Page 90 of The Grey Wolf
Then he looked over at the small opening in the stone wall where there was a desk, a narrow bed, and a sleeping monk.
The Keeper of the Keys.
Gamache decided to risk it. Turning on his phone flashlight, he stepped over to the opening and shone it on the wall, where he thought the key—
“What’s going on?” A voice, not as groggy as you’d expect, called out. The Keeper of the Keys sat up in bed as Armand quickly clicked off the light. “What time is it?” The monk grabbed for his glasses. “Am I late? I don’t hear bells.”
“Non, non. Désolé.It’s only four in the morning. I was wondering if I could go out for a walk.”
“A walk?” It was as though the man had never heard of such a thing. The Keeper struck a match and peered at the stranger. “Who are you? Wait, I remember. You’re the police.”
“Yes. I’d like some fresh air,” said Gamache. “Do you mind?”
The Keeper of the Keys looked unsure. Clearly this was a unique, and unwelcome, request.
He lit his candle; then, getting up, he faced Gamache. The man was short and plump. His head was shaved, his face smooth, and his eyes very blue. It was difficult to tell his age, but Gamache estimated about forty, maybe fifty. Perhaps sixty.
The monk grunted and reached for a huge black wrought iron key that hung beside his bed.
As the huge door swung open, Armand paused on the threshold. “I’m wondering if a young man visited here recently.”
“No.”
“You get mail once a week.”
“Yes.”
“What do you do with it?”
“I give it to Frère Simon.”
“Did the Abbot receive much mail?”
“Non.”
“Do you remember one, maybe more, from the Vatican?”
His brows rose. “No. Why would the Pope write us?”
“Not necessarily the Pope. Just anyone in the Vatican.”
The Keeper shook his head.
“Can you remember where any of his mail came from?”
“I didn’t look.”
“Is that true?” Gamache asked, gently.
It seemed reasonable to think that the Keeper would at least glanceat any return addresses, and certainly any intricate crests on an envelope. Surely their vows did not forbid curiosity, even if they could.
“Most don’t have return addresses,” the Keeper admitted. “I can’t remember the Abbot’s mail having any.”
“And nothing from the Vatican?”
The Keeper smiled and with that smile he became fully human. “I’d have remembered.”
“Merci.”
