Page 12 of The Grey Wolf
“Oui,” said Gamache. The Montréal cop was looking at him, perplexed. He knew how this sounded. And it was about to get worse. “But it was returned this morning.”
“Pardon?”
Gamache repeated it. Even to his own ears it sounded ridiculous. If he hadn’t been who he was, no one would pay any attention to him, or this supposed crime. They’d dismiss him as a crank. And, to be honest, it looked like she was about to.
“I’m not sure what you want from me, sir.”
It was clear, by her wide eyes and nerves, that she knew who this man was. The scar on his forehead, by his temple, would tell her, if nothing else did.
She’d heard many things about Chief Inspector Gamache. What she hadn’t heard was that he was nuts. This was new.
“My people will investigate,” said Gamache. “I just need you towrite a report and say no further action by the Montréal police is expected or required.”
“Okay.” Still perplexed, she left.
As she made her way down the outside stairs, the Scene of Crime team from the Sûreté made its way up.
Once they’d finished with the door, and confirmed it hadn’t been forced, Armand and Jean-Guy stepped in and quickly went through the apartment, to make extra sure nothing else had been removed or added.
It didn’t take long. The place was small, but bright and cheerful, with a comfortable sofa and armchairs. Oriental rugs were scattered on the wood floors, and the bookcases were stuffed with hardcovers and paperbacks. Framed photographs of family and friends stood on the mantelpiece, including one of Armand’s godfather, Stephen Horowitz, who was now living with a niece in Ottawa.
“Where was the coat,patron?” asked the head of the SoC unit.
Gamache pointed to a row of brass hooks by the front door where a woman’s coat hung.
It interested the Sûreté officers to see that the home that the prominent Chief Inspector shared with his wife was so modest. Most knew this was simply a pied-à-terre, that Gamache’s real home was south of Montréal in Québec’s Eastern Townships. Still, this apartment was smaller than they’d have expected the senior officer to have.
Jean-Guy stood in the middle of the living room and tried to work it out.
The door opened away from the hooks, so the thief only had to reach in and grab the coat. There was no “break,” and barely an “enter.”
So why go into a home and then take nothing except some dirty old coat?
And why give it back? Even if, as the note said, the thief hadn’t immediately realized he’d just broken into the home of not just a senior Sûreté officer, but Chief Inspector Gamache, wouldn’t it have been prudent to just throw the jacket away?
And why ask to meet? If he wanted that, why not just ask for an appointment?
Armand had called Reine-Marie and let her know she could come home. She arrived a few minutes later.
“What’s going on?”
“Let’s go into the kitchen.”
They sat at the table by the window and, with the sun streaming in, Armand explained. When he finished, she stared at him for a moment or two before finally speaking.
“So, someone did break in yesterday?”
He nodded.
“And took just your coat?”
Nod.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you think there’s more to it than a simple break-in.”
