Page 175 of The Grey Wolf
He immediately felt ashamed of himself, for leaving Jean-Guyvulnerable for that split second. Then, as quickly as he’d frozen, he pulled himself together. Though he could feel the flush of cold sweat and his heart throwing itself against his rib cage, trying to get at Jeanne Caron. The unforgiven.
Caron and the Abbot stood at the front of the small chapel. As though waiting for them.
“You’re under arrest,” said Gamache.
“Hands out. I need to see your hands,” commanded Beauvoir. When neither moved, he bellowed, “Your hands! Now!”
There was a moment when the earth stopped moving. When time was suspended. When all the ghosts who followed Armand stood staring at the scene. Wondering if another was about to join them, and if so, who would it be?
Then the Abbot’s hands shot out and up. “Arrested? Why, Armand? We haven’t done anything. We came here to find you. Jeanne is my niece. We’re here to ask for your help.”
“Help?” demanded Beauvoir. “She’s behind it.”
Dom Philippe turned to Jeanne Caron, then back to Beauvoir. “What’re you talking about? Something terrible’s about to happen. She’s trying to stop it.”
“That’s why I was calling you,” said Caron, who hadn’t yet moved.
Gamache had seen Jeanne Caron often enough on the news, standing behind Lauzon, as he made some sort of announcement. He’d seen her age. And yet, in his mind, he still saw the woman in her late twenties who’d looked him in the eyes, so sure of herself, her position, her power. So sure she could bring him down. And she almost had. She’d almost ruined not just him, but young Daniel as well. His son. She’d almost killed his child.
This woman, standing once again in front of him. Slender, elegant, with hair now dyed and lines in her face almost covered by makeup. What hadn’t changed were her eyes. In them he saw the same cold calculation. That certainty that she would win.
“Hands!” snapped Beauvoir.
She finally moved her arms away from her body. “I needed to see you, to warn you, Armand.”
Armand. She called him Armand, as though they were friends. Still, he tried not to focus on such a trivial detail. No doubt meant to get under his skin. And, dare he admit, it had. Was he so very thin-skinned when it came to her?
“About what?” Gamache’s voice was steady, his gaze unyielding.
“There’s going to be an attack on Montréal’s drinking water.” She was pleading, almost begging. “You have to stop it.”
And yet, those eyes. Those eyes as she watched for his reaction. When there wasn’t any, she said, “But you already know. You followed our trail.”
Caron took a step forward.
“Stop!” commanded Gamache. He’d had enough. Turning to Beauvoir, he said, “Give me the gun.”
Without hesitation, he did and watched the Chief walk up to Caron and the Abbot. Dom Philippe took a step back, but Caron held her ground.
Gun in hand, Armand stood where Jean-Guy and Annie had gotten married. On the spot where his grandchildren had been baptized, Armand put a gun to Jeanne Caron’s head.
The Mountie entered the chapel. She shifted her eyes to him. “For God’s sake, make him stop, make him believe me.”
Gauthier did not move.
“I need to know where and when and how it will happen,” said Gamache.
“If I knew that, I could stop it myself, but I don’t.” She was cringing away now, her hands up as though in defense against a bullet.
“What do you know?” he demanded.
“I know it’s soon. I know Lauzon’s behind it. I know the target is one of the six treatment plants, but I don’t know which one. Not for sure.”
He knew she was lying, or, like most accomplished liars, she’d mixed the lie in with the truth. Gamache just hoped if he kept questioning her, some of that truth would slip out.
And that he’d recognize it.
“How did Charles Langlois fit into this?”
