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Fontaine cocked a thumb toward the living room. “That man?”

“I don’t know for sure, but it seems a pretty good bet.”

She was shaking her head. “This doesn’t make sense. Why would someone with a place like this, and even a second bedroom for a guest, stay at a hotel?”

“To make it even more puzzling,” said Gamache, “Stephen’s famously cheap. There’d have to be a very, very good reason for him to take a suite at the George V.”

“And what’s that reason?” she asked.

“I wish I knew.”

“Coming?” an agent called to them. “The coroner’s waiting.”

As they walked back down the hall, Dussault muttered to Gamache, “You should’ve told me about the key.”

“And you should’ve told me you didn’t actually believe that the attack was deliberate.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Fontaine herself just admitted there was doubt, and if there wasn’t, your people would have come here immediately. They’d have interrupted the intruder. Not Reine-Marie and me.”

Gamache stopped. It was his turn to glare at the Prefect.

“Your doubt could have cost her her life.”

“And you yours,” admitted Dussault. “It was a mistake on Fontaine’s part. I’ll speak to her.”

Armand almost pointed out that the error didn’t rest solely with Fontaine, but kept his mouth tightly shut.

CHAPTER 10

The coroner knelt beside the body.

“You’re here, good,” she said, her voice heavy with impatience and annoyance. “We can finally start.”

Reaching out gloved hands, she expertly turned the stiff body.

It was their first good look at the dead man.

Even in death, he had an air of success about him. Healthy. Wealthy. But was he wise? One thing was certain: Gamache had never seen him before.

The coroner described her observations.

“Male, Caucasian. Approximately seventy-five years of age. Shot in back and head. No apparent wounds to the front of the body. There’s rigor. Death was more than twelve hours ago, less than twenty-four. Nothing in his hands. Nails look clean. There doesn’t appear to have been a struggle. Slight bruising to the face, probably caused in the fall.” She looked up at the Prefect. “I’d say he was dead before he hit the ground.”

“Excuse me,” they heard. “Excusez-moi.” Everyone turned to see a younger man in jacket, jeans, and scarf tied around his neck trying to get through the wall of cops.

“Who are you?” demanded one of the gendarmes.

Instead of answering, he turned to Gamache. “Reine-Marie called me. I came right over.”

“This’s Jean-Guy Beauvoir, my son-in-law,” explained Gamache.

“Well, he shouldn’t be here,” said Fontaine. “Please wait outside. This’s a crime scene.”

“Yes, I know,” said Jean-Guy. He had sympathy for this officer, who was obviously the agent in charge. But instead of leaving, he took a step forward and stood beside Gamache.

“Jean-Guy was my second-in-command,” Gamache explained to Dussault and Fontaine. “He ran homicide for more than a year before moving to Paris. He also knows Stephen. Do you mind?”