The Hangman Read Online Free PDF Page A

beer. “I don’t know. The official hangman chose Arthur Ellis as an alias a hundred years ago. I think our dead man chose the same alias. He chose Arthur Ellis for a reason.”
    Beauvoir looked into the deep, thoughtful eyes of his boss. And he knew Gamache was right.
    “He was here to execute someone?” Beauvoir asked.
    Gamache stood up, paid, and made for the door.
    “I think so.”
    They walked across the bridge to the old railway station, where Gamache’s team had set up an office. Phones were ringing, and urgent messages awaited both men.
    Ten minutes later, Beauvoir pulled a chair up to the chief inspector’s desk. Gamache removed his reading glasses, finished his phone call, and looked at his inspector.
    “Dr. Harris found bruises under the rope marks on the body,” said Gamache. “The man was strangled, probably by a belt. Then he was hanged. She’s confirmed it. Our man was murdered.”
    “And I know who he was,” said Beauvoir. “His name was James Hill. Ontario’s motor vehicles branch confirmed it. We traced his licence plate.”
    “Good. We’re getting there.”
    For the rest of the afternoon, Inspector Beauvoir tracked down all the information he could on James Hill. Where he worked, lived. His family. His friends.
    Chief Inspector Gamache went on his own hunt.
    Myrna and Gabri had both said this James Hill had asked about young men in Three Pines. And a young man had appeared at the Bed and Breakfast the night before. Unexpectedly. At about the same time that James Hill was killed.
    As the chief inspector crossed the village green, he could see geese in graceful formation overhead, flying south for the winter. But Gamache’s mind was elsewhere. On something not nearly so natural.
    Who was James Hill here to execute? And who had got to him first?

Chapter Nine

    Paul Goulet turned out to be a nice young man. He had a ready smile and warm eyes.
    “How can I help you, Chief Inspector?”
    They stood on the wide porch of the Bed and Breakfast. Paul was in his bicycling outfit of very tight pants and a very tight top. Armand Gamache was glad those clothes didn’t exist when he was twenty years old. And he vowed never to wear them now. Not that his wife Reine-Marie would allow it. The two of them often went for slow, quiet bike rides around the mountain in Montreal, sometimes taking a picnic.
    But when Gamache saw what Goulet was wearing, he suddenly knew why bicyclists went sofast these days. He would, too, if he were wearing basically nothing.
    “It’s a pretty village, isn’t it,” said Paul. “What’s it called again?”
    “Three Pines.”
    “Because of them?” He pointed to the three tall pine trees at the far end of the village green.
    “Yes. It’s an old code. Three pine trees planted together means safety. It was used as a signal centuries ago. It marked a sanctuary.”
    Paul Goulet was silent, and Gamache turned to look at him. If the chief inspector had not been standing so close, he would never have noticed the two warm lines that appeared on the young man’s cheeks.
    Gamache waited until the tears stopped.
    “Why does that idea move you so much?” the chief asked.
    “Who doesn’t long for safety?”
    “The man who already has it. Are you looking for safety?”
    “I don’t know. I didn’t think so, until you told me that story.”
    “Why are you here?” Gamache asked quietly.
    “I took a week off to bike around. No plans, just a map of the bike paths. I arrived last night and found this place.”
    He seemed almost in awe at the pretty, gentle village.
    “You’re with the police, you say?” he looked at Gamache. “Has something happened?”
    “There’s been a death.” Gamache watched Paul for a reaction. He seemed polite, interested. But nothing more.
    “I’m sorry. Someone from here?”
    “No, a visitor. Like you. A man named James Hill.”
    Still Paul Goulet looked blank. Chief Inspector Gamache knew how difficult that was. A person’s face almost