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“This is rather delicate,” said Monsieur Charpentier, when his secretary had left and the door was closed. “I don’t want you to think Olivier Brulé was a criminal, and there was never any question of laying charges.”

“But?”Advertisement

“We were very happy with him for the first few years. I’m afraid we tend to be impressed by profit and he delivered on that. He moved up quickly. People liked him, especially his clients. A lot of people in this business can be glib, but Olivier was genuine. Quiet, respectful. It was a relief to deal with him.”

“But?” Lacoste repeated, with a slight smile she hoped took the edge off her insistence. Monsieur Charpentier smiled back.

“Some company money went missing. A couple of million.” He watched for her response but she simply listened. “A very discreet investigation was launched. In the meantime more money disappeared. Eventually we tracked it down to two people. One of them was Olivier. I didn’t believe it, but after a couple of interviews he admitted it.”

“Could he have been covering for the other employee?”

“Doubtful. Frankly, the other employee, while bright, wasn’t smart enough to do this.”

“Surely it doesn’t take brains to embezzle. I’d have thought you’d have to be quite stupid.”

Monsieur Charpentier laughed. “I agree, but I haven’t made myself clear. The money was gone from the company account, but not stolen. Olivier showed us what he’d done. The trail. Seems he’d been following some activity in Malaysia, saw what he thought were some fantastic investment opportunities and took them to his boss, who didn’t agree. So Olivier did it on his own, without authorization. It was all there. He’d documented it, intending to put it back, with the profits. And he’d been right. Those three million dollars turned into twenty.”

Now Lacoste reacted, not verbally, but her expression made Charpentier nod.

“Exactly. The kid had a nose for money. Where is he now?”

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“You fired him?” asked Lacoste, ignoring the question.

“He quit. We were trying to decide what to do with him. The executives were torn. His boss was apoplectic and wanted him dangled from the top of the building. We explained we don’t do that. Anymore.”

Lacoste laughed. “Some of you wanted to keep him on?”

“He was just so good at what he did.”

“Which was making money. Are you convinced he was going to give it back?”

“Now, you’ve hit on the problem. Half of us believed him, half didn’t. Olivier finally resigned, realizing he’d lost our trust. When you lose that, well . . .”

Well, thought Agent Lacoste. Well, well.

And now Olivier was in Three Pines. But like everyone who moved, he took himself with him.

Well, well.

The three Sûreté officers gathered round the table in the Incident Room.

“So where are we?” asked Beauvoir, standing once again by the sheets of paper tacked to the walls. Instead of answers to the questions he’d written there, two more had been added.

WHERE WAS HE MURDERED?

WHY WAS HE MOVED?

He shook his head. They seemed to be moving in the wrong direction. Even the few things that seemed possible in this case, like the fire irons being the weapons, turned out to be nothing.

They had nothing.

“We actually know a great deal,” said Gamache. “We know the man wasn’t killed in the bistro.”

“That leaves the rest of the world to eliminate,” said Beauvoir.

“We know paraffin and Varathane are involved. And we know that somehow Olivier’s involved.”

“But we don’t even know who the victim was.” Beauvoir underlined that question on his sheet in frustration. Gamache let that sit for a moment, then spoke.

“No. But we will. We’ll know it all, eventually. It’s a puzzle, and eventually the whole picture will be clear. We just need to be patient. And persistent. We need more background information on other possible suspects. The Parras for instance.”

“I have that information you asked for,” said Agent Morin, squaring his slight shoulders. “Hanna and Roar Parra came here in the mid-80s. Refugees. Applied for status and got it. They’re now Canadian citizens.”

“All legal?” asked Beauvoir, with regret.

“All legal. One child. Havoc. Twenty-one years old. The family’s very involved in the Czech community here. Sponsored a few people.”

“Right, right,” waved Beauvoir. “Anything interesting?” pqdm.com