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“Except she’s using her position in the Sûreté not as a responsibility but as a tool, a springboard. Surely that was obvious in the meeting. She needs to distance herself from you. Distinguish herself from you.”

“Your point being?”

“With this flood, with our decision to follow your suggestion and not waiting for her approval, she’ll be gunning for you.”

“Not literally, I hope.”

But there was silence down the line. Both remembering when that was exactly what senior officers had done to each other, literally. In the time “before.”

“Non. But she’s no friend of yours. You have the support and loyalty of the rank and file, Armand. She doesn’t.”

“Give her time.”

“Have you been following the social-media posts? About you?”

“A bit.”

“Where do you think some of that information’s coming from?”

“Are you kidding?” said Gamache. “You think Madeleine Toussaint is leaking it?”

There was silence.

“You’re wrong,” said Gamache.

“How can you be loyal to her, Armand, when it’s so clearly not mutual?”

“Does it have to be mutual? She’s a decent person, who stepped up. She’s earned my loyalty. And she’ll grow into a great leader. I know that. Otherwise I’d never have suggested her for Chief Superintendent.”

“There was no one left,” said the Mountie, his exasperation growing. “Everyone else was either wounded or tainted by your actions. Even if you hadn’t recommended her, Toussaint was the only one standing. Look”—there was a heaved sigh down the line—“I hope I’m wrong. Just be careful. You’ve gotta know, once she gets wind of what we’re doing, she’ll blame you, even if we’re successful.”

“God willing we are. That’s all that matters.”

“Inshallah.”

“B’ezrat HaShem,” said Gamache. “We’ll worry about the rest later. Good luck. Let me know.”

“I will, my friend. Anything I can do?”

Armand looked toward the kitchen. “Do you have any divers you can spare?”

“Huh?”

As the RCMP divers reached the body, Beauvoir heard a sharp intake of breath and prepared to grab hold of Vivienne’s father, if necessary.

But it wasn’t.

Homer Godin stood on the shore. Face rigid. Body at attention.

Only when the team turned Vivienne over did he move. But not forward, as they expected and were prepared for.

Vivienne’s father sank, slowly, slowly to his knees. Then slowly, slowly he folded over. His head in the muck. His hands clutching the ground. The big man curled himself around his heart.

As Vivienne Godin approached the shore, her father lifted his head, sensing more than seeing her close by. Then he raised his body. Sitting back on his heels. And, with the help of Gamache and Beauvoir, he struggled to his feet.

They kept their hands under Homer’s arms. Supporting him. Holding him upright.

Homer was swaying, openmouthed. Eyes glazed. As Vivienne was lifted onto a stretcher.