Page 21 of The Black Wolf

“We know that the second notebook is the one that matters,” said Beauvoir.

He watched Lauzon for a reaction. There was none.

“I will only speak to Gamache. I deserve that.”

“What you deserve, sir”—Beauvoir lowered his voice and leaned across the table—“is what we both know you are going to get, one night after lights out. If you do not answer me now, Chief Inspector Gamache will ask the warden to return you to the general population.”

That struck home. Lauzon clearly did not realize that the only reason he was alive was because of the man he’d tried to murder.

And now the time had come for the former politician to prove he had worth alive.

Lauzon knew this was the last time he’d be visited. The last time he’d be asked. But there was, alongside the fear, an animal cunning. And for a moment Jean-Guy Beauvoir had a sense of the creature he was locked in with. He felt the hairs on his forearms involuntarily raise.

Lauzon’s mouth curled into what might have been a smile. More like a leer, a sneer.

“Tell your boss that he’s the only one I will talk to. If he won’t come here, then take me to him. Or kill me. But the truth dies with me. As you so eloquently said, it’s just a matter of time.”

Marcus Lauzon got up so quickly his chair scraped the floor and startled Beauvoir. His show of nerves annoyed him and amused the former Deputy Prime Minister of Canada, who seemed to have filled out, feeding on Jean-Guy’s fear.

Evelyn, do you think you can come down to Three Pines and join us for Sunday lunch tomorrow?

Chief Inspector Tardiff sat in her office staring at the message.

“What is it, patronne?” Agent Yvette Nichol asked.

“Gamache wants me to go to Three Pines for lunch tomorrow.”

Nichol stepped closer and read the message over her boss’s shoulder. “Why?”

“He doesn’t say, and if I ask, it would seem suspicious. It might be just social. Sunday lunch with the family.”

“Has he ever asked you before?”

Silence answered that question.

“Will you go?”

Armand was back home in his study, and Reine-Marie had driven off to the Pinnacle Peddler gas station in Richford, Vermont, to find a map of the state.

Isabelle had reported in. They’d arrived at the lake and had asked the pilot to motor around its perimeter, to see if anything stood out, before finding a likely spot to inflate the raft and row to shore.

She sent a few photos. Once again Armand could almost hear the soft lap of water on rock and the splash of plump fish that saw, as yet, no reason to be afraid of people.

If there was a heaven on earth, this was it.

And yet the head of homicide for the Sûreté du Québec was pretty sure visiting that lake was what had gotten Charles Langlois killed. Or had, at least, been the final push over the edge. Even Paradise had its edges, its limits.

Jean-Guy had also written. His meeting with Lauzon had gone nowhere.

He says he’ll only speak to you, patron.

It was not the first time Lauzon had made that demand, but this time Gamache sat back in his chair and considered it as he looked out the window at the village green and the gardens surrounding it. Neighbors were busy cutting back the perennials, the rose bushes and daylilies and hostas, for the winter.

The bee balm would be left, only cut down at the last minute. But the last minute was getting close.

He could feel it in his bones.

One more thing, patron.