Annie’s look of astonishment made Beauvoir laugh again.
“Let me guess,” she said. “You didn’t make that up.”
Beauvoir smiled and nodded. “Some German guy said it. And then your father said it.”
“A few times?”
“Often enough that I wake up screaming it in the middle of the night.”
Annie smiled. “I know. I was the only kid in school who quoted Leigh Hunt.” Her voice changed slightly as she remembered, “But most he loved a happy human face.”
Gamache smiled as he heard the laughter from the living room.
He cocked his head in their direction. “Are they finally making peace, do you think?”
“Either that or it’s a sign of the apocalypse,” said Reine-Marie. “If four horsemen gallop out of the park you’re on your own, monsieur.”
“It’s good to hear him laugh,” said Gamache.
Since his separation from Enid, Jean Guy had seemed distant. Aloof. He’d never been exactly exuberant but Beauvoir was quieter than ever these days, as though his walls had grown and thickened. And his narrow drawbridge had been raised.
Armand Gamache knew no good ever came from putting up walls. What people mistook for safety was in fact captivity. And few things thrived in captivity.
“It’ll take time,” said Reine-Marie.
“Avec le temps,” agreed Armand. But privately he wondered. He knew time could heal. But it could also do more damage. A forest fire, spread over time, would consume everything.
Gamache, with one last look at the two younger people, continued his conversation with Reine-Marie.
“Do you really think I don’t want to go to the vernissage?” he asked.
She considered for a moment. “I’m not sure. Let’s just say you don’t seem in a hurry to get there.”
Gamache nodded and thought for a moment. “I know everyone will be there. I suppose it might be awkward.”
“You arrested one of them for a murder he didn’t commit,” said Reine-Marie. It wasn’t an accusation. In fact, it was said quietly and gently. Trying to tease the truth of her husband’s feelings from him. Feelings he himself might not even be aware he had.
“And you consider that a social faux pas?” he asked with a smile.
“More than just a social faux pas, I’d say,” she laughed, relieved to see the genuine humor in his face. A face now clean-shaven. No more moustache. No more graying beard. Just Armand. He looked at her with his deep brown eyes. And as she held them she could almost forget the scar above his left temple.
After a moment his smile faded and he nodded again, taking a deep breath.
“It was a terrible thing to do to someone,” he said.
“You didn’t do it on purpose, Armand.”
“True, but his time in prison wasn’t more pleasant because of that.” Gamache thought for a moment, looking from the gentle face of his wife out into the trees of the park. A natural setting. He so yearned for that, since his days were filled with hunting the unnatural. Killers. People who took the lives of others. Often in gruesome and dreadful ways. Armand Gamache was the head of homicide for the famed Sûreté du Québec. He was very good at his job.
But he wasn’t perfect.
He’d arrested Olivier Brulé for a murder he didn’t commit.
“So what happened?” Annie asked.
“Well, you know most of it, don’t you? It was in all the papers.”
“Of course I read the reports, and talked to Dad about it. But he never mentioned that someone involved might still hate him.”
“Well, as you know, it was almost a year ago,” said Jean Guy. “A man was found dead in the bistro in Three Pines. We investigated and the evidence seemed overwhelming. We found fingerprints, the murder weapon, stuff stolen from the dead man’s cabin in the woods. All of it hidden in the bistro. We arrested Olivier. He was tried and convicted.”
“Did you think he’d done it?”
Beauvoir nodded. “I was sure of it. It wasn’t just your father.”
“So how come you changed your mind? Did someone else confess?”
“No. You remember a few months ago, after that raid on the factory? When your father was recovering in Quebec City?”
Annie nodded.
“Well, he began to have his doubts, so he asked me to go back to Three Pines to investigate.”
“And you did.”
Jean Guy nodded. Of course he’d gone back. He’d do anything the Chief Inspector asked of him. Though he himself had no such doubts. He believed the right man was in prison. But he’d investigated, and discovered something that had truly shocked him.
The real murderer. And the real reason for the killing.
“But you’ve been back to Three Pines since you arrested Olivier,” said Reine-Marie. “This won’t be the first time you’ll have seen them.”
She too had visited Three Pines and become friends with Clara and Peter and the others, though she hadn’t seen them in quite a while. Not since all this had happened.
“That’s true,” said Armand. “Jean Guy and I took Olivier back after his release.”
“I can’t even imagine how that felt for him.”
Gamache was quiet. Seeing the sun gleaming off snowbanks. Through the frosted panes of glass he could see the villagers gathered in the bistro. Warm and safe. The cheery fires lit. The mugs of beer and bowls of café au lait. The laughter.
And Olivier, stalled. Two feet from the closed door. Staring at it.
Jean Guy had gone to open it, but Gamache had lain a gloved hand on his arm. And together in the bitter cold they’d waited. Waited. For Olivier to make the move.
After what seemed an age, but was probably only a few heartbeats, Olivier reached out, paused for one more moment, then opened the door.
“I wish I could’ve seen Gabri’s face,” said Reine-Marie, imagining the large, expressive man seeing his partner returned.
Gamache had described it all to Reine-Marie, when he’d returned home. But he knew that no matter how much ecstasy Reine-Marie imagined, the reality was even greater. At least on Gabri’s part. The rest of the villagers were elated to see Olivier too. But—
“What is it?” Reine-Marie asked.
“Well, Olivier didn’t kill the man, but as you know a lot of unpleasant things about him came out in the trial. Olivier had certainly stolen from the Hermit, taken advantage of their friendship and the man’s frail state of mind. And it turned out that Olivier had used the stolen money to secretly buy up a lot of property in Three Pines. Gabri didn’t even know about that.”
Reine-Marie was quiet, considering what she’d just heard.
“I wonder how his friends feel about that,” said Reine-Marie at last.
So did Gamache.
“Olivier is the one who hates my father?” asked Annie. “But how could that be? Dad got him out of prison. He took him back to Three Pines.”
“Yes, but the way Olivier sees it, I got him out of prison. Your father put him in.”
Annie stared at Beauvoir, then shook her head.
Beauvoir went on. “Your father apologized, you know. In front of everyone in the bistro. He told Olivier he was sorry for what he did.”
“And what did Olivier say?”
“That he couldn’t forgive him. Not yet.”
Annie thought about that. “How did Dad react?”
“He didn’t seem surprised, or upset. In fact, I think he’d have been surprised had Olivier suddenly decided all was forgiven. He wouldn’t have really meant it.”
Beauvoir knew the only thing worse than no apology was an insincere one.
Jean Guy had to give Olivier that. Instead of appearing to accept the apology, Olivier had finally told the truth. The hurt went too deep. He wasn’t ready to forgive.