Chapter Five
Back downstairs in the entryway of the Inn and Spa, Gamache met Inspector Beauvoir.
“I’ve been thinking, Chief,” said the inspector, taking off his hat. His hair, normally so neat, stood on end. “Not everyone could carry a dead man up a tree.”
“Then tie a rope around his neck and throw him off,” agreed Gamache.
“Exactly. I’m not sure I could.”
“If you were afraid enough, you could,” said the chief. He knew that fear was so powerful it made people do things they could not normally do. Like lift a car off a loved one. Or race into a burning building.
Fear saved lives.
But fear could also kill. It made men into murderers.
Beauvoir nodded. “Still, the killer would need to be young and strong.”
From the entrance hall where they stood, they looked into the living room. Tom Scott was sitting by the fire. He had changed from his jogging clothes into jeans and a sweater. A workman was stacking wood for the fireplace, which was lit. Tom Scott ignored the man and put his feet up on the old coffee table.
Gamache handed his inspector the note he’d found and watched as Beauvoir’s handsome face showed interest, then surprise.
“So what’s the story?” Beauvoir asked. “Did he kill himself or not?”
“Not. I think that letter wasn’t written by the dead man, but by his killer, to make the death look like suicide.”
“Shit,” said Beauvoir with a sigh. “Where did you find it?”
“In the dead man’s room. His name is Ellis. First name is Arthur. I’ve locked the door.” He handed the key to Beauvoir. “Can you get the scene-of-crime people to dust for fingerprints? And check the letter, too?”
At that moment Angela, the receptionist, appeared at Gamache’s elbow. She smiled and waved into the living room.
“You know him?” Gamache nodded toward Tom Scott.
“Very well. He’s my husband.” She smiled.
“You’re married to Tom Scott?” asked Inspector Beauvoir.
“No, of course not.” Angela made a sour face and lowered her voice. “He’s just strange. No, I mean him. Mike.”
She pointed to the other man in the room. Mike was still filling the wood box.
“You both work here. That must be handy.”
“It is,” she agreed. Then her face became troubled. “Do you know what happened to poor Mr. Ellis?”
“Not yet, but we will. You liked Mr. Ellis,” Gamache said, and she nodded. “More than other guests?”
“That is not a polite question,” she said with a small smile.
“It was not meant to be polite.” His eyes, still kind, hardened.
Angela’s smile faded, and she seemed to make up her mind.
“You’re right. He was nicer than some.”
“Some in that room?” The chief glanced toward the living room and watched as Angela’s eyes darted to Tom Scott.
“He tried to pick me up last night. Wanted to drive me home after work. I said no, but he was quite pushy. Finally, Mr. Ellis came over and told Mr. Scott to leave me alone.”
“And how did Mr. Scott react?”
“He got angry, but when Mr. Ellis didn’t back down, he said it was just a joke.” Angela looked over at Tom Scott. “He’s not very nice.”
A bully, thought Gamache. He looked closely at Tom Scott, his dirty boots making marks on the nice table. Scott didn’t care. Or perhaps he enjoyed making a mess, ruining things. He liked to hurt.
But did he like to kill?
Then Gamache remembered something. “Where was Mrs. Scott while all this was happening?”
“Mrs. Scott? I don’t think he’s married. Or if he is, she isn’t here.”
So, thought the chief, Scott lied about that. Why? It was a stupid lie, easily found out.
Stupid people worried Gamache. They were unpredictable.
“What did Mr. Ellis do yesterday?” he asked Angela.
“He spent the day in the village.”
“In Three Pines?” Inspector Beauvoir asked. “Did he know anyone there?”
Angela paused to think. “I don’t know. He asked a lot of questions about the village.”
“What sort of questions?” Gamache wanted to know.
“Oh, whether Three Pines was a nice place to live. I had to tell him that my husband and I don’t actually live there, but in St-Rémy, about twenty minutes away.”
“He seems to have been very interested in you.”
“Me?” She blushed. “No. He was just lonely, I think. Making conversation.”
“Was he worried? Upset?” Beauvoir asked.
“No. He seemed calm. Most people arrive here stressed. They come to relax. He seemed pretty relaxed already.” After a moment, she added, “Actually, that isn’t the right word. He wasn’t relaxed, he was tired, as if he had no energy left.”
Gamache watched the scene-of-crime team go up to Ellis’s room. Why did Ellis choose to come here, anyway? he asked himself.
While the team searched Ellis’s room and car, Chief Inspector Gamache walked down the dirt road into the tiny village.
Three Pines sat quietly in a valley, as though hiding from the world. And the world certainly seemed fooled.
Old homes faced the village green, a round and very pretty park. Wood smoke rose from chimneys, and the fresh, clean air smelled a bit of maple logs.
Three Pines was at peace.
That reminded the chief inspector of the note he’d recently read. And of the man found hanging, like a late fall leaf, from a tree.
“I am tired,” Gamache murmured as he walked into the gentle little village. “But I am at peace.”