‘Silent Velcro. Apparently the US military has a problem. Now that they’re doing more and more close quarters combat silence is crucial. They sneak up on their enemies.’ Lacoste crouched down at her desk and mimicked skulking around. ‘Then get ready to shoot. But they keep all their equipment attached to their uniforms by Velcro. As soon as the pocket is opened the Velcro rips off and their position is given away. It’s become a huge problem. Anyone who can invent silent Velcro will make a fortune.’

Gamache could see the wheels turning in everyone’s head.

‘And Lyon did?’ he asked.

‘Well, he invented this. It’s a system of keeping pockets shut using magnets.’

‘Ingenious,’ said Gamache.

‘Except that to work through heavy khaki the magnets need to be quite heavy. And you need two per pocket and the average uniform has about forty pockets. The magnets add about fifteen pounds to an already heavy load.’

There were a few snickers.

‘He has nine patents, for various things. All failures.’

‘A loser,’ said Beauvoir.

‘Still, he keeps trying,’ Lacoste pointed out. ‘And if he gets one right, he could be rich beyond his wildest dreams.’

Gamache listened to this and remembered Reine-Marie’s question of the night before. Why had Richard Lyon and CC de Poitiers married? And why had they stayed married? One so ambitious and selfish and cruel, the other so weak and bumbling? He’d have expected CC to kill him, not the other way round.

He realized then that he was almost taking it for granted that Lyon had killed his wife. Very dangerous, he knew, to take anything for granted. Still, was it possible Richard Lyon had finally hit upon an invention that worked? Had he murdered his wife to keep her from sharing in the fortune?

‘There’s something else strange about this case.’ Lacoste smiled her apology to Inspector Beauvoir. The two had worked together on many cases and she knew his mind to be sharp and analytical. This kind of clutter and chaos was torture to him. He braced himself and nodded. ‘I also ran CC de Poitiers through the computer and found nothing. Well, a driver’s license and health card. But no birth certificate, no passport, nothing from more than twenty years ago. I then tried CC Lyon, Cecilia Lyon, Cecilia de Poitiers.’ She lifted her hands in surrender.

‘Try Eleanor and Henri de Poitiers,’ Gamache suggested, looking down at the book in front of him. ‘According to her book, they were her parents. And look up Li Bien.’ He spelled it for her.

‘What’s that?’

‘Her philosophy of life. A philosophy she was hoping would replace feng shui.’

Beauvoir tried to look both interested and knowledgable. He was neither.

‘A philosophy,’ Gamache continued, ‘she was hoping would make her very rich indeed.’

‘A motive for murder?’ Beauvoir perked up.

‘Perhaps, had she actually succeeded. But so far it looks as though CC de Poitiers was about as successful as her husband. Is that all before we hand out assignments?’ He made to get up.

‘Sir, there is one more thing.’ Agent Robert Lemieux. ‘You gave me the garbage from the Lyon home. Well, I’ve sorted through it and I have the inventory list here.’

‘That’ll wait, agent, thank you,’ said Gamache. ‘We have a busy day. I’m going to speak to Kaye Thompson, find out what she saw. I want you to find that photographer Richard Lyon talked about,’ he said to Beauvoir, who nodded briskly, eager for the hunt to begin. ‘At the very least he took pictures at the community breakfast and the curling. He might even have photographed the murder. His name is Saul someone.’

‘Saul Petrov.’ The big red fire truck spoke, in a female voice.

From behind it a young woman appeared.

‘I’ve found him.’

As she approached she couldn’t help but notice the looks of shock and even horror on the faces of the men and women round the table. She wasn’t surprised. She was prepared for this.

‘Good morning Agent Nichol,’ said Armand Gamache.

SIXTEEN

Beauvoir handed out the assignments while Gamache spoke to Agent Yvette Nichol in private. There was one enclosed room which used to belong to the ticket taker. Latterly it was taken over by Ruth Zardo. It housed a desk, a chair and about three hundred books. It was, in all certainty, a fire hazard.

Chief Inspector Gamache had risen to his feet as soon as Agent Nichol appeared, as a man about to be executed might rise to face what was coming. He’d nodded to Beauvoir and his second in command knew instinctively what was being said. Without a word Gamache walked across the floor to meet Nichol halfway, and guide her into the small room.