Page 183
Ça va bien aller.
There was always hope. If he was right, if he was right. If …
It was a huge “if.” He feared it was magical thinking. But Armand Gamache believed in magic.
Amelia’s phone rang.
“Where are you?” the voice demanded.
The person didn’t identify herself, didn’t have to. It was Isabelle Lacoste, Inspector Lacoste, who shared second-in-command duties with Inspector Beauvoir.
“Almost at the Incident Room in Three Pines.”
“The local Sûreté is still seven minutes away. I’m right behind them. Are you armed?”
“Oui.”
“Wait for backup.”
“Oui.”
“Eleven thirty, Armand. You know the significance.”
“Non.”
He did, of course, but wanted to shove Fleming closer to the edge. To give him the impression that something so significant to him meant nothing to the man he hated.
It also kept Fleming’s attention on him. Away from Reine-Marie. Away from Jean-Guy.
Think. Think. Come on.
Gamache’s eyes now gripped Fleming’s.
He could see this insult was working. Fleming, wildly unpredictable, was becoming more unbalanced.
Come on.
“You fucker. You do know. I know you know.”
Gamache just shrugged. “Désolé, but that time means nothing to me.”
He saw Fleming’s eyes narrow. The risk, the terrible risk, was that in pushing Fleming so far, the man would first do harm to Reine-Marie before turning on him.
He could see it in Fleming’s eyes. In his grip on the knife. His grip on Reine-Marie tightening.
“Oh, wait. Is that the time when you left the SHU?” he asked, pulling Fleming back from the cliff.
Fleming glared at him and loosened his grip, slightly. “It’s the time you dragged me back in.”
“Right. But for a brilliant man, you must’ve known I’d never let you out.”
Gamache was scrambling to keep Fleming focused and occupied. And just off-balance enough.
Push, recover. Push, recover.
“The very fact that you thought I would proves your insanity,” Gamache continued. “And now you think you’ve bested me? Do I look like a man in despair? You know, somewhere in that lunatic brain of yours, that there’s something you’ve forgotten, John.”
The room had grown quiet. Beauvoir had stopped shouting. Even the dogs were silent. Time had suspended. The earth had stopped moving.
