A Fatal Grace
‘Bon.’ Beauvoir leaned forward. ‘The good news is, I know how the electricity got to the curling rink on the lake. Yesterday afternoon I interviewed Billy Williams, the guy who drove the truck with CC to the hospital. He told me he wired up that heat lamp. Here, let me show you. Some of you haven’t been to the site yet.’
Beauvoir picked up a chocolate-glazed doughnut in one hand and a magic marker in the other and walked to a large sheet of paper tacked to the wall.
‘This is Lac Brume, and this is the town of Williamsburg. Here’s the Legion. Right?’
Beauvoir was no Picasso, which was a good thing for a homicide inspector. His drawings were always very clear and straightforward. A large circle was Lac Brume. A smaller circle, like a moon, touched its edge. Williamsburg. And an X marked the Legion Hall, close to the shores of the lake.
‘Now, you can’t actually see the lake from the Legion. You have to go down this road and round a corner. Still, it’s only about a five-minute walk. Everyone was at a community breakfast at the Legion just before the curling. Billy Williams told me he’d gotten to the rink before the breakfast and driven his truck onto the ice.’
‘Is that safe?’ one of the officers asked.
‘The ice is about a foot and a half thick right there,’ said Beauvoir. ‘He tested it before Christmas when he put up the stands and the lamp. All he had to do the day of the curling, yesterday, was shovel the rink again and wire up the heat lamp. It was a clear morning so he decided to do both before going to the Legion himself for breakfast. Here’s where he parked his truck. You can see the tire tracks in the crime scene photos.’ He handed out the pictures after marking a small X on his drawing. It was on the ice near the shore.
‘Now, this is important. Here’s his truck, here’s the heat lamp – it’s called a radiant heater – here’re the stands and out here,’ he drew a rectangle on the paper, ‘is the curling rink. Billy Williams is the Canadian Automobile Association’s mechanic in the area, so he has this monster truck. I saw it. Huge mother. Wheels up to here.’ Gamache cleared his throat and Beauvoir remembered where he was. ‘Anyway, he has a generator on the flatbed of his truck for boosting cars. But again, not just any generator. This is immense. Says he needs the power to boost frozen semis and construction equipment. So he simply took his booster cables and connected them onto his generator at one end and the heat lamp at the other. Voilà. Power and heat.’
Agent Lemieux shifted in his seat then caught the eye of Agent Lacoste. She looked at him and gave a curt nod. Of encouragement? he wondered. She nodded again and widened her eyes.
‘What is it?’
‘Well, those things’ – he motioned to the drawing – ‘the heating thing? When we saw it yesterday I had a question but I wanted to check it out before I said anything. Those heaters are almost always powered by propane. Not electricity.’ He looked round the table. All eyes were on him. ‘I called a friend who’s an electrician. He also plays hockey in a men’s league here.’
To Lemieux’s surprise Beauvoir smiled. An easy, open smile that made his face seem quite youthful.
‘You’re right. This one was propane once too,’ he said. ‘But it broke and was going to be thrown away when Billy Williams saved it. Knew he could wire it up and it would work well enough for the once-a-year curling extravaganza. That was a couple of years ago. So far it’s held up. But he needs a generator to juice it up.’
‘Agent Lemieux here suggested a generator to me yesterday.’ Gamache nodded to Lemieux who sat up a little taller in his chair. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t take the suggestion seriously. I’m sorry.’
Lemieux had never had a superior apologize to him. He didn’t know what to do, so he did nothing.
‘Was Mr Williams’s generator powerful enough to kill?’ Gamache asked.
‘That’s the question. The other stop I made yesterday was to the Cowansville hospital to speak to the coroner, Dr Harris. She gave me the autopsy report. She knows Williams and says his generator is powerful enough to do the job. In fact, it doesn’t really take much.’ Beauvoir returned to his seat and ate the last bite of his doughnut while stirring his coffee with a pen. ‘She wants to speak to you, chief. Says she’ll be by later this morning with a more detailed report and the clothing the victim was wearing. But she made it clear this was no accident, in case any of you were wondering.’