Page 40 of The Grey Wolf
“What we are all working on. Water security.”
He sat forward. “Did Charles think someone was threatening our water supply?”
“Well, yes, Inspector.”
Beauvoir sat very still. He wondered if he was about to hear what Langlois could not tell Gamache.
“We’re all threatening our drinking water, with development, pollutants, climate change, with unchecked industry. I can’t imagine his work had anything to do with his death.” She paused. “I hate to bring it up, but you’re aware of his past?”
“We’re looking into that too. But my questions right now are for you. I’d like to see anything he was working on.”
Beauvoir followed her into the large open space. The eight other workers stared at them. It was clear they’d just found out what had happened. Some of the faces were blotchy from crying. Others looked stoic, stone-faced.
“This is Inspector Beauvoir. He’s with the Sûreté. He has some questions for us.”
“Merci,” he said. “But first I want to look at Monsieur Langlois’s desk.”
Jean-Guy put on gloves and spent a few minutes going over the papers on top of and inside Langlois’s desk.
“There’s not much here. Would you expect more? Don’t touch.”
Madame Chalifoux withdrew her hand and just looked, her brows drawing together.
“He must’ve taken his laptop home. I’d have expected notebooks, but those might be at his place too.”
“Did anyone else come by here today, asking about him?”
Everyone shook their heads.
“Do you know which project he was working on specifically?”
“He was working mostly in the northern and central lakes. Testing for pollution.” This from a young woman.
“Was he working alone?”
She nodded.
“Did he have a supervisor?” A man, thought Beauvoir. The “he” whom Charles had referred to.
“Margaux,” said the young woman, nodding toward Madame Chalifoux.
“No one else?” They shook their heads. “Could Charles have found something in his testing that was dangerous?”
“Well, even up there, there’s a lot of pollution that hurts biodiversity,” an older man said. “Acid rain, PCBs. Mercury stirred up by the hydrodams. If even the algae is affected then—”
At the word “algae,” Beauvoir lost interest. There was only so much he could care about, and that did not make the list.
“I meant for Monsieur Langlois, not pond scum.” They shook their heads and stared at him as though he were a caveman. “How did Langlois come to work for you?”
“He walked in one day and offered his services,” said Madame Chalifoux. “He started as a volunteer. When we got some money, I hired him.”
“Did he say how he came to hear of you?”
“Non, and I didn’t ask. We’re just grateful for the help. We’re a small organization, as you can see. We function mostly on goodwill. No one works full-time, everyone’s paid minimum wage, and most donate at least some of their earnings back to the organization.”
Beauvoir looked at those in the room. Men and women, young and old, from different cultural groups. “You must be very dedicated.”
“Maybe even fanatical,” said an elderly woman. “We do this for our grandchildren.”
