Chapter 25 Chapter Twenty-Five

"Jean Guy?" Garmache knocked at the door.no respond. He waited a moment, then twisted the handle.The door was unlocked and he walked in. Beauvoir was lying on the brass bed, covered with a quilt, sleeping soundly, and even snoring lightly. Garmash leaned over to look at him, then toward the open bathroom.Keeping an eye on Beauvoir, he walked into the bathroom, scanning the sink quickly.Next to the deodorant and toothpaste is a bottle of medicine. Looking in the mirror, he saw that Beauvoir was still fast asleep.The inspector picked up a bottle of Beauvoir's name on it, which contained fifteen OxyContin tablets.

The above prescription is for Beauvoir to take one pill every night.Garmash opened the bottle and poured the pill into the palm of his hand.There are 7 pills left. But when was the prescription prescribed?The Inspector puts the pill back in, closes the cap, and looks at the bottom of the label.The date font is very small.Garmash took out his reading glasses from his pocket, put them on, and picked up the medicine bottle again. Beauvoir groaned. Gamache did not move, staring at the mirror.Slowly he put down the pill bottle and took off his glasses. In the mirror, Beauvoir turned over. Garmash backed out of the bathroom, one step, two steps, and stopped at the foot of the bed.

"Jean Guy?" More moans, clearer and louder this time. A cool, damp breeze blew into the room, stirring the white cotton curtains.It began to drizzle outside, and the Inspector heard the muffled sound of raindrops on leaves.The houses in the village wafted the familiar smell of firewood. He closed the window and went back to the bed.Beauvoir had just nestled her head against the pillow. Just after seven in the morning, Agent Lacoste called.She was driving here now, just off the highway.She found something in the newspaper reference room. Gamache hoped that when she arrived, Beauvoir would be part of the discussion.

He had gone to his room, showered, shaved, and changed. "Jean Guy?" he called again softly. Beauvoir opened his heavy eyelids and looked at Garmache through the slits, with a silly smile on his face.Then, suddenly, his eyes widened, his head jerked away from Garmash's face, and his smile turned into surprise. "Don't worry," said Garmash, rising. "You're a gentleman." It took a long time for the sleepy Beauvoir to understand what the inspector meant, and giggled. "Did I at least treat you to a glass of champagne?" he asked, wiping his eyes from sleepiness.

"Well, you made a good pot of coffee." "Last night..." Beauvoir asked, sitting up on the bed, "here?" "No, it's in the special case room." Garmash looked at him with searching eyes, "Do you still remember?" Beauvoir was in a daze, shaking his head, "I'm sorry, I haven't fully woke up yet." Then he rubbed his face, trying to remember something. Gamache pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down. "What time is it?" Beauvoir looked around. "It's just after seven o'clock." "I have to get up." Beauvoir grabbed the goose down comforter.

"No, not yet." Garmash's voice was soft but sure.Beauvoir stopped and dropped his hands on the bed. "We have to talk about last night," said the Inspector. Gamache looked at the still exhausted Beauvoir, who had a puzzled expression on his face. "Did you really mean what you said?" Garmash asked. "Do you really feel that way? Because if it is, you need to tell me now, in broad daylight. We need to talk." "What did I say?" "What you said last night. Said I wanted the video to be leaked. Said that in your opinion, I'm as bad as a hacker."

Beauvoir's eyes widened, "I said something like that? Last night?" "You don't remember?" "I remember watching that video and being depressed, but I don't remember why. Did I really say that?" "Yes." The inspector looked at Beauvoir, who looked really shocked. But is it better?This meant that Beauvoir might not believe what the Inspector said, but it also meant that he had lost his memory, a state of brain blackout. Gamache watched Beauvoir for a moment.Beauvoir felt the scrutiny and blushed. "I'm sorry," he said again. "Of course I didn't think that way. I don't remember saying that. I'm sorry."

His expression is very honest. Gamash held up his hand, "I know. I'm not trying to punish you, I'm here because I think you need help—" "No. I'm fine, really." "You're not good. You're getting thinner, you're stressed, you're short-tempered. You vented your anger during Ms Coates' trial last night. You were also reckless in your words and demeanor towards the Chief Justice." "He picked it up first." "This is not a school playground. The suspects will definitely upset us and we have to stay calm. You get thrown off balance by them."

"Fortunately, I have you to help me straighten it." Gamache looked at him again, not ignoring the sourness in his words, "What's the matter, Jean Guy? You need to tell me." "I'm just tired." He rubbed his face, "but getting better." "You didn't. For a while you were getting better, but now you're getting worse. You need more help. You also need the help of a police counselor." "I will think about it." "You don't just have to think," Garmash said. "How much OxyContin are you taking?"

Beauvoir was about to protest, but held back. "As prescribed." "How much is that?" The inspector's face was serious and his eyes were sharp. "One tablet per night." "Will you eat more?" "Won't." The two men stare at each other.Garmash's dark brown eyes did not flinch. "Would you?" he repeated. "No," Beauvoir replied, firmly. "Listen, we have enough addicts with us. I don't want to be one of them." "Do you think that's what the addicts want?" Garmash demanded. "You think Susan, Brian, and Pinault start out expecting what's going to happen? No one starts out with addiction as their goal."

"I'm just tired, stressed, that's all. I need pills for pain relief, to sleep, nothing else. I promise." "You have to do psychological counseling again, and I will supervise it. Do you understand?" Garmash stood up and put the chair back in the corner of the room. "If there is really no problem, the counselor will tell me. But if there is, you will Need more help." "Like?" Beauvoir looked shocked. "No matter what the counselor and I decide, this is not a punishment, Jean Guy." Garmache softened his tone, "I also need counseling myself, and I have bad days. I know what you are going through now. But We don't get hurt the same way, and we don't get better the same way." Gamache stared at Beauvoir for a moment, "I know this is scary for you. You are an introvert, a good person, and strong. Otherwise, why would I choose you out of hundreds of agents? You are My deputy because I trust you. I know how smart and brave you are. Jean Guy, you need to be brave now. For me, for the department, for yourself. You need help to get better, trust me. " Beauvoir closed his eyes.Now he really remembered.Last night, watching the video over and over again, it seemed like it was the first time.See yourself getting hit. Seeing Gamash leave, turn his back on him and leave him to die alone. He opened his eyes and saw the inspector looking at him with the same expression on his face as he had seen in the factory. "I will," said Beauvoir. Gamash nodded, "Okay." And then he left, like that day, like he always had, Beauvoir knew. Garmache would always leave him. Jean-Guy Beauvoir reached for the pillow, took out the medicine bottle from under it, shook out a pill and placed it on the palm of his hand.By the time he had shaved and dressed and went downstairs, he was feeling better. "What have you found?" Inspector Gamache asked. They ate breakfast in the bistro because they needed to talk and didn't want to share that information with the other residents in the B&B's dining room. The waiter brought them frothy milky coffee. "I found this." Detective Lacoste put a photocopy of the article on the wooden table and looked out the window.Gamache and Beauvoir read the article. The drizzle had turned to a Scottish mist that hung over the hills around the village, making Three Pines seem even more serene, as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. The fire in the fireplace was very hot, just enough to drive away the cold. Lacoste was exhausted and wished he could have a coffee with milk and a croissant before curling up on the big sofa by the fire and reading an old paperback, old Inspector Maigret, borrowed from Myrna's .Read for a while, sleep for a while.Read some more, sleep some more.Right in front of the fireplace, let the outside world and worries fade into the mist. But the sorrow was here, she knew, right here with them in this village. Beauvoir raised his head first to meet her gaze. "Good job," he said, tapping the photocopies with his fingers. "It must have taken all night." "Almost," she admitted. They looked at the inspector.He seems to have taken more time than usual to read this sharp and short review. Finally, he put down his article and took off his reading glasses, just as the waiter brought their food.Beauvoir's is toast and house preserves, and Lacoste's is pear and blueberry crepes.On the drive back from Montreal, she kept awake by imagining what she would have for breakfast, and it worked.A bowl of porridge with raisins, cream and brown sugar was placed before the inspector. He poured off the brown sugar and cream and picked up the photocopy again. Seeing this, Lacoste also put down his knife and fork, "Does this explain the problem, Inspector? Why was Lillian Dyson murdered?" Gamash took a deep breath. "That speaks volumes. We need confirmation, some backfill dates and information. We know the motive. We also know there's a chance." After they had breakfast, Beauvoir and Lacoste returned to the project room.Garmache remained in the tavern, he still had something to do. He pushed open the swing door of the kitchen, and Olivier was standing at the counter, slicing strawberries and melon. "Olivier?" Olivier was taken aback, and the knife fell to the ground, "God, don't you know not to make such jokes with people holding knives?" "I want to talk to you." The inspector closed the door behind him. "I'm busy." "I'm busy too, Olivier, but we still need to talk." The knife sliced ​​the strawberries, leaving slices and red strawberry juice on the chopping board. "I know you're mad at me, and I know you have every reason to hate me. What happened is unforgivable, and my only defense is that it wasn't malicious, it wasn't meant to hurt you." "But it did hurt me." Olivier slammed the knife on the cutting board, "Do you think prison is less scary because you are not malicious? Do you think that when those people surrounded me in the yard, I Thinking, oh, it's all right, because that good Inspector Gamache didn't want to hurt me?" Olivier's hands were shaking so badly that he had to hold on tightly to the edge of the counter. "You don't know what it's like. I believed the truth would come out. Trusted the lawyer, the judge, and you. Trusted I would be let go. Heard the verdict: Guilty." After a while, Olivier's anger disappeared, replaced by dazed and helpless. "I'm guilty, of course, of many things, I know. I try to make amends to people, but—" "Give them time," said Garmash quietly.He and Olivier stood across a counter.His shoulders were thick and his back straight, but he also clung to the wooden counter with white knuckles. "They love you. It's a shame you don't know about it." "Don't teach me what a pity, Inspector," growled Olivier. Gamache stared at Olivier and nodded, "I'm sorry, I just want you to know." "So that I can pardon you? To free you from the burden? Well, perhaps this is your prison, Inspector, and your punishment." Garmash thought for a while, "Maybe." "Is that all?" Olivier asked. "Have you finished?" Garmash took a deep breath and exhaled, "Not yet. I have another question about Clara's party." Olivier picked up the knife, but his hand was shaking too much to cut. "When did you and Gabriel hire a catering contractor?" "We hired it as soon as we decided we were going to have a party, three months ago, I think." "Is the party your idea?" "It was Peter's idea." "Who wrote the guest list?" "We wrote it all." "Including Clara?" Garmash asked. Olivier nodded indiscriminately. "So a lot of people knew about the party weeks in advance," the inspector said. Olivier nodded again, not looking at Gamache. "Thank you, Olivier," he said, pausing to look at the blond head hanging over the chopping block. "Do you think, perhaps, that we're already in the same cell?" Gamash asked. Olivier didn't answer, and Garmache walked towards the door, then stopped hesitantly, "But I don't know who is the guard, and who has the key to the cell." Garmache looked at him for a while longer, and then left. All morning and into the afternoon, Armand Garmache and his team gathered information. At 1 o'clock, the phone rang.It's Clara Moreau. "Are you and your men free to come over for dinner?" she asked. "We're poaching a salmon. Let's see who can come." "Isn't poaching illegal?" Garmash asked, puzzled why she was telling him this. Clara laughed, "It's a joke to say poaching, we just want to make boiled salmon." "To be honest, anything is fine," Garmash admitted. "Great, casual. En famille." Gamache smiled at the French phrase.Raina Marie uses this phrase a lot to mean "just come as usual," but there's more to it than that.She doesn't say that on every casual occasion or to every guest.This kind of talk is only said to special guests who are considered family members.It is a special position, a compliment, a sense of intimacy. "I accept," he said. "I'm sure the other two will be happy too. Thank you, Clara." Armand Garmache called Raina Marie and took a shower, looking longingly at his bed. The room, like the rest of the B&B, was very plain, but not shabby.It is low-key and elegant, with clean white sheets, duvets stuffed with goose down, and hand-embroidered oriental carpets on wide pine floors. This is the unique style of the original B&B hotel as a post house.Garmash did not know how many travelers had rested here, stopping briefly in their difficult and dangerous journeys, not knowing where they came from and where they were going. It is not known whether they reached their destination in the end. B&B hotels are much more modest than mountain hot spring hotels.Perhaps, he thought, he could live there.But as he got older, he craved less and less.Family, friends, books.Take a walk with Raina Marie and Henry, their dogs. Sleep through the night in a modest bedroom. Now, sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on his socks, all he wants is to fall back and feel his body hit the soft duvet and sink in.Close your heavy eyelids and let everything go. sleep. But his journey still has some way to go. The officers of the police station walked through the village green in mist and drizzle to Clara and Peter's house. "Come in," said Peter, smiling. "Just come in with your shoes on. Here comes Ruth, and I suspect she's wade through every puddle in the road." They looked at the floor, and yes, there were muddy footprints everywhere. Beauvoir shook his head, "I thought I might see some kind of artiodactyl." "Maybe that's why she's wearing shoes," laughed Peter.The officers wiped their shoes as clean as possible on the doormat before entering. The room smelled of salmon and freshly baked bread, with hints of lemon and dill herb. "Dinner will be soon," said the host, leading them through the kitchen into the drawing room. Within minutes, Beauvoir and Lacoste had several glasses of wine.Garmache, being tired, asked only for water.Lacoste walked up to the two painters, Paulette and Normand.Beauvoir chats with Myrna and Gabriel.Gamache suspected, mainly because these people were far away from Ruth. Garmash scanned the room, which was now a habit of his.Notice where everyone is and what they're doing. Olivier stood by the bookcase with his back to the room.Obviously he was interested in the books there, but Garmash suspected that he had actually browsed the books here many times. François Marois and Denis Fortin stood together, though they did not speak.Garmash wondered where the other man was, André Castongui. He finally spotted Castonguei in the corner of the room, speaking to Chief Justice Pinault.A few steps away, young Bryan was watching them. What was the look on Brian's face?Garmash was thinking.Under those tattoos, swastikas, raised fingers, and the "FUCK YOU" pattern, what is he thinking?The inspector saw an expression he had never seen before.Brian looked alert and alert, not the absent-minded young man he had been the night before. "You must be joking," Castongui said, raising his voice. "You can't like it." Garmash moves a little closer in their direction, and the others look at them for a moment, then move away, except for Brian.He stood still. "I don't just love it, I think it's fantastic," Pinault said. "Waste of time," said the dealer, his voice hoarse, clutching an almost empty claret glass. Gamache moved closer and noticed that the two were standing in front of one of Clara's drawings, a study of hands, to be precise.Some of these hands are clenched, some are clenched into fists, some are open, or closed, depending on how you feel. "It's total bullshit," Castongui said.Pinault made a subtle gesture for the art dealer to lower his voice. "Everyone says it's awesome, but you know what?" Castongui leaned towards Pinault, while Garmash stared at his lips, hoping to hear what the art dealer had to say. "Anyone who thinks like this is an idiot, imbecile, and his brain is flooded." Garmash didn't have to worry about not hearing.Everyone heard it.Castongui called out his point. There seemed to be no one around the art dealer.Pinault scanned the room, and Garmache suspected he was looking for Clara, hoping she hadn't heard what the guest had just said about her work. The Chief Justice's stern gaze returned to Castongui.Garmash often saw this look in the courtroom, though it was rarely directed at him, most of the time it was directed at some overreaching barrister. "I'm sorry to hear you say that, André," said Pinault, his voice icy. "Maybe one day you'll feel the same way I do." The Chief Justice turned and walked away. "Feeling?" Castongui called out to Pinault's back. "Feeling? God, maybe you should try to use your brain." Pinault hesitated, turning his back to Castongui.The whole room fell silent, everyone was watching them.The Chief Justice walked away anyway. Now André Castongui was alone. "He needs to bottom out," Susan said. "I've hit bottom a lot," Gabriel said. "I think it works." Gamash looked around the room for Clara, but luckily, she wasn't there.She was almost certainly in the kitchen preparing dinner.The seductive fragrance wafted in, almost covering the stench of Kastongui's talk just now. "So," said Ruth, turning her back on the powerful art dealer and focusing on Susan, "I hear you're a drunkard?" "That's right," replied Susan. "Actually, I've dealt with all kinds of alcoholics. They drink everything from lighter fluid to pond froth. One of my uncles swore he could turn urine into into wine." "Really?" Ruth was very surprised, and suddenly regained her spirits, "I can turn wine into urine. Did he perfect this procedure?" "No surprise, he died before I was born. But my mother had a distiller's still and fermented anything. Beans, roses, lightbulbs." Ruth couldn't believe it. "Stop it. Beans?" However, it looks like she's still going to give it a try.She downed the drink and tipped the glass in Susan's direction. "I bet your mother never tried this." "What's this?" Susan asked. "If it's a distilled oriental blanket, she can make it too. It tastes like my grandmother's, but it sure can make it." Ruth looked rather interested, but shook her head anyway. "This is my special mix, gin, bitters, and children's tears." Susan didn't seem surprised. Armand Garmache decided not to participate in this conversation. Just then Peter called out, "Dinner is ready!" and the guests filed into the kitchen. Clara lit candles around the kitchen, and vases of fresh flowers stood in the center of the long pine table. Gamache sat down and noticed that the three art dealers always seemed to be together, as did the three AA members, Susan, Thierry and Brian. "What were you thinking?" Myrna asked, taking a seat to his right and handing him a basket of warm baguettes. "A gang of three." "Really? The last time we were together, you were thinking of Humpty Dumpty." "Jesus," murmured Ruth, sitting on the other side of him, "this murder is never going to be solved." Inspector Garmash looked at the old poet, "Guess what I'm thinking now." She stared at him, her cold blue eyes narrowed, her face dimpled, before laughing loudly. "You're right," she said, grabbing the bread, "I can do it!" A whole boiled salmon was placed on a large plate, which was being passed among the guests in one direction.Plates of vegetables and salads are passed in the other direction.Everyone gets what they need. "So, a gang of three?" Ruth nodded in the direction of the art dealer, "Like a threesome?" François Marois laughed, but André Castonguet looked dull-eyed and unhappy. "Threesomes have a long history," says Myrna. "People often think of one-on-ones, but in reality threes and threes are also common, even mysterious. The Holy Trinity." "Third Madam." Gabriel said, taking the vegetables, "like your painting, Clara." "Three fates," Paulette interrupted. "There are three more couples," Dennis Fortin said. "Ready, take aim." He looked at Marois. "Fire! But we're not the only threes, are we?" Gamache looked at him inquiringly. "You too," said Fortin, looking from Gamache to Beauvoir and Lacoste. Garmache laughed. "I really didn't think of that. But it's true." "Three blind mice," said Ruth. "Three pines." Clara said, "Maybe you are the three pines, protecting our safety." "It turned out to be a mess," Ruth said. "Stupid talk," muttered Castongui, dropping his fork.He glared blankly at the fork on the floor.The room fell silent. "That's all right," Clara said cheerfully, "we have plenty." She stood up, and Kaston-gui reached out to stop her as she passed. "I'm not hungry," he said, loudly and grumblingly. In the end, he didn't stop Clara, but touched Lacoste with his hand. "I'm sorry," he murmured. Immediately Peter, Gabriel and Paulette began talking loudly and happily. "I don't want to eat anything," Caston Guerra said with a long face when Brian handed over the salmon.Then, the gallery owner seemed to turn his attention to the young man, "God, who invited you?" "The one who invited you," Brian said. Peter, Gabriel, and Paulette talked even louder and happier. "What do you do?" Castonguey mumbled, trying to focus on Brian. "Jesus, don't tell me you're a painter too. You look like a fucking painter." "I am," Brian said, "I'm a tattoo artist." "What?" Castongui didn't hear clearly. "There, there, André," said Maroire in a soothing tone.It seemed to work, and Castongui rocked a little in his chair, looking down at his plate as if hypnotized. "Who wants anything else?" Peter asked aloud.No hands were raised.