Free Bury Your Dead by Louise Penny

creator.
    Between finding the carving and the murder weapon hidden in the bistro, as well as all the other evidence, there was no question what had to happen next. The Chief Inspector had arrested Olivier Brulé for murder. He’d been found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to ten years. Painfully, Three Pines had come to accept this terrible truth.
    Except Gabri, who every day wrote the Chief Inspector to ask that question.
Why would Olivier move the body?
    “How’s the Chief Inspector?” Myrna asked, leaning her considerablebody forward. She was large and black. A retired psychologist, now the owner of the bookstore.
    “He’s all right. We speak every day.”
    He wouldn’t tell them the full truth, of course. That Chief Inspector Gamache was far from “all right.” As was he.
    “We’ve been in touch a few times,” said Clara.
    In her late forties Clara Morrow was on the cusp, everyone knew, of making it huge in the art world. She had a solo show coming up in a few months at the Musée d’art Contemporain, or MAC, in Montreal. Her unruly dark hair was growing lighter with gray and she always looked as though she’d just emerged from a wind tunnel.
    Her husband, Peter, was another matter. Where she was short and getting a little dumpy, he was tall and slender. Every gray hair in place, his clothing simple and immaculate.
    “We spoke to him a few times,” said Peter. “And I know you’re in touch.” He turned to Gabri.
    “If you can call stalking him, ‘in touch.’ ” Gabri laughed and gestured to the half-finished letter on the table then looked at Beauvoir. “Did Gamache send you? Are you reopening Olivier’s case?”
    Beauvoir shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I’ve just come for a vacation. To relax.”
    He’d looked them square in the face, and lied.
    “Do you mind, Jean-Guy?” Chief Inspector Gamache had asked that morning. “I’d do it myself, but I don’t think that would be much use. If a mistake was made it was mine. You might be able to see where it is.”
    “We all investigated the case, not just you, sir. We all agreed with the findings. There was no doubt. What makes you think now there was a mistake?” Beauvoir had asked. He’d been in the basement with the dreaded phone. And if he hated the phone, Beauvoir thought, how must the Chief feel about them?
    He didn’t think they’d made a mistake. In fact, he knew the case against Olivier to be complete, thorough and without fault.
    “Why did he move the body?” Gamache had said.
    It was, Beauvoir had to admit, a good question. The only slight chink in a perfect case. “So, what do you want me to do?”
    “I want you to go to Three Pines and ask some more questions.”
    “Like what? We asked all the questions, got all the answers. Olivier murdered the Hermit.
Point final.
End of discussion. The jury agreed. Besides, the murder happened five months ago, how’m I supposed to find new evidence now?”
    “I don’t think you do,” the Chief had said. “I think if a mistake was made it was in interpretation.”
    Beauvoir had paused. He knew he’d go to Three Pines, would do as the Chief asked. He always would. If the Chief asked him to conduct the interviews naked, he would. But of course he would never ask that, which was why he trusted the Chief. With his life.
    For a moment, unbidden, he felt again the shove, the pressure, and then the horror as his legs had collapsed and he knew what had happened. He’d crumpled to the filthy floor of the abandoned factory. And he’d heard, from far off, the familiar voice, shouting.
    “Jean-Guy!” So rarely raised, but raised then.
    The Chief was speaking to him again, but now his voice was calm, thoughtful, trying to work out the best strategy. “You’ll be there as a private citizen, not a homicide investigator. Not trying to prove him guilty. Maybe the thing to do is look at it from the other direction.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Go to Three Pines and try to prove