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I was wrong. I’m sorry. I don’t know. I need help.
They’d watched, impotent, as Gamache had been brought down. Then thrown aside.
But today he’d come back. To them.
He always wore a suit and tie, a crisp white shirt, as he did today. Even in the field. As a sign of respect for victim and family. And as a symbol of order in the face of the chaos that threatened.
He looked unchanged. But that, they knew, was superficial. Who knew what was going on underneath?
Gamache stepped into the conference room. “Bonjour.”
“Bonjour, patron,” came the response.
He nodded, subtly acknowledging the salutes, while also indicating they weren’t necessary.
“Superintendent, I didn’t expect to see you here.” He put out his hand, and Isabelle Lacoste took it. A far more formal greeting than the one they’d exchanged when she and her family visited the Gamaches in Three Pines.
“I was in the neighborhood,” she said.
“I see.” He glanced at the wall clock. “Your first appointment is in half an hour, I believe.”
Isabelle Lacoste smiled. He knew. Of course he’d know. That she was there that morning for a round of interviews, speaking to various departments. To see which one she’d head up once her leave was over in a few weeks.
Though it wasn’t a complete coincidence she’d scheduled the appointment on Chief Inspector Gamache’s first morning back.
“It is. I’m starting at the top.”
“The janitorial service?”
“Of course. A girl can dream.”
“All your years cleaning up my messes—”
“Finally paying off, oui.”
He laughed.
Gamache knew that Isabelle was actually starting with the Serious Crimes division. Which would make her, in effect, his boss.
“You have your pick of positions, Superintendent. Any one of them would be lucky to have you.”
“Merci.” She was genuinely moved by what he said.
He turned then and offered his hand to the young agent closest to him. “We haven’t met. I’m Armand Gamache.”
The agent froze, staring at the hand, then into the smiling face. Into his eyes.
Not the eyes of the moron some were claiming in the tweets. Not the eyes of the cold-blooded killer others were depicting.
As the agent introduced himself, he caught a very slight scent of sandalwood and rose.
“Ah, oui,” said Gamache. “You were with the security detail at the National Assembly in Québec City.”
“Oui, patron.”
“Settling into Montréal all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
