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Did this man lie in bed at night and stare at it? And if so, what did he see? The despair or the hope?

Was this an insight into a man trying to right his life? Or was it another sign from Fleming? Of all the posters Boisfranc could have chosen, he’d pinned up one unique to this village. One that spoke of an enraged mother of Christ.

Yes, it was just the sort of image a fallen worshipper might choose. And exactly the sort of image he would misinterpret.

As Armand left, he looked for the caretaker, but Claude Boisfranc was nowhere to be seen, though the scraper was lying by the clapboard wall.

As he walked to his car, he thought about his exchange with Boisfranc. While not particularly pleasant, no alarms had been set off. He’d looked into those eyes and had not seen John Fleming. But then even eyes could be disguised with colored contact lenses.

As he considered that, he realized he’d just left another man who, roughly speaking, fit the description of John Fleming. Add weight. A trim beard. Put in contact lenses …

Armand paused by his car and placed a call. After being transferred a few times, he finally got through.

“Bishop Hargreaves? My name is Armand Gamache, I’m the—”

“Yes,” said the man. “I know who you are.” It was said with good humor and even warmth. “How can I help you, Chief Inspector? Not a crime, I hope.” His voice grew grave.

“No. I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but Sylvie Mongeau passed away last night. She’s the wife of one of your clergy, the minister who’s assigned to my village church in Three Pines.”

He waited for the Bishop to recall.

“Robert Mongeau. Yes. Oh, dear. We knew it was coming, but it’s always a shock, isn’t it? I’ll call him and say prayers for them both.”

“Can you tell me a bit about him?”

There was a pause. It was clear the Anglican Bishop wanted to ask why but restrained himself.

“Well, his records are private, of course, but I can tell you that he graduated from divinity school just a couple of years ago and applied for a position in Montréal. I was going to assign him to one in Westmount, but Sylvie came to me privately and asked for a posting in the country.”

“Why Three Pines?”

“She asked for it specifically. Said she’d heard from a woman friend how nice it was. Peaceful. With a good community feel. A place that would be supportive.”

“Of her, because of her cancer.”

“No. She was thinking of Robert. That he’d need that support, one day.”

Armand glanced toward the church and the man he’d just left, even more devastated than when he’d arrived. He let out a long breath and continued.

“I don’t suppose she told you the name of the woman friend.”

Now the Bishop laughed. “You must be practiced at praying, Chief Inspector. There’s no way I’d remember that, even if she told me, which I doubt. I looked up the village, and sure enough, Three Pines had had itinerant ministers, as you probably know, but no permanent one. In fact, we rotate responsibility for the care of the souls between priests, ministers, and rabbis. I asked my colleagues, and they all agreed to let Monsieur Mongeau minister full-time. I wouldn’t normally assign a dedicated minister to such a small congregation, but I sympathized. I’d lost my own wife a year before.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Merci. But it does tenderize a person. I’m sorry about Madame Mongeau. I liked her. I like them both. Robert is extraordinary. But then people who find God again, after wandering in the wilderness, often are.”

“Merci, Your Grace.”

He hung up, relieved. He hadn’t expected any other answer from the Bishop, but he had to be sure that Robert Mongeau was who he said he was. He then called Correctional Services, for the file on Claude Boisfranc. And, most important, a photograph.

As he drove to the rendezvous with Jean-Guy, Armand pledged to try to stop seeing ghosts, or Flemings, behind every tree. There were a lot of trees. And a lot of ghosts.

Jean-Guy looked down the dirt road. Again.

Gamache had texted to say he’d be a few minutes late. It was all Beauvoir could do not to get out of the car and pace. Finally, he saw the Volvo approach.

Beauvoir was there almost before the vehicle had fully stopped.