A Great Reckoning (11 page)

*   *   *

“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.