Page 112

Armand watched as Fiona began walking. The bistro, he sent out the plea. Go there. Or the bookstore. Or the bakery.

Anywhere but—

She walked straight to the B&B. To join her brother.

—there.

Now he had to face the possibility that Jean-Guy was right, and his foes were literally within his own household.

And yet, his mind said, why shouldn’t she spend time with her brother? Was it so wrong?

Was he doing to Sam Arsenault what had been done to Anne Lamarque and so many others? Judging and condemning without evidence. He believed the boy, the young man, was mentally ill. And yet, there was no proof beyond two winks and the subtle movement of one finger. And a lingering chill in his core. Was that enough to condemn? Surely not.

Could he have been wrong about him? About her? Did he, as Jean-Guy believed, have it backward? That yes, there was a psychopath in that family, but it wasn’t the boy.

Once again, he remembered the conversation Amelia had described. It had been Fiona who’d asked about the grandchildren. Not Sam.

A cold resolve settled into his core.

Earlier that morning, in the car over to the Stone house with the search warrant, he’d told Jean-Guy about sending Amelia away, and what she’d said to him in Clara’s garden. What Sam and Fiona had asked her the night before. About the family. About the grandchildren.

Beauvoir was silent, then finally said, “They could just be interested.”

“For God’s sake, Jean-Guy, you know it’s more than that. Sam Arsenault’s clever. He’s doing this to get back at me, and God knows how far he’ll go.”

“What I know, patron, is that you’re obsessed with him. You’ve had it in for him from the first moment you met. I don’t know what that’s about, but it’s blinding you to the real threat.”

“You mean Fiona. I arrested her. Hardly the act of a blind man.”

“And you vouched for her, got her parole. Invited her into your home.” Beauvoir took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried if there really is trouble, we’ll be looking in the wrong direction. You remember that day when we first met them? When you told them their mother was dead?”

“Of course.”

“One of them cried. One of them did not. Which one is most likely to be a psychopath?”

That gave Armand pause. Though he also knew one of the great skills of a psychopath was the ability to feign appropriate emotions.

“Let me talk to Sam,” said Beauvoir. “See what I can find out.”

“The children, Jean-Guy. Whether it’s Sam or Fiona or both, they’ve brought in the children. You’d better be sure.”

Now back in the Incident Room, while Beauvoir led the search of the Stone house, and the conservators examined the painting, Gamache went over reports.

When they’d finished, Dr. Louissaint approached him.

“We’ve taken samples of the paint and the canvas. I can tell you that, judging by the brushstrokes, more than one person worked on it.”

“More than one? Two? Three?”

“I don’t know. The painting’s so big it’s hard to tell on a short exam. The scans might tell us more.” She turned back to the painting. “What I don’t get is how someone managed to print a life-sized copy of The Paston Treasure onto this canvas.”

“Would it be difficult?” asked Gamache.

“I can’t think of any machine that could do it.”

“I’ve heard of one,” said the young apprentice. “Or at least there was a proposal for one a few years ago. They came to my art college for advice, since we also have a big printer, but not this size.”

“Who was asking?” asked Gamache.