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Because it could be taken. Used against him. Them. Anyone and everyone. Most guns used in crime were stolen from people who had them legally.

And here was one more on the street.

Gamache looked over his shoulder at Cameron, warning him not to react. Not to overreact.

Nothing had happened yet. Not really. Nothing that could not be undone. But once a trigger was pulled, there was no going back.

“We need to know who bought the drug from you,” said Beauvoir. “That’s all.”

His own voice was steady, matter-of-fact. Trying not to betray the fear he felt. Trying not to flash back to what it was like. To feel the bullet strike. To be lifted— He stopped there and fought to harness his thoughts. “Then we’ll leave.”

Toby did what Beauvoir hoped he’d do. He turned his attention, and his gun, away from Gamache. And onto him.

What Toby could not see, what no one could see, was that Beauvoir’s knees had begun to tremble. But his face remained placid. As though this were an everyday occurrence and nothing to worry about.

Cameron, watching this, his weapon lowered but ready to raise and shoot, felt he was looking into some parallel universe. Where people held reasonable conversations while pointing guns at each other. And were not terrified.

Because he was very afraid. And Cameron knew one thing, from his time on the gridiron and his time as a cop. People who were afraid often did very stupid things.

Don’t be the one. Don’t be the one. Don’t be the one to do something stupid. And please, please, don’t let me be the one shot.

Gamache was very still. Alert to any movement. Anything that could trigger the boy with the empty eyes. The only comfort, if it could be called that, was that Toby would almost certainly get off only one shot before Cameron took him down.

Still, by Gamache’s calculations there seemed a better-than-average chance at least one of them would die in that alleyway.

He took another step away from Jean-Guy, forcing Toby’s attention, and weapon, back onto him.

“Stop,” said the boy. “Not another step. You think I won’t shoot, you dumb fuck, but I will.”

“I know you will, Toby,” said Gamache. “But I hope you don’t.”

“We just want one thing,” said Beauvoir. “The name of the person who bought the pills from you.”

“You think I asked for his name? You’re a fucking idiot.”

His, thought both cops. His name.

So Vivienne hadn’t bought the drug. A man had. Almost certainly Carl Tracey.

“Can you describe him?” Beauvoir asked. They had to be sure.

“Are you kidding? Look, the guys I sell to don’t like it when I tell the cops on them.”

“I can appreciate that,” said Gamache. “My friends don’t like it when I pass their address on to burglars.”

Daphne laughed, but Toby did not. Though he did cock his head with interest at the old cop, with the gray hair and thoughtful eyes.

He held those eyes for a moment, sensing something else in them. There was menace, for sure. Here was a man who might be old but wasn’t weak. And with a start, Toby recognized him.

He wasn’t just a cop. The fucker had failed to say he’d been the head of the whole Sûreté. Toby knew that because he’d seen the video that morning, posted on Twitter and going viral.

Gamache noticed the change in the boy. Saw a look come into those eyes. It was venal. Feral. Triumphant.

My God, thought Gamache. He’s going to shoot me.

He stared into the boy’s eyes and thought of Reine-Marie. And silently apologized for what was about to happen.

But what did happen was unexpected. Toby relaxed. Just a little. But enough to get Gamache’s heart going again.