There was a pause.
“I do.”
“Good. Why don’t we meet there.”
Francoeur hung up. He knew Gamache would never make the rendezvous. Agents were closing in and would pick up the Chief Inspector any moment now.
He turned to his second in command.
“They know what to do?” he indicated the two agents. One was under the desk, the other was at the door into the schoolhouse, working with wires.
Tessier nodded. The agents had been with him when he’d dealt with Pierre Arnot and Audrey Villeneuve, and others. They did as they were told.
“Come with me.”
At the door, Tessier turned to the agents.
“Don’t forget about Beauvoir. We need him here.”
“Yessir.”
Beauvoir was no longer on the bench, but Tessier wasn’t worried. He was probably passed out in the SUV.
* * *
“What do you think it means?” Jérôme whispered as they watched Francoeur and Tessier walk up the hill out of the village. “Are they leaving?”
“On foot?” asked Nichol.
“Maybe not,” conceded Dr. Brunel. “But at least Beauvoir’s gone.”
They looked at the blank spot in the snow where Myrna’s car had been.
Downstairs, Myrna turned to Ruth. “You gave him my car?”
“Well, I couldn’t very well give him mine. I don’t have a car.”
“Where’d you get the keys?”
“They were on the desk where you always keep them.”
Myrna shook her head, but she couldn’t be angry at Ruth. Beauvoir might have taken Myrna’s car, but he’d taken something far more precious from Ruth.
They heard the door to the bookstore close and looked over at it, then out the window. Gabri was walking swiftly along the road, without a coat or hat or boots. He slipped, but righted himself.
“Shit,” said Nichol, racing downstairs, “where’s he going?”
The Brunels were behind her, and Thérèse stopped the young agent before she followed Gabri outside.“He’s going to the church,” said Clara. She threw on her coat and was almost at the door when Nichol grabbed her arm.
“Oh, no you don’t,” said Nichol.
Clara shook her arm free in a move so sudden and violent it took Nichol by surprise. “Gabri’s my friend and I’m not going to leave him on his own.”
“He’s running away,” said Nichol. “Look at him, he’s scared shitless.”
“I doubt that,” said Ruth. “Gabri will never be shitless. He has an endless supply of it.”
“Was that Gabri?” Olivier hurried through the connecting door from the bistro.
“He’s going to the church,” said Clara. “I’m going too.”
“So’m I,” said Olivier.
“No,” said Thérèse. “You have to look after the bistro.”
“You look after it.” He tossed the tea towel at her and followed Clara out the door.
* * *
Once up the hill and in the woods, Francoeur’s and Tessier’s devices began to buzz. It was as though they’d crossed a membrane from one world to another.
Francoeur paused on the path and scanned his messages.
His orders had been followed, swiftly, effectively. The mess Gamache had created was being contained, cleaned up.
“Merde,” said Tessier. “We thought we had Gamache.”
“You’ve lost him?”
“He threw his cell phone and the tracking device away.”
“And it took your agents this long to figure that out?”
“No, they realized it half an hour ago, but that fucking village stopped the messages from getting through. Besides—”
“Oui?”
“They thought they were following him, but he put the tracking devices on a float in the Christmas parade.”
“Are you telling me the elite of the Sûreté followed Santa Claus through downtown Montréal?”
“Not Santa. It was Snow White.”
“Christ,” Francoeur huffed. “Still, it doesn’t matter. Gamache’s coming to us.”
Before putting his phone back in his pocket, Francoeur noticed a short text, sent to all points almost half an hour earlier, announcing Chief Inspector Gamache’s resignation. So like Gamache, Francoeur thought. Thinking the whole world would care.
* * *