A Great Reckoning

CHAPTER 9

“Help yourself,” said Armand, waving toward the sideboard and the bottles lined up there.

Without waiting to see what Brébeuf did, he went into the bedroom and over to Reine-Marie, who was hanging up her clothes.

“You okay?” he asked, watching her fluid movements, her back to him.

Then she turned around and he could see she’d been crying.

“Oh,” was all he managed, taking her in his arms.

After a few moments, she pulled away and he handed her a handkerchief.

“It’s just upsetting,” she said, waving the handkerchief as though to clear the air. “When I see Michel, and hear him, for a moment I forget. It’s like nothing has happened. And then I remember what happened.”

She sighed. And looked toward the closed door.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” she asked, dragging his handkerchief under her eyes to wipe away the mascara.

“Michel Brébeuf is no threat,” he said, holding her hands and holding her eyes. “Not anymore. He’s a paper tiger.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I’m sure, ma belle. Are you all right? Do you want me to ask him to leave?”

“Non. I’m fine. I have some reading to do. You go back and entertain that shithead.”

Armand looked at her with surprise.

She laughed. “I seem to be channeling Ruth. It’s quite liberating.”

“That’s one word for it. After I get rid of Michel, I’ll call an exorcist.”

He kissed her and left.

At one in the morning, Reine-Marie turned out the light. Armand was still in the living room with Michel. She could hear their laughter.

“Oh my God, I’d forgotten that,” said Michel.

The bottle of Scotch had been moved from the drinks table to the coffee table, and the level had moved down considerably.

“How could you forget Professor Meunier?” said Armand, reaching for the bottle and pouring them each another shot. Then sitting back, he put his slippered feet on the footstool. “He was like something out of a cartoon. Barking orders and throwing chalk at us. I still have the scar.”

He pointed to the back of his head.

“You should’ve ducked.”

“You shouldn’t have provoked him. He was aiming at you, as I remember.”

Michel Brébeuf laughed. “Okay, I remember.” His laughter slowed to a chuckle and then silence. “Those were the longest three years of my life. The academy. I think they also might have been the happiest. We were so young. Is it possible?”

“Nineteen years old when we entered,” said Armand. “I looked at the kids here tonight and wondered if we were ever so young. And I wondered how we got so old. It seems no time has passed. Came as a surprise that we’re now the professors.”

“Not just professors,” said Michel, raising his glass in salute. “But the Commander.”

He drank, then looking into the glass, he spoke softly.

“Why…”

“Oui?” said Armand, when the silence had stretched on.

“Leduc.”

“Why did I keep him on?”

Brébeuf nodded.

“You two seemed to hit it off tonight. You tell me.”

“He invited me back to his rooms after the party,” said Brébeuf. “He’s a cretin.”

“He’s worse than that,” said Gamache.

“Yes,” said Brébeuf, studying his companion. “What’re you going to do about him?”

“Ahhh, Michel,” said Armand, crossing his legs and raising his glass to his eyes, so that he saw Brébeuf through the amber liquid. “You worry about your side of the street. There’s enough mess there to keep you busy. I’ll worry about mine.”

Brébeuf nodded, eating a stale sandwich as he thought. Finally he asked, “Have you told the cadets about Matthew 10:36 yet?”

“Non. I’ll leave that up to you.”

Michel tried to get up but couldn’t. But Armand did. He stood up and stood over Brébeuf, large, solid, almost threatening. No longer under the influence, it seemed.

Putting out his hand, and with more strength than Brébeuf expected at that late hour in the day and in their lives, Armand hauled him to his feet.

“Time you left. You have a job to do.”

“But what job? Why am I here?” Michel asked, his eyes bleary, looking into Armand’s familiar gaze. “I need to know.”

“You do know.”

As he left, one bony hand like a claw brushing the wall of the corridor to keep him on course, Michel Brébeuf knew there were probably many reasons Armand had gone all the way to the Gaspé and brought him back. From Percé Rock. From the dead.

Armand had always been the more clever of the two. And there was cleverness at work here.

From that first visit, Brébeuf had known he wasn’t going to be simply a professor. He would be the object lesson, the walking warning to the cadets. What happened when you gave in to temptation. When you listened to the fallen angels of your nature.

But after tonight he suspected there was even more to it than that. More expected. Armand had other things in mind.

If Armand wasn’t going to tell him why he’d invited him to the academy, Michel wasn’t going to tell him why he’d accepted.

And there was another question, just as tantalizing.

Why was Armand really there?

Gamache closed the door and, leaning against it, he brought a hand to his head. It was all he could do not to slump to the floor. It had been a long time since he’d drunk that much. And a long time since he’d dredged up all those memories.

Pushing off from the door, he turned off the lights and carefully made his way to the bedroom, wondering which hangover would be worse in the morning. The one from the alcohol or the emotions.

Over the following weeks the Sûreté Academy fell into a comfortable rhythm of classes, hockey practice, and meals. Of rigorous exercise and volunteering in the community.

Mind, body, and spirit, the cadets were told. Over and over.

It was a structured life, with just enough free time to get the troublemakers into trouble.

After a while the cadets, new and old, came to know what was expected.

The freshmen settled in more quickly than the older students, who found it difficult to adapt to the new set of rules and expectations that were at once more firm and more forgiving than those of the old regime.

It was made clear by the new commander that there were no harsh punishments, but there were consequences. Over and over, the cadets were made aware that actions had effects. Swift and decisive and in proportion to the act. Something that seemed to come as an unpleasant surprise to many of the older cadets, who were used to currying favor.

The new reality won Commander Gamache many supporters, and many more detractors.

Once a week, Reine-Marie would drive in with Armand and that night they’d host a gathering of cadets. It was a chance to air, in confidence, grievances. To ask questions.

They discussed, around the fireplace, old cases, difficult cases. Moral uncertainties, the place of policing in a free society. About when to take a stand, and when to step away.

Issues most of these young people had never considered, but now must.

As the days and weeks progressed, friendships were made. Groups were formed. Allegiances solidified. Rivalries flared. Enemies were made. Lovers attached, and detached.

And Amelia Choquet remained alone. By choice. A class by herself.

Except for the gatherings in the Gamaches’ quarters. It had not been her idea to go. She’d been invited, and she took the invitation as not really optional.

“What is it?” asked Huifen one evening.

She stood beside the Goth Girl, who’d been staring at a small framed picture by the door.

“What does it look like?” asked Amelia.

The Commander could command her to be there, but not to like it, or the other cadets.

“A map,” said Huifen. “Hey, Jacques, look at this.”

Jacques Laurin walked over. He was the head cadet, chosen the year before by Leduc and kept in place by Gamache.

Amelia had never spoken to him, though she’d seen him drilling his squad. Jogging around the frozen quad. He was tall and attractive, with an air about him someone charitable might call assurance. Amelia saw it as arrogance.

And yet, she noticed, he deferred to the small Asian girl.

“So?” he asked.

“It’s kinda neat,” said Huifen.

“It doesn’t make sense,” said Jacques. “There’s a snowman and a rose? The two don’t go together.”

Another cadet had joined them, standing slightly off to the side. The gay kid with the red hair from class, Amelia knew. Nathaniel Something.

“I like it,” he said, and the other three looked at him, and Jacques gave a small, dismissive snort, then turned away from the freshman. The gay Anglo freshman.

But Amelia continued to look at Nathaniel. Who had either the courage, or the stupidity, to contradict the head cadet.

Amelia returned her gaze to the map.

She had no idea why it had such a hold on her. When she’d seen it, that first evening, she’d thought, like Jacques, that it was ridiculous. But every week, during these gatherings, she found herself in front of it.

Was it the cow? The snowman? Those trees that looked like children?

It was silly, but it was also sad. It was, she thought, strange. Maybe that’s why she liked it.

Gamache noticed the group and, walking over, he took the map off the wall. He stared at it, then looked into their expectant faces.

“There’s a mystery about this,” he said. “Any idea what it is?”

He handed it to Huifen, who looked at it more closely and passed it around.

“Why do you have it on the wall?” said Jacques. “I don’t see anything great about it.”

“Then why are you looking at it?” Gamache asked.

The head cadet was as tall as the Commander, but not yet filled out. Not yet substantial.

“There’s no shame in showing curiosity,” said Gamache. “In fact, it’s sort of a prerequisite in an investigator. The more interested you are in things, in people, the better you’ll be at your job.”

Commander Gamache looked down at the map. “This shows the place where Madame Gamache and I live. It was a gift from friends.”

Then, making up his mind, he turned it over and carefully removed it from the frame.

“I have an assignment for you,” he said to the four of them. “Solve the mystery of the map.”

“But it’s not a crime,” said Nathaniel. “Is it?”

“Not every mystery is a crime,” said the Commander. “But every crime starts as a mystery. A secret. Some hidden thought or feeling. A desire. Something not yet illegal that evolves, with time, into a crime. Every homicide I’ve investigated started as a secret.”

He looked at them, as serious as they’d ever seen him.

“You all have your secrets. You might be surprised how many of them I know.”

“And you, sir?” asked Huifen. “Do you have any secrets?”

Gamache smiled. “Lots. I’m a warehouse of other people’s indiscretions.”

“She meant your own,” said Amelia.

“I certainly have things I keep private, and yes, I do have a few secrets.” He turned from her to the other three. “Most of our secrets are pretty benign. Things we’re ashamed to tell others because they make us look bad. But there are a few that fester, that eventually consume us. Those are what we look for, as police. We investigate crimes, but first we investigate people. The things they don’t want others to know. Secrets aren’t treasure, you know. Secrets don’t make you powerful. They make you weak. Vulnerable.”

He looked down at the painting in his hands.

“The skills you’ll need to investigate a crime are the same ones you’ll need to solve the mystery of the map. I want you to work together, as a unit, and come up with the answers.”

“Together?” said Jacques.

“Maybe we can split into teams?” suggested Huifen. “The seniors versus the freshmen?”

“Wait a minute,” said Nathaniel. “That’s not fair.”

“Why not?” demanded Amelia, though she knew the answer.

“How about guys versus girls?” asked Nathaniel.

“There is no ‘versus.’ You’ll do it together,” said Gamache. “As a unit. In the Sûreté, we can’t choose our colleagues. They’re assigned. Get used to it.”

“Is this for credit?” Jacques asked.

“No, it’s for experience. If you don’t want to do it, just excuse yourself from the exercise. It’s all the same to me.”

Jacques looked at the map, and despite himself, he wanted to know.

“I’m in.”

“Bon. I’ll have copies made and dropped off to each of you before the end of classes tomorrow.”

The rest of the evening was spent with the students huddling, working out strategies.

The next afternoon, copies of the map were handed to the four cadets, and the day after that there was a knock on the door of Commander Gamache’s office.

“Oui,” he called, and looked up from his desk.

Huifen, Jacques, Nathaniel, and Amelia entered. He took off his reading glasses and gestured toward the sitting area.

“We’ve solved the mystery,” said Jacques.

“Well, you didn’t do much,” said Amelia.

“I was busy.”

“Yes, being head cadet. I’ve heard.”

“I did most of the work,” said Nathaniel.

“How can you—” Huifen began before the Commander raised his hand and silence descended.

He turned to Jacques.

“And?” he asked.

“And this place doesn’t exist.” Jacques gestured dismissively toward the painting. “It can’t be your home, unless you live in a hole in the ground or a tree trunk. There’s no village there. Nothing. Just forest and mountains. We checked on Google Maps and GPS.”

“I even found some old paper maps of the Townships,” said Nathaniel. “Williamsburg is there, Saint-Rémy. Cowansville. But not the village, the one the map is designed around.”

“Three Pines,” said Gamache.

“You lied,” Jacques repeated.

“Be careful, cadet, with your words,” he said softly.

“That’s the mystery though, isn’t it?” said Huifen. “It’s a map to a fictional place. Why would someone do that? Isn’t that what you really want us to find out?”

Gamache stood up and, walking to the door, he showed them out.

They stood in the hallway, looking at the closed door.

“We fucked up somewhere,” said Amelia, clicking her stud up and down.

“Calling him a liar didn’t help,” said Huifen. “Why would you do that? He’s the Commander.”

“In name only,” said Jacques.

“Isn’t that enough?” asked Nathaniel.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Back to the map,” said Amelia. “We were right, weren’t we? The place doesn’t exist.”

“And yet the Commander said he lives there,” said Huifen.

“He’s fucking with us,” said Jacques. “Like the Duke said he would.”

“Well, I know one way to find out,” said Huifen.

Armand looked in the rearview mirror. They were still there.

It was early evening and already dark. He’d spotted them as soon as he turned out of the academy parking lot to drive home.

At first he thought there was just one car, but after a few kilometers he noticed a second, hanging further back.

He nodded approval. Someone had been paying attention in class.

It was early March and winter still had its grip on Québec. His headlights caught the ragged edges of snowbanks on either side of the secondary road. He drove through the clear, crisp evening, the two cars still behind him.

And then he lost them. Or, more precisely, they lost him.

Sighing, Gamache pulled over into a Tim Hortons outside Cowansville. Parking under the lights, he waited. One of the cars circled once, twice, and on the third time, they spotted him and turned in, parking well away.

The second car had managed to follow him and had pulled off the road a hundred yards beyond the doughnut shop.

Huifen, he suspected. With Jacques, maybe. But he wondered why they hadn’t just called the others in the first car when they pulled over.

They needed, perhaps, another lesson on what teamwork meant.

As Gamache drove out of the parking lot the first car pulled right out, determined not to lose him again. The second hung back.

Yes. There was more skill there. And confidence.

He decided to take the scenic route home.

“Where’s he going?” asked Huifen.

“I don’t know,” said Jacques, bored and hungry. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe he’s lost,” said Amelia.

“Maybe he can’t find the door back into the parallel universe,” said Nathaniel.

It was difficult to tell when he was serious.

“Has anyone been taking notes on where we’re going?” asked Amelia. “I’m lost.”

“That was your job,” said Huifen.

“Mine? I’m in the backseat. I can barely see.”

“Well, I’m driving.”

They argued some more until the road ahead went dark. Very dark. No streetlights. No taillights. No car.

“Tabernac,” said Jacques. “Now where’d he go?”

Gamache shook his head.

“I’ll be a little later than expected,” he said into the Bluetooth.

“Lost them again?” said Reine-Marie. “Well, I’ll set more places at the table. They’ll be hungry when they finally find you again.”

“Merci.”

He put his car in gear and started looking for the cadets, finally finding them parked in a service station. He pulled in, and though he didn’t need any, he decided to gas up. Just to see them scramble. And also to explain his own presence there.

“Shit, there he is,” said Amelia, sliding down in the backseat. “Get down.”

By now they’d gotten so well into the exercise, they’d almost convinced themselves their lives, and those of others, depended on following this man.

They got down. So far down they missed it when the Commander pulled out.

Gamache sighed and paused at the exit to the service station, his blinker on. He all but honked to get their attention.

First thing in the morning, he thought, I’m going to call Professor McKinnon and get her to take the students out and refresh them on trailing a suspect.

Tiring of the exercise and wanting his own dinner, Commander Gamache drove straight home. A motorcade behind him.

“Don’t lose him,” said Jacques.

“I’ll make a note of that,” said Huifen. She was starving and they still had to figure out how to get back to the academy after this. By that time, they’d have missed dinner and would have to break into the kitchens or do with the crackers they had stashed in their rooms.

Up ahead, the Commander’s car disappeared from sight, as though he’d driven off a cliff.

“What the hell just happened?” asked Jacques.

Huifen slowed down and edged the car forward. Then she stopped.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. Behind her Amelia and Nathaniel sat up.

Below them, in the middle of the dark forest, was a radiant village.

Huifen turned off the car and the cadets got out, walking forward. Their boots crunching on the snow and their warm breath coming out in puffs.

They stopped at what felt like the edge of the world.

Amelia tilted her head back, feeling the fresh air raw on her cheeks.

Above them, a riot of stars formed horses and birds and magical creatures.

And below the stars, the village.

“It does exist,” whispered Nathaniel.

Gamache’s car drove slowly by old brick and fieldstone and clapboard homes.

Light spilled from mullioned windows and glowed on the snow.

At the far end of the village, the cadets could see people coming and going from what looked like a brasserie, though the view was obscured by three huge pine trees grown up in the very center of the village.

“We should go.” Nathaniel tugged at Huifen’s coat, but the older girl just stood there.

“Not yet. We need to know for sure.”

“Know what?” he asked. “We followed him and found the village. This is the mystery. Not that it doesn’t exist, but that it does. Let’s go before we get into trouble.”

“Aren’t you curious?” Amelia asked him.

As they watched, the car came to rest in front of a two-story white clapboard home, all lit up. Smoke came out of the chimney into the crisp night air. Puffs. As though the home was breathing.

The Commander got out of the car, but instead of walking up the path cut through the snow to the sweeping front veranda, he turned in the other direction. And walked away from the home. Toward them.

“Oh, shit. Don’t move,” whispered Nathaniel. “He’ll see movement. He’ll hear us.”

At the bottom of the hill, the Commander stopped and peered.

“Be quiet,” Nathaniel whispered. “Be quiet.”

“You be quiet,” hissed Amelia.

“Dinner’s on,” Gamache called into the darkness. “Boeuf bourguignon, if you’re interested.”

Then he retraced his steps. Followed shortly by the munching of tires on snow. He stopped and watched as a car made its way down the hill and around the village green. A single car. He looked up and saw a very faint glow approach the edge of the hill. And recede. It crept back until there was complete and utter darkness up there.

Armand Gamache walked slowly along the path to his home. Thinking. And realizing he’d been wrong.

The cadets were all in one car.

So who was in the other?