de Caleb.”

“Maybe Antoinette asked her guests to come at that time for that very reason. She wanted to make sure no one saw them arrive,” said Beauvoir, returning.