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“We will,” said Beauvoir. His teeth were chattering, and he was finding it difficult to form words.

He looked over at Gamache, whose lips were purple and trembling in the cold.

They were all on the verge of exposure. With Homer Godin also suffering from shock, it was a potentially fatal combination.

“Not you,” said Homer, his voice shaky. “Me. I have to help her. I can get to her. Let me try.”

“The water’s too cold. You’ll drown,” said Gamache through chattering teeth.

“Does it matter?”

“It matters.”

But Armand understood. He’d try, too. He’d fight, too. He’d run back into that freezing water, too. If …

Homer turned away from him, to once again face the river. And his daughter in the middle of it. Bobbing gently up and down in the current. Her body knocking against the ice.

A small sound escaped the large man.

Only then did Armand notice a figure standing farther down the path, toward the village. Even at a distance. Even in the dark. He knew who it was.

He walked toward her.

“I’m sorry,” said Reine-Marie. “I tried to stop him, but he ran out of the house so fast. He must’ve been watching from the bedroom window and seen you come here.”

Armand bent his face close to hers. “Your face. It’s bruised.”

“Is it?”

“Did he hit you?”

“Not on purpose. He didn’t know what he was doing. I reached for his arm to try to stop him—”

Armand brought one shaking finger to within a millimeter of the bruise on Reine-Marie’s cheekbone, below her eye. It was swollen, and swelling further.

Gamache could feel himself begin to tremble uncontrollably. It came in waves, sending shudders through his body.

It was, he recognized, the beginning of hypothermia. And outrage.

“My God, Armand, you’re soaked. You need to get warm.” She looked down the path and only then noticed that Jean-Guy and Homer were also dripping wet. Homer was standing on the shore of the Bella Bella, staring. She followed his eyes. “Is that…?”

“Oui.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The water cascaded over Armand’s body as he showered. Over his head, over his upturned face. He opened his mouth and shut his eyes. And felt his body finally getting warm.

But then, unbidden, a sudden panic took him.

He was back in the water. Submerged. But this time Jean-Guy wasn’t there. No one was there, to reach down and save him.

His eyes flew open, and he dropped his head, away from the water. Reaching out, he leaned against the wet tiles of the shower.

As he breathed, he knew his momentary terror was just a tiny part of what Vivienne must have gone through.

The horror of those final moments. Breaking through the railing. Hanging in midair. Nothing between the bridge and the water to stop her fall.

And then she fell.