The Grey Wolf (Chief Inspector Gamache #19)

Chapter 23

C HAPTER 23

Isabelle Lacoste met the plane and was talking even before they’d gotten out.

“I sent the photos of the Langlois map to the biologist I know at the Freshwater Institute in Winnipeg. I didn’t want to show it to anyone here in Québec.”

Gamache understood. They were in the unfortunate position of not completely trusting anyone except each other.

“And?” he asked as he lugged his satchel out of the hatch.

But Lacoste was distracted by the presence of a man in monk’s robes, awkwardly getting out of the back seat. She looked at the Chief, who explained.

“This is Frère Simon, from the monastery of Saint-Gilbert-Entre-les-Loups. He’s under arrest.”

“On what charge?”

“Obstruction.”

“I didn’t obstruct anything. I answered all your questions. This’s a kidnapping.”

The Chief Inspector took Lacoste aside and whispered, “Protective custody. Make sure he’s comfortable. Has anything he wants except a cell phone.”

“And freedom,” said Beauvoir.

“Before you book him, have him change into civilian clothes. Give him a false name and put him in isolation. Out of anyone’s reach.”

The monk wasn’t wrong, thought Lacoste. This did sound more like a kidnapping than an arrest.

“You think he’s in danger? He knows something?”

“He knows a lot, and I’m not convinced he’s told us everything. If those involved know we have him, and suspect he knows where the laptop and notebooks are, there could be trouble. What were you saying about the map?”

They listened to Lacoste while still keeping an eye on the angry monk standing beside the plane.

“My biologist friend said some of those numbers on Langlois’s map are dates.”

“Yes, we figured that much out ourselves,” said Beauvoir. “The most recent was just days before he was killed. But what about the other numbers?”

“Some are applications for certain companies to exceed pollution limits. And not just applications, those are approvals.” She paused. “The government has given various primary industries permission to exceed their pollution limits by thirty times. Not percent, but times.”

Gamache absorbed this while Beauvoir muttered words the monk should not hear. “Can he give us the names of the companies?”

“He’s looking into it.”

“Good. And the other numbers?”

“He needs to double-check, because he can’t believe it.”

“What?” said Beauvoir.

“They look like approvals—”

“Yes, you said. To pollute.”

“No. These are different. They’re for American companies to buy controlling interest in Canadian plants. Again, primary industries.”

“But that’s illegal,” said Gamache.

“Exactly. The government guards Canadian ownership closely, especially in things like forestry and mining and fisheries.”

“But someone’s giving the shop away,” said Jean-Guy.

“Not someone. He has a name,” said Gamache. “Both of those approvals would have to go through one minister. The one who controls both Environment and Industry, Trade, and Commerce.”

“Marcus Lauzon. Caron’s boss,” said Beauvoir.

That Politician , thought Gamache. “Tell your friend he needs to stop digging and to keep quiet.”

“I will. Patron , there was a map similar to Langlois’s in Madame Chalifoux’s basement—”

“The head of Action Québec Bleu,” Beauvoir reminded Gamache. “Where Langlois worked.”

“That one had pins in it where AQB had done tests, right?” said Gamache, who’d read her report.

“Yes.”

“Did Langlois’s map match up with Chalifoux’s?” asked Beauvoir.

“Not exactly. I showed her his map. She had no idea what the numbers meant. I asked her why he’d go to those lakes and rivers. She said he was assigned to some, but not all. I made of list of the ones he went to on his own.”

“He must’ve been sent by Caron,” said Beauvoir. “His other boss. His real boss.”

Gamache wasn’t so sure. “It’s possible he discovered something on his own. There’s a mark on Langlois’s map on the lake with the monastery. Did she put a pin in that lake too?”

“ Non. ”

Gamache was considering. “Why was Charles Langlois there?”

“We don’t know for sure that he was,” said Beauvoir. “His map ended up there, and maybe his notebooks, but you said yourself, they might’ve been mailed.”

“Still, he knew about Saint-Gilbert and the Abbot. How?” Gamache looked into their blank faces. “Okay, let’s set that aside for now. We need facts, evidence.”

“We need the notebook and laptop,” said Beauvoir.

“We need the missing monks.” Gamache stared at Isabelle.

“Do I have spinach in my teeth?” She moved her tongue around. “I had an omelet for breakfast at the canteen.”

“Do you have a valid passport?”

“Of course I do, patron . What?”

“Have you ever been to Rome?”

While they stood on the tarmac, Gamache handed out the assignments.

Isabelle Lacoste was to search for Frère Sébastien and the American monk in Rome.

Beauvoir’s job was to find out all he could about Frère Sébastien.

“But if he’s in Rome, shouldn’t I be the one to go?” said Beauvoir. “I know what he looks like.”

“He has a point, patron, ” said Lacoste. “Besides, would the Office of the Doctrine of the Faith really welcome a woman asking questions?”

“I doubt it would welcome anyone asking questions,” said the Chief. “But you’d also be beyond suspicion. No one would think anyone in their right mind would send a woman—”

“To do a man’s job?” asked Lacoste, with a wry smile. “And are you in your right mind?”

He grinned. “Perhaps not. If anyone is watching, we have to do the unexpected. Make them think we’re just bumbling along. Not threats at all.”

“They might not be wrong,” said Beauvoir.

“There’s more than enough for you to do here, Jean-Guy. Frère Sébastien knew the American well enough for the monk to turn to him for help. And for Sébastien to drop everything and go. They met somewhere. Spent time together. If you can get a name, we can feed it to Isabelle.”

“A name would help,” she agreed.

“If we have him, then we have what we need to stop whatever’s going to happen.” The Chief Inspector’s voice, while steady, held an unmistakable edge of anxiety. Not panic, but getting close.

“And you, patron ?” asked Lacoste.

“I’ll look into Dom Philippe. Try to work out where the Abbot went after he left the monastery.”

“He went to Rome, non ?” said Beauvoir.

“Yes, but he couldn’t just stroll onto a flight. So how did he get there?”

“He got help,” said Lacoste. “From his family and friends.”

“Must have. I need to find out who they are. Who he stayed with, who he spoke to. And, I hope, find the man himself. If he was in Rome, he obviously came back. He was in Three Pines just a few days ago.” He rubbed his forehead. “The thing is, we can’t wait much longer to sound the alarm. We’re going to have to tell the mayors and Premier and those in charge of treatment plants. To warn them. It’s getting far too dangerous to wait.”

Isabelle and Jean-Guy exchanged looks. They didn’t envy the Chief. It had been his decision to wait. And it would be his decision when to sound the alarm.

And if the terrorists struck first, it would be partly his fault if thousands were killed, without warning. By the deepening lines down his face, it was clear that he was very aware of that.

“Fortunately,” said Gamache, “if one of us succeeds, we have a good chance of stopping this. Find any one of the monks, and we have our answers. Find the laptop and notebooks, and it’s probably even clearer.”

“ Pardon. ” They looked over and saw that Frère Simon had crept closer. Now he looked sheepish. “You were talking about Dom Philippe’s family.”

“Do you know anything?” asked Gamache. “You said all the records had been burned.”

“True, but there was one thing.”

Beauvoir looked like he was going to strangle the maddening monk. “What?”

Simon, understandably, chose to speak to Gamache. “A photograph. The Abbot kept it in his cell. He must’ve taken it with him when he left. It was of Dom Philippe before he joined the order. He’d have been in his early twenties. He was with a young woman and a girl. I think it was his family.”

“He was married?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. The young woman could’ve been his wife, I guess. And the girl his daughter.”

“Was anything written on the back?” asked Gamache.

Simon had obviously studied the photograph, being a man given to curiosity and crossing boundaries. Gamache suspected the picture was not in full view but probably in a drawer, or the pages of a book. And Simon, snooping, found it. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that in violating trust and privacy, the monk might have inadvertently saved thousands of lives.

Simon shook his head. “No, nothing.”

“Can you describe the background? Did it look at all familiar?”

“They were standing in front of what looked like a shack, built on rocks. It looked”—he hesitated to say the word—“desolate.”

“And he never talked about his family? Where he was from?” pressed Gamache. “Now’s the time to tell us. You’re not doing him any favors by holding out. There’s a good chance he’s in danger. We need to find him.”

“ Désolé. I know nothing more.”

Staring at this obstinate man, Gamache could understand the temptation to drag information out of suspects. To beat it out. To pistol-whip and waterboard and do anything necessary to one person, to save tens of thousands. To save his own family.

He would never do it. He thought. But Armand Gamache could understand the frustrations, the fears, the pressures that drove otherwise decent people to it. As Sister Prejean said, No one of us is as bad as the worst thing we’ve done.

Armand could see his worst approaching.

As the monk was placed in an unmarked car, Jean-Guy and Isabelle looked at each other. Finally, Jean-Guy ventured the question.

“Are you going to Ottawa?”

Gamache, reaching for the door handle, paused. He knew what Jean-Guy was asking. And he wasn’t sure how to answer. He leaned on the roof and looked at them.

“You mean to talk to Jeanne Caron.”

“Yes.”

“I can go,” said Isabelle.

“ Non ,” he said, quickly, almost harshly. Then backed off. “Thank you for the offer, but it’s a meeting I need to take myself. Though not just yet. I need to know more. You need to give me ammunition. Preferably a grenade.”

“We know that the package with your coat was sent by Caron. Which means she was involved in the break-in at your home. Isn’t that enough to at least charge her?”

“She’d be released within hours, minutes,” said Gamache. “And she’d know we’re onto her. As it stands, with luck, she doesn’t know we’ve gotten this far. She has no idea, I hope, that we saw her on the Mission security camera, talking to Charles.”

“I hope not,” said Beauvoir.

“Isabelle,” said Gamache, as a thought struck him. “If the letter B was underlined in a note you received, what would you think?”

Instead of laughing at this seemingly ridiculous question, she paused. In that silence, Jean-Guy began humming an old Beatles song.

“The letter B ?” she said. “I’d think the sender was trying to tell me something.”

“Yes, but what? Something to do with the Curia?”

She smiled. “Well, that wouldn’t be my first guess, patron .”

He too smiled. “Sorry. Context. The first note to Frère Sébastien was from someone working in the Curia. It had every letter B underlined. It seems the way he identified himself to Sébastien.”

“Now that is interesting.”

“When you’re there, keep an eye out for something that might begin with B . Or someone.”

“You think it’s the monk’s name?” asked Lacoste.

“I think it’s probable.”

As it turned out, Chief Inspector Gamache was wrong. Very wrong.