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“I haven’t met him yet,” said Stephen. “So what makes him an asshole?”

“If he’s there tonight, you’ll probably see,” said Reine-Marie. “The saint part is a little more hidden.”

Armand smiled. That was true. But it didn’t mean it wasn’t there. The man had actually devoted much of his life to improving conditions for the vulnerable. For the forgotten and dismissed. Though whether he actually liked those people was a matter of debate.

“Well, now I’m really curious,” said Stephen. “Do you think he’ll be at the party tonight?”

“Probably,” said Reine-Marie. “It’s at his son’s place.”

“The Auberge,” said Stephen. “Will you be going?”

The question was directed at Armand.

“I hope to. Have to see.”

Actually, he hoped not to. Not that he didn’t want to be there. But he hoped he’d be arresting and interrogating a suspect. The accomplice. And closing this case.

“Isabelle just called,” said Jean-Guy, leaning against the doorway into the kitchen. “She’ll be at the University auditorium in twenty minutes.”

“Bon.” Gamache got up and looked at the clock. “I’ll come with you. The President and Chancellor have asked to meet with me.”

“In the principal’s office, Armand?” asked Stephen.

“Feels a bit like that.”

Chapter 11

Explain yourself,” said Haniya Daoud, staring at Roslyn, whose eyes were wide and getting wider. “You spend your days designing clothing for rich people?”

“Explain yourself,” said the President of the Université de l’Estrie, staring at Gamache.

Otto Pascal sat behind his large desk while Colette Roberge, the Chancellor, was in a high-back chair that looked uncomfortable. The President had not invited Gamache to sit.

“Oui. How could this happen?” the Chancellor asked.

Gamache turned to stare at her.

“Let me explain,” said Éric Viau, the building superintendent, as he stood in the old gym with Inspectors Beauvoir and Lacoste. “All the doors are kept locked and are attached to alarms that sound in my home”—he waved toward the road and the small house by the entrance to the University—“and at campus security. They also give off a god-awful siren.”

“The alarms didn’t go off in the last week?” asked Isabelle Lacoste.

“No. Nothing.”

“And there were no other events here over Christmas?” Beauvoir asked, looking around at the hats and mitts, the bags and boots that lay where they’d fallen.

They were standing where the firecrackers had gone off. The floor there was charred.

“Nothing. It’s not exactly anyone’s first choice for a venue. We only use this place if all the other venues are booked. But not recently, non. Not over the holidays.”

“So why was it booked for the event yesterday?” asked Lacoste. “And at short notice? Was every other place already taken?”

Monsieur Viau looked at her in surprise. “You’re asking me? I just try to keep the old place standing. I have no idea why someone would choose it.”

“Wait a minute, Armand,” said the Chancellor, getting up from her chair by the President’s desk. “Are you saying this all might’ve been planned and carried out by Professor Robinson herself? For publicity?”

“What I’m saying is that it’s a possibility, one of many we’re looking into.” He’d gone through the various theories they were pursuing. It interested him that the Chancellor had landed on that one.

President Pascal had also gotten to his feet. He came around his desk and stood beside and slightly in front of the Chancellor as they confronted the Chief Inspector.