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“It’s too late,” Armand said, directly into Jean-Guy’s ear.

But still he struggled. Finally the fight went out of him. And he sagged in Gamache’s arms.

“She’s gone,” Armand whispered, his own eyes screwed shut.

“She’s pregnant,” sobbed Jean-Guy.

“Yes. I know.”

“Annie. Annie’s pregnant. Almost three months.”

Armand’s eyes opened. And he heard a sob.

One. Single. Burst of emotion. Which might have been Jean-Guy’s. Or his own. Or maybe it came from the Bella Bella as the river cried out.

And then he realized where it had come from.

Releasing Jean-Guy, he turned and looked up the path. In the darkness there was a greater darkness. A large figure, a father figure, outlined against the trees, standing silent. Rigid.

Then Vivienne’s father started forward. One. Step. At a time. Picking up speed. Until he was running down the path.

“Homer, stop!” shouted Gamache.

But Vivienne’s father didn’t. Couldn’t.

He made not a sound but ran straight for the river.

Gamache and Beauvoir just had time to step between Homer Godin and the water. But they might as well have been made of paper. Homer plowed right through them, running straight into the Bella Bella. Wading in. Breaking through the thin ice at the shore, he fought his way forward. To get to his little girl.

Gamache and Beauvoir plunged in after him.

The water was so cold their eyes watered, and their breath came in gasps. But on they lurched, toward the man thrashing through the current ahead of them.

The water churned and frothed as Godin, his arms flailing wildly, knocked them off.

He fought ferociously. Screaming now. Wailing. Baying.

Sobbing.

Gamache got an elbow in the head and was knocked backward, submerged. So cold was the water that his chest locked and he couldn’t breathe, even when arms pulled him to the surface.

It was Jean-Guy. Armand stared at him for a moment, then managed, with a great whoop, to get air back into his lungs.

Then it was back to Godin. Who, after what seemed like hours, finally tired of dragging them with him. Like some great whale, harpooned, he slowed. Slowed. Sobbing.

Then stopped. It took both of them to drag Vivienne’s father back to shore.

But Homer Godin wasn’t finished yet. Once again he tried to break free, but this time they were ready for him. And he had little fight left in him.

“Stop,” said Beauvoir softly.

And he did.

“Vivienne?”

“I’m sorry,” Armand said.

Homer looked out into the river. “Please,” he whispered. “I need to get her.”