Page 148 of A Better Man

“What can we do, patron?” Lacoste asked, going to him and touching his hand.

“There’s nothing to be done. Mais merci, Isabelle. I’ve spoken to the families.” His smile was tight and his voice brisk. “How did the interview go with Pauline Vachon?”

As they returned to the meeting room to talk privately, both Lacoste and Beauvoir noticed that Gamache’s right hand was closed into a tight fist. But still it trembled.

They watched on the monitor as Pauline Vachon turned the folder around and went through the photographs and printouts.

Then she sat back in her chair. And stared at the far wall.

Seeing, Lacoste knew, all her work, all her dreams, dissolving.

Then Beauvoir closed the feed on his laptop and turned to Lacoste.

“Tell us what happened.”

When Lacoste finished, Beauvoir thought for a moment. “She’ll crack.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Lacoste. “She’s clever and she’s tough. Makes me so angry. She really could’ve made something of her life. I still don’t know why she’d hook up with Carl Tracey.”

“She saw a shortcut,” said Beauvoir.

“To what? An abusive relationship in a remote farmhouse? Not exactly Cinderella.”

“She probably thought she was smarter, tougher than Vivienne Godin,” said Beauvoir. “That she could control Tracey.”

“We saw the bruises on her arms,” said Cloutier. “She must know.”

“Maybe she does. Maybe it’s the cycle of abuse, right, patron?” said Beauvoir, and Gamache nodded.

Beauvoir and Lacoste exchanged glances but said nothing. They’d give him time, and space, to return to them.

Beauvoir sat forward, his voice all business. “The coroner’s report came in. The fetus, a baby girl, was his.”

“His who?” asked Lacoste, needing to be absolutely clear.

“Carl Tracey. The baby was his.”

“You’re kidding.” It was, of course, rhetorical. Isabelle Lacoste sat back in her chair. What did this mean?

“Do you think Vivienne knew this and was messing with Carl when she told him it wasn’t his?” she asked. “Or did Vivienne really believe the baby was someone else’s?”

“We only have Tracey’s word on it that she said anything,” Beauvoir pointed out. “I think that’s bullshit. Her father said she was desperate to get out as soon as she could, that day. Why would she provoke Tracey by saying anything?”

“What did Pauline Vachon say about the messages on the private Instagram?” Gamache asked, speaking for the first time in the meeting. “How did she explain them?”

“Said they were about clay he was buying.”

Gamache frowned. “Smart. She’s quick on her feet.”

“She is that,” agreed Lacoste. “This might not be as easy as we’d hoped.”

“But she must know no one in their right mind would believe that,” said Beauvoir. “Not after what happened.”

“Do you get the impression she cares for Tracey?” Gamache asked.

“Not especially,” said Lacoste. “I think she has sex with him for the same reason she has sex with so many other men. It’s a form of self-loathing.”

“What role do you think she has in all this?” Gamache asked.