Page 14 of The Grey Wolf
“My attention.”
“There’s something else odd about the break-in,” said Beauvoir. “What thief that you know does it in broad daylight? On a Sunday, when neighbors are around? I’ll have the team go door-to-door to see if anyone saw anything. What time did the alarm go off?”
Gamache checked his phone. “We got the call at eleven forty-six yesterday morning.”
Beauvoir passed the information along to the senior investigator.
“There’s a message from Isabelle,” said Gamache. “The surveillance video from Sûreté reception has come through.”
He and Beauvoir sat at the kitchen table and brought up the link.
They watched as a slender young man entered the Sûreté building holding the now familiar package to his chest. The time-code generator said 8:37 that morning.
Beauvoir hit pause and went forward slowly, trying to get a look at his face. But the young man kept his head down and managed to avoid a direct shot from the cameras. Still, it was possible to get a sense of him. Longish, scraggly dark hair. Clean-shaven, lithe. He wore sweatpants and a T-shirt. No piercings or tattoos that they could see.
“Does he seem familiar to you?”
“Non,” said Gamache.
“He’s monumentally foolish. He must know he’ll be on all sorts of cameras.”
“And yet he’s managing to avoid having his face clearly seen.” Not easily done. Without help.
The locksmith arrived, and as he worked, Armand stood at the front door and looked into the apartment. The door opened directly into the living room. From there, what would the intruder have seen?
Comfortable furniture, shelves crammed with books, stacks of magazines waiting to be read. Crayons and coloring books for the grandchildren. Chewed-up, mangy dog toys. Hanging on the wallswere original framed posters from Expo 67 and various concerts and festivals.
And there were photographs. Of children and grandchildren. Black-and-white wedding photos of Armand’s and Reine-Marie’s parents. There was one of Armand’s grandmother standing proudly beside him at his graduation from high school.
The grandchildren thought it was the funniest thing ever. His long hair and slender build. And there on the mantelpiece was a more recent picture of the whole family, including Reine-Marie and himself.
The thought that an intruder had stood there and seen what was most private, most precious, outraged Armand, though outwardly he remained calm. His rational mind, his inspector’s mind, took in the fact that there was nothing there that screamed, shouted, or even whispered that this was the home of a senior Sûreté officer.
So what did the thief see that gave it away?
“No bugs,patron,” reported one of his agents, breaking into his thoughts. “And no cameras. We swept the place twice.”
“Bon, merci.” Gamache couldn’t conceal his relief. The agent saw this and smiled, pleased to bring his boss good news.
They drove back to the office. After a few minutes of silence, Jean-Guy Beauvoir turned to Gamache. “You’re going, aren’t you.”
The Chief nodded.
CHAPTER6
It was five to four.
Gamache sat in the car on rue Saint-Viateur and stared at the green awnings of Open Da Night. He hadn’t had time for lunch, and now, as he watched customers on the terrasse enjoying Italian pastries, Armand realized how hungry he was.
Beside him in the driver’s seat, Jean-Guy was scanning the area to see if the man who’d delivered the package was there. Each officer had been given his photo.
Lacoste texted from inside the café. She and her team were in place.
It was, Beauvoir knew, useless to ask the Chief one more time if he was sure. He was. It was afait accompli, a certainty, from the moment they’d found the note.
Please, I need to speak to you. Meet me today. Four o’clock at Open Da Night. I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was your home.
How could Gamache not meet the fellow who’d broken into his home?
