Page 87 of The Grey Wolf
“There’s no way Frère Simon could know that the letter to Sébastien was from an American, or the one to the Abbot was from Sébastien, unless he read them,” said Armand.
“He opened the mail.”
“I think he probably made a habit of it. In a closed community secrets are powerful. He said it himself.”
“You think he used what he found in the letters against the others?”
“I’m not sure. How does he strike you?”
Jean-Guy chose a piece of crumbly blue cheese and considered the question.
“I want to say he seems sly, but I actually don’t think he is. I think if he lived anywhere else but here he probably wouldn’t sneak around reading mail. Wouldn’t need to. Maybe he’s just hungry for anything new. For news. So he opens the mail. Not to manipulate, maybe noteven for power, but really just curiosity about the outside world. I’d probably do the same, eventually.”
Armand nodded. He could see the circumstances where he might be driven to it too. Desperate for anything that could stimulate the mind. These monks were supposed to be beyond that, but were, finally, human.
“What could’ve been in that first letter to get Sébastien to leave?” asked Jean-Guy. “And what could he have written to Dom Philippe to get the Abbot to go?”
Armand took a piece of soft cheese and placed it on a wedge of sweet apple. This was just about his favorite part of any investigation. Tossing around ideas. Building on each other’s thoughts.
“It was from an American monk or priest,” said Armand. “Now assigned to the Vatican.”
“There must be lots.”
“Probably, but I expect this one would be a Dominican. Probably someone Sébastien knew from his own time there. So that narrows it down. We need to find Sébastien.”
“Right. I’ll do that.”
Beauvoir was feeling better. There was finally a clear path forward. Something concrete to do. Find this Frère Sébastien, the Hound of the Lord, and most of their questions would be answered.
“If Charles Langlois brought the map here,” he said, “then he probably also brought his notes and laptop. To hide.”
“I think so too. But the monastery is far too big for us to search the whole place ourselves. And even if we could, we need to get back to Montréal to continue the investigation.”
He could feel the tension rise in him. Time was draining away.
“So what do we do? Get a warrant and call in a team?”
“We’ll have to. If Brother Simon is holding out on us and knows where the items are, then maybe the threat of an all-out search by police will be enough for him to hand them over. If not, we take him with us.”
“You’d arrest him?”
“For obstructing our investigation. Charge won’t stick, but he has information we need.”
Jean-Guy slid a look at the Chief Inspector. What he saw was a determined, and very worried, man.
“But why wouldn’t he just give us the stuff?”
“I don’t know. You asked him if anyone else had been here, and he said no. It looks like someone had.”
Gamache nodded toward the map, now spread on the stone floor and held in place by a shoe on each corner.
The notes Langlois had scribbled on it made no sense to either of them. A marine biologist could probably decipher them, but homicide investigators could not.
Jean-Guy had sent off photos of the map to Lacoste. Or at least tried. The email and attachments were in limbo.
“Langlois wasn’t necessarily here,” said Gamache. “He might have mailed the map to the Abbot.”
“Along with his notes and laptop?”
