Page 166 of A Better Man

“Go on,” said Zalmanowitz.

“Suppose Tracey didn’t pack the bag, but Vivienne did. Suppose she called Bertrand, telling him to meet her on the bridge.”

“Why there?” asked the prosecutor.

“Maybe that’s where they always met,” said Gamache. “She shows up and waits for him.”

As he spoke, the cold, dark April evening appeared before them. Vivienne Godin, bruised from Tracey’s latest and last beating, stands on the bridge. Bertrand’s headlights appear down the disused dirt road. Little more than a path.

He gets out, and she tells him she’s pregnant. Maybe even that the baby is his. She might have even believed it.

Tells him she’s leaving her abusive husband and needs his help.

And then Bertrand snaps. Sees his frat-boy life changing completely. In panic, he pushes her backward. Into the railing. It breaks, and, to his horror, she falls.

Beauvoir, Lacoste, Zalmanowitz sat in silence, once again imagining Vivienne’s face as she hung in the air between the bridge and the water. Then disappeared.

“To cover his tracks, he throws her bag in after her,” said Beauvoir.

“Or maybe she had it in her hand or over her shoulder,” said Lacoste. “And it went in with her.”

“But what about Tracey’s boot prints under Vivienne’s car?” asked Zalmanowitz.

“Maybe they weren’t Tracey’s,” said Gamache. “It’s a pretty common boot. Monsieur Béliveau even sells it in his general store in Three Pines. And it’s a standard size for a man. Ten.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that Carl Tracey did not kill his wife?” asked Zalmanowitz. “But that this Gerald Bertrand did?”

“Non,” admitted Gamache. “I’m just following possibilities. Things any defense would throw out there. I have no doubt that Tracey is the murderer, but there are questions.”

Zalmanowitz was quiet, lost in thought, then looked at Gamache again. “Was he afraid?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Tracey. When you first went there to interview him about his missing wife. You said he was belligerent. But did he seem nervous? Afraid?”

Gamache thought, then shook his head. “No. Nor did he seem concerned that his wife was missing, as any normal husband would be.”

“Or any husband smart enough to pretend,” said Lacoste.

“We’re just running in place,” said Zalmanowitz. “Going back over crumbs and trying to assemble a banquet. The only thing we know for sure, besides that Vivienne was killed, is that she called her father that morning, then made four calls to what might, or might not, be a wrong number. Shit.”

He threw down his pen. “All of this could’ve been avoided if she’d just asked her father to come get her. He’s clearly the sort who could hold his own in a fight and would move heaven and earth to rescue her. And he sure wouldn’t shy away from beating the shit out of her abusive husband. We saw that today.”

As Zalmanowitz spoke, he continued to look at Gamache.

“He reminds me a bit of you, Armand. You have a daughter about Vivienne’s age, don’t you?”

“Annie, oui.”

“What would you do if you knew her husband was abusing her?”

Armand raised his brows at Jean-Guy. Barry Zalmanowitz had obviously forgotten, or didn’t know, that they were married.

“I think it’s best if I didn’t answer that.” Then he grew serious. “What I can tell you is that Homer Godin confronted Tracey several times, but when it came down to it, Vivienne always intervened and denied abuse. It’s not clear if she was trying to protect her husband or her father. Or, most likely, was afraid of another beating. Eventually Tracey isolated her, as abusers often do, refusing to allow Homer to visit. Refusing to allow Vivienne to visit him.”

“In his statement, Tracey says it was Vivienne who didn’t want to see her father,” said Zalmanowitz.

“That’s clearly a lie,” said Beauvoir.