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Which was true. Beauvoir had never heard Gamache run through those questions, but he had heard, more often than not, a patient and constructive reply.

“Civility,” Armand had said. “How can we expect it if we don’t give it? Besides, when we do get angry, people pay more attention. Otherwise it’s just white noise.”

Is it true? Is it kind? Does it need to be said?

Beauvoir, with effort, ran through the questions as he stood on the bridge, looking at the young agent.

Then he heard himself say, “That’s all right. I do know what I’m doing. But thank you.”

You stupid little shit.

Yes, it did need to be said, but maybe not out loud.

Though he did now wonder what Gamache had chosen not to say out loud.

Beauvoir took the harness from the agent and attached it, expertly, to himself, then put his hand out for the evidence kit.

“I’ll go out first. If it’s safe, you can join me. One at a time. D’accord?”

“Oui, patron,” said the agents.

Turning around to face the rickety old bridge, Beauvoir took a breath and whispered to himself, Don’t pee, don’t pee, don’t pee.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

How can they let that murderer back in the Sûreté? #losingallrespect

@dumbass: Do you mean self-respect?

They dropped Agent Cloutier at the local detachment and headed through the bright spring day, into the morgue.

Gamache had insisted on driving when he saw how exhausted Jean-Guy was.

Beside him, Jean-Guy’s lids were heavy, and he fought to keep his eyes open in the warm car as it moved smoothly along the autoroute.

“I couldn’t be happier for Annie and you,” said Armand. “Your family is growing.”

“As is yours.”

As an only child, growing up without parents, Armand had always yearned for a large family. For brothers and sisters. For aunts and uncles. It was an abstract, though potent, wish.

And now, in his late fifties, he had it. Children. Grandchildren. Sons and daughters. Of the flesh and of the heart. Those he’d held in his arms and those comrades-in-arms whose lives he held in his hands.

His family.

“When’s the baby due?”

“October.”

“Boy or girl? Do you know?”

“We do.” Jean-Guy smiled at his father-in-law. “But you’re not going to get it out of me. Annie and I want to keep that to ourselves.”

“Fair enough. Have you chosen a name?”

Jean-Guy laughed. “You’re not really very good at this interrogation thing, are you?”

“I’m hoping to learn from you, patron.”