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He hit send just as Judge Morin himself opened his door and peered into his waiting room. He opened his eyes wide. His assistant was not, it seemed, mistaken.
Chief Inspector Gamache was sitting there quietly amid the criminals and their lawyers. A calm harbor in a sea of angst.
“You wanted to speak to me?”
“I did, Your Honor.” He got to his feet. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“I presume this is again about the exhumation order. I will tell you,” Judge Morin said as he waved Gamache to a worn leather armchair, “what I told your officer. I will not issue an exhumation order without proof whoever is in that grave is indeed material to your murder investigation.” He sat behind his large desk. “You might find my reasoning maddening, even anachronistic, but digging up a soul in peace is no small matter to me.”
“I respect your beliefs and your decision, and you’re quite right. I’ve come here to personally appeal to you.” Armand leaned forward. “Sir, we need to see whatever is buried there. I don’t believe it’s a body.”
“Really? Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, there’s no name.”
The judge made to speak, but Gamache held up his hand, and he stopped. His gnarly brows shot up. Only his wife, who was also a judge, could shut him up like that. And Armand Gamache resembled his wife not at all. At least not physically, thank heaven. But they did have that same innate sense of authority.
Gamache quickly walked him through his reasons.
The date on the headstone being twenty years after the last burial.
The date being the sinking of the Empress of Ireland.
Gamache then talked about Aldous Clybourne, about Thomas Morrow, the Receiver of Wrecks. Their suspicions bordering on certainty that those two had conspired to bring something up from the wreck.
The suspicions bordering on certainty the two men had been murdered.
The suspicions bordering on certainty the last person who might have known what really happened had also been murdered. Flossy Fuller. Along with the young woman recording her oral history.
He told the judge about Miss Wolcott’s Ghost.
About the interview with the head botanist.
About the recurrence of the herb rosemary.
“And we’ve identified the body on the grave as Brian Fillmore.”
“The founder of Réunion?”
“Exactly. We think Fillmore went to the cemetery because he believed Morrow and Clybourne buried whatever they brought up from the wreck there. And the headstone was placed as a marker.”
“If not a body, do you know what might be in the grave?” Before Gamache could answer, Judge Morin put up his own hand. “Let me guess. You have suspicions—”
Armand smiled. “We do.”
“You have a lot of suspicions and few facts, Chief Inspector.”
“That’s true. If you’ll allow me one more, we suspect Fillmore went to Lost Nation to dig it up and that his accomplice murdered him before he could.”
“Do you know who that accomplice might be?” When Gamache shook his head, Judge Morin asked, “Not even a suspicion?”
Gamache smiled. “I have some thoughts, but that’s all.”
Judge Morin considered for a moment. “Wouldn’t Fillmore have found whatever was in the grave and, once he was dead, the accomplice would have taken it? What are the chances it would still be there?”
“There’s only one way to know.”
After a moment’s thought, the judge said. “If you’re right, Fillmore and his accomplice weren’t actually breaking any laws, if there was no body there. And after a hundred years, anything they found could be considered abandoned.”
