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It was not, they could all see, much of a defense.

Gamache shifted slightly and all eyes went to him.

It was time to ask his question.

After her interview with Édouard Tardif, Isabelle returned to the basement Incident Room.

It was dinnertime and she was hungry, especially walking by the dining room of the Inn and smelling the rich, earthy scent of Québécoise winter cuisine. The soups and sauces, the stews and pies, both savory and sweet.

But she forced herself onward. Downward.

Once at her desk, she checked messages. She’d been copied on Beauvoir’s request to the coroner in Nanaimo, and now she opened it.

No autopsy had been done on Abigail’s mother or father. The attending physician had put down heart failure. Abigail’s sister, Maria, had choked to death on a piece of peanut butter sandwich, lodged deep in her throat.

It was tragic, but straightforward enough. Still . . . Lacoste called Nanaimo.

“Heart failure” was what doctors put on reports when they either didn’t know what someone died of, or knew and wanted to protect the feelings of the family.

“How did you know that Dr. Gilbert once worked with Ewen Cameron?” asked Gamache.

“He did?” Abigail Robinson asked, eyes wide.

Gamache smiled pleasantly. “Come now, Professor. You all but accused him of it last night at the party, and again today.” He paused before dropping his voice deeper into the inky void. “We know.”

He didn’t say what they knew. The truth was, they knew almost nothing.

He could see her quickly examining the various options. Struggling to find a way out that did not involve the truth.

“I’d hoped to torment you a little longer,” she said, giving up and turning to Gilbert. “But I see the time has come for the truth. A fact, if you prefer. I’d asked Debbie to research you so I’d be prepared for our meeting. She came across some documents suggesting that you worked with Ewen Cameron.”

Gamache kept his focus on Professor Robinson, but he also, in his peripheral vision, watched Chancellor Roberge’s reaction.

There was none.

She knew, he thought. She knew he worked with Cameron.

“What were the documents Madame Schneider found?” Beauvoir asked.

“Just vague references.”

“Like the ones you’re making now?” he said. “We went through your files. We also searched what Debbie Schneider brought with her. There were all sorts of papers, but nothing about Dr. Gilbert.”

“Really? That’s surprising. Something must have happened to them.”

“How were you planning to use those documents?” asked Beauvoir.

“Well, once I got over the shock that he was involved in something so hideous, I thought they might help convince him to support my work, if he was reluctant. He’s still a nationally recognized scientist.”

“Internationally,” said Gilbert, instinctively.

“Blackmail?” said Beauvoir, but Abigail ignored that.

Her brows had drawn together in thought. “I wonder if Debbie showed you what we’d found. Is that what happened? Did she meet you outside and show you the proof? Did you kill her and take the papers?”

It was something that had occurred to Gamache. The one reason Gilbert might have killed Debbie. To destroy the damning evidence.

But there were other possibilities.