The Long Way Home

“You loved her, and still you did that,” said Gamache. Drilling it home again. “Imagine what you might have done had the love not been there? Had there been hate instead? Love of Clara gave you some brakes, at least. A line beyond which you wouldn’t cross. But Massey had none. He felt he had everything to lose. And that Norman was about to take it away.”

“But he got Professor Norman fired,” said Peter. “Wasn’t that enough?”

“This wasn’t about revenge or vindictiveness,” said Gamache. “For Massey it was about survival. The art college was everything to him. It was his home, physically, emotionally, creatively. And the students were his children. He was the respected, revered professor. The brilliant one. The one they idolized and adored. But suppose a better painter, a more courageous artist, a truly avant-garde teacher appeared?”

Peter’s face had gone slack. And finally he conceded. He knew how that felt. To be usurped. Left behind. To see it all slipping away.

Massey was fighting for his survival. And getting Norman fired wasn’t enough. If Norman’s paintings started appearing in shows, then questions would be asked of the man who’d gotten rid of him.

Massey could not let that happen.

“When the asbestos was taken out of the walls of the college, he kept some, and sent asbestos-infected canvases to Norman,” said Beauvoir. “As a gift. One artist to another.”

“But how’d he do that, just logistically?” asked Peter. “Professor Norman lived in the middle of the woods, in Charlevoix.”

“He had help,” said Beauvoir. “Luc Vachon.”

Peter opened his mouth to protest, but paused, then closed it. And thought. And rethought all he knew.

“But if Professor Massey came to confess, then where is he?” Peter looked around. “And if he confessed, there’d be no need to kill Norman, would there? So who did that?”

He pointed to the bed.

Gamache turned to Jean-Guy. “Can you find Luc Vachon?”

“Oui, patron.”

“Arrest him. But be careful. He might still have the hunting knife.”

“Oui. And I’ll keep an eye out for Professor Massey.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that right now, Jean-Guy.”

“True.”

Beauvoir left, and Peter turned to Gamache.

“What was that about? Why shouldn’t he worry about Professor Massey?”

“Because he’s almost certainly dead,” said Gamache. “We’ll start a search once we’ve arrested Vachon.”

“Dead? How do you know?”

“I don’t know, for sure. But you were right—if he came here to confess, he’d have no reason to kill Professor Norman. And he allowed you to see him, so he didn’t try to hide his presence. No, I think Professor Massey might have regretted what he did. What seems acceptable, even reasonable, in youth can look very different in old age. I think he came here to confess to Norman, perhaps even ask for forgiveness. And then he was going to turn himself in. But Luc Vachon couldn’t allow that.”

“Holy shit,” Peter said, and sat down. Then he looked around again.

“But why isn’t Professor Massey here too? Why not kill them together?”

“We’ll have to wait until Jean-Guy arrests Vachon, but I think Vachon needed a scapegoat. I suspect his plan was to make it look like a murder-suicide. So that we’d think Massey killed Professor Norman and then killed himself. It wouldn’t be hard for Vachon to knock him out and hold him underwater.”

One more soul for the St. Lawrence, thought Gamache, and knew if that was the case they would almost certainly never find Professor Massey.

But they would find Vachon. If not here, then somewhere. Eventually. They would track him down and try him.

“Why would Vachon do it?” asked Peter.

“I’ve just explained,” said Gamache. “Though I might be wrong.”

“No, I mean why would he agree to help Professor Massey in the first place?”

“Why would anyone?” asked Gamache. “Money, almost certainly. Enough to start his own bar. To keep it running. To paint and travel. And all he had to do was deliver art supplies once or twice a year. And take the finished paintings back to Toronto.”

“And he could pretend he didn’t even know they were infected,” said Peter. “What did Massey do with the finished paintings?”

“He must have destroyed them,” said Gamache. “All except one. Myrna and Reine-Marie saw it, in Massey’s studio. Massey claimed it for his own, and they didn’t question it, but they did say it was far, far better than the rest.”