He took a deep breath and shook his head, then smiled at her. “You have a lot of patience, ma belle.”

“Not as much as you might think.”

He smiled again. “Nor should you. You’ve put up with all this for far too long. It’s supposed to be over.”

He kissed her and walked to the door, inviting Henri along.

“I think I’ll get some fresh air. Clear my head.”

“It has gotten a little crowded in there. Why don’t I meet you at the bistro for tea in, say, twenty minutes?”

“Parfait. By then the eviction notices will have been served.”

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

It was getting dark by the time the Gamaches returned home from the bistro. They found Ruth in the living room sipping Scotch from a measuring cup and eating leftover casserole while Rosa nibbled on a wild rice salad.

Reine-Marie sat down next to the poet while Armand went into the kitchen to wash up and prepare dinner.

“We’ve been waiting for you.”

Gamache leapt, startled, then grabbed his chest.

“Jesus,” he gasped. “You scared me half to death.”

“Something’s very wrong, patron,” said Isabelle Lacoste, getting up from her chair, “when seeing Ruth is normal and we’re the ones who frighten you.”

He laughed, recovering, though he’d been genuinely alarmed.

“I thought we locked the door,” he said.

“Ruth walks through walls,” said Jean-Guy. “You should know that by now.”

“What did you want to see me about?” Gamache dried his hands on a dish towel and turned to face them.

“The forensics are back,” said Isabelle, getting herself a beer and taking her seat again. “They found one set of fresh prints on the missile launcher. Laurent’s. But there were also smudges. Our killer touched it, but wore gloves.”

“What did you find on Laurent’s stick and cassette tape?” asked Gamache.

“All sorts on the stick, including yours. But on the cassette we only found three sets. Laurent’s own, of course, as well as his parents’. You were right. The cassette must’ve belonged to the Lepages.”

“Doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” said Armand, joining them at the long pine table.

“No,” Beauvoir agreed. “But it could mean everything. It could mean that the cassette dropped from the murderer’s pocket in the struggle, or as he picked the boy up. If not, then how did it get there?”

Armand nodded. It made sense, of course. It might not be a smoking gun, but it was a pointing finger. Right at Al Lepage. With some surprise Armand realized he felt protective of Al Lepage. Perhaps because he liked the man and felt Laurent’s father was suffering enough without the added weight of suspicion.