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Agent Cloutier was calling.

“Chief Inspector? We have a problem.” She was whispering, urgency in her voice.

“What is it?”

“We’re still at the hospital. They’re just releasing him, but he won’t come back to your place.”

“He wants to go home?”

“Yes, but mostly he says…” Her voice faltered.

“Go on.” Though Gamache suspected he knew what she was about to say.

“He says he never wants to lay eyes on you again.”

“I see.” Gamache took a breath.

He did see. It wasn’t just that Tracey had walked free. That somehow the investigators had screwed up. It was that he’d broken his promise to Homer.

“Give him the phone, please.”

There was a pause. “He won’t take it.”

“Then hold it up to his ear.”

He knew he had seconds to get through to the man. Only one word, two at most, before Homer would pull away. He had one shot. And he took it.

“Fred.”

Pause. Pause.

There was a rustling of the phone, some muffled conversation, then Cloutier’s voice. “He’ll come. But just to get the dog. He won’t stay.”

“Tell him I’m asking for one night. Just one. Then he can take Fred and go.”

There was more muffled conversation.

Come on. Come on.

Finally, Cloutier’s voice. “One night, patron.”

“Bon.”

It was something. Twenty-four hours he didn’t have before.

“I’ll be in the incident room,” said Gamache. “Let me know when you get to Three Pines.”

“D’accord, patron.”

He hung up and went back to Reine-Marie. And explained what had just happened.

“And you? Are you all right?” she asked.

How could he answer that?

“Never mind,” she said. “I know. Come home soon.”

“We’re not far. Should be there in—”