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“Vivienne did. You can ask her when she gets back.”
“Anyone besides your wife.”
“No. Who’d come here?”
Who indeed? thought Gamache.
“So you never left the property on Saturday?”
“No. Wait a minute, I did go into town to buy supplies. Needed to get them before the road turned shitty. Can’t drive on it now.” He eyed them closely. “But that’s probably not news to you.”
“And yet,” said Cloutier, “you say your wife managed to drive out later in the day.”
There was silence, and they could see Tracey’s brain skidding in the muck.
“She could, but you couldn’t?” Cloutier pressed.
“She left at night, when the roads had frozen again.”
He’d hit on an explanation bordering on reasonable. After Tracey had given them the names of the stores he’d visited, Gamache asked, “When was the last time you saw your wife?”
“Saturday night, like I said. We’d been drinking. Vivienne got pissed and started yelling abuse. Told me the kid wasn’t mine. I went into my studio to do some work and get away from her. When I got up next morning, she was gone.”
The phone rang.
“You take it,” said Tracey.
Gamache picked it up and listened. “Bon. Merci.” He hung up. “We have the warrant.”
CHAPTER NINE
Like the rest of the house, the bedroom was a shambles. Bed unmade, bedding dirty. A partly drunk bottle of beer was on the floor next to the bed. An ashtray was overflowing with butts.
In the bedside table, there was a small stash of pot. And rolling papers.
“Yours?” Gamache asked Tracey.
“Hers.”
Gamache nodded, taking that in but not necessarily believing it.
The clock radio blinked 12:00.
Gamache stood in the middle of the room and turned full circle. Clothing was left on the floor where it fell. Socks, underwear, sweaters, jeans. Not just one day’s worth but days. And days.
An agent was going through the closet and the dresser drawers, photographing and cataloging what was there.
It was very difficult to tell if anything had been taken.
Gamache asked Tracey about the clothes. Were they all his? Were some Vivienne’s?
“All mine.”
In Vivienne’s closet clothing was hung up. Her drawers were a bit haphazard, with underwear and turtlenecks and jeans shoved in. But at least clean and off the floor.
Looking at the top of the dresser, he noticed jewelry. Inexpensive. Bright. Bulbous. No photographs, though.
She might’ve taken those with her.
