Page 14 of A Better Man

His eyes came to rest on the one officer as yet unassigned.

Jeez, thought Beauvoir, am I really going to do this to him?

“Would you work with Agent Cloutier and see if there’s anything there? Just for the day?”

“With pleasure,” said Chief Inspector Gamache.

CHAPTER FOUR

“I’m sorry,” Beauvoir said under his breath as they left the meeting.

“Why?” asked Gamache.

“You know why.” Beauvoir cocked his head toward Cloutier, who was at her desk. “She stapled her transfer papers to her thigh the first day here.”

“She isn’t armed, is she?” asked Gamache.

“Are you kidding?”

“Is she working out?” Gamache asked. After all, it had been his decision to transfer this desk agent into homicide.

“Actually, if kept off the streets and away from any citizens or anything sharp, yes.”

“Good to know.”

Gamache watched Agent Cloutier sitting at her desk, staring into space. He tried to believe she was thinking, but the look on her face said that she was paralyzed by indecision.

“Noli timere,” said Beauvoir with a grin.

“Huh. Well, maybe just a little timere,” admitted Gamache. As he considered Agent Cloutier, he thought about her question.

How would you feel…?

How would he feel if his daughter, a grown woman, a married woman, had been missing for a day and a half?

He’d be frantic. He’d hope and pray that someone would pay attention. Someone would help.

Agent Cloutier’s persistence had shown courage. Her question had shown empathy.

Both were extremely valuable, he told himself, even as he watched her knock her phone off the desk. Into the garbage.

She was nervous, that much was obvious. About the missing young woman? About working with him? About failing? Or was there something else?

“I’ve arranged for another desk to be put into the office,” said Beauvoir. He’d almost said “my office” but had stopped himself.

“Merci. I appreciate the thought, but I’d like to sit out here.”

“Really?” Beauvoir looked around.

Desks were placed together, facing each other, two by two. Some neat, some with documents piled high. Some personalized, with family photos and memorabilia. Others antiseptic.

Gamache followed Beauvoir’s gaze. It had been years, decades, since he’d sat in an open bullpen. At a desk like any other.

An investigator like any other.

Far from the humiliation it was meant to be, this actually felt comfortable. Comforting, even. Someone else was in charge, and he could just concentrate on the job at hand.

“If it’s all right with you, I’ll take that desk.” He pointed to the empty one across from Cloutier.