Page 86 of The Grey Wolf
They needed to trust their instincts, but rely on proof. So far they had precious little evidence. Of anything. Even the plot to poison the water was constructed of guesses.
Still, he reminded himself, something was happening.
Charles Langlois had been murdered.
Charles Langlois probably worked for Jeanne Caron.
Charles Langlois had obviously found something out. Something so dangerous he had to be killed.
Charles Langlois studied water security. And what needed to be more secure than drinking water? Ergo…
These were not unreasonable leaps. This was not complete fantasy.
Armand looked over and saw Jean-Guy going through the contents of a basket.
“Those are just the architectural drawings for the abbey,” said Gamache. He knew that from the first time they visited Saint-Gilbert-Entre-les-Loups. “Leave them.”
Still, Beauvoir unrolled a couple of scrolls, and sure enough, there were drawings, made centuries ago in a careful hand. They weren’t just plans, they were works of art.
“Patron.”
Gamache, knowing that tone, stopped his own search and looked over.
Jean-Guy was holding a scroll. It was paper, not vellum. Both investigators recognized the type of paper. There were similar ones on the walls of their homicide department, and in every incident room when investigating a murder. The Sûreté du Québec ordered them by the truckload.
“It was rolled up inside an old scroll.”
There, on the Abbot’s tilted worktable, was a large map of Québec. It had creases in it, as though it had at one time been folded.
This map was stampedMinistère de l’Environnement du Québec. And on it were handwritten notes in red ink.
Chief Inspector Gamache put on his reading glasses, and both he and Beauvoir brought their phone flashlights close.
The corners of the map were torn, where it had been ripped in haste off a wall. They were pretty sure where those corners could be found.
Gamache’s index finger hovered above the paper as he traced an invisible line from Montréal, up, up. Past the deep green of forests and white of human settlement. He went along the blue of snaking rivers and over lakes. Until he stopped.
The monastery was not shown, but Gamache knew that where his finger hovered was exactly where they stood.
And right there, over what would be the monastery of Saint-Gilbert-Entre-les-Loups, was an asterisk. In bright red ink, like a splotch of blood.
The two officers stared at each other. Both knew what this find meant. But barely dared believe it.
“He was here,” said Jean-Guy, in a whisper. “Charles Langlois was here. He brought this map with him. To hide it.”
Gamache nodded. It seemed a reasonable leap, onto fairly solid ground.
This, finally, was evidence. Of what, he wasn’t yet sure. But they’d find out. And if Langlois brought this map, what else had he given the Abbot for safekeeping?
Soft voices, deep and rhythmic, drifted through the open door and filled the air around them so that it felt as though they were breathing in the prayers of the monks.
Armand inhaled deeply. He’d need all the help, all the prayers, he could get.
CHAPTER21
Compline was long over and the Great Silence had descended on the abbey of Saint-Gilbert-Entre-les-Loups, broken only by the far-off cry of a loon and the whispered conversation of two homicide investigators.
Armand and Jean-Guy sat on the narrow cot in Armand’s cell, backs against the stone wall, knees up, stocking feet lifted off the cold stone floor and resting on the rough blanket. A board of cheeses and sliced apples Jean-Guy had pilfered from the kitchen was on the bed between them.
