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Then they could go home, together.

He imagined not having a worry in the world.

Just then the old poet turned in his direction. The look on her face brought him back to reality. The light that Clara had painted in those eyes was all but gone. Leaving behind just despair.

And though he knew she could not possibly see him in the darkness, still he had the impression she was looking right at him. And asking, begging, him to do something.

As Armand walked home, he prayed he could. Prayed he would be enough. Prayed he’d be a brave man in a brave country. Prayed he’d be able to stop whoever was out there in the dark. Waiting.

Though, once again, he was wrong. “Out there” was not the problem.

Jean-Guy had been upstairs checking on Robert Mongeau and so he hadn’t seen Fiona let herself in.

And he hadn’t seen Fiona let her brother in.

CHAPTER 36

“How’s Robert?” Armand asked a few minutes later when Beauvoir joined him in the living room. A vantage point from which they could see both the front door and the French doors into the back garden.

“Last I looked his pupils were slightly dilated, but he roused and knew his name. Oh, and Fiona’s home.”

“You saw her come in?”

“I heard her and checked. She went upstairs to her bedroom. We said good night but that was all.”

Armand had considered telling Fiona she had to stay at the B&B but had decided against it. It would be difficult to justify without giving away their suspicions. Besides, while having her under his roof might be dangerous, not having her there was worse.

At least he knew where she was.

Instead of running the risk of being overheard, Armand and Jean-Guy sat a few feet apart and exchanged texts. Like teens.

We need to lock Robert’s door, in case she tries anything, Armand wrote.

Already done.

Armand looked up and smiled at his second-in-command. Of course it was. Though both knew an inch of wood would not stop Fleming if his goal was a second attack on the minister.

When Mongeau woke up, Gamache would have to have a serious talk with him. What he’d seen or heard. What he knew that had put him and Sylvie in the crosshairs of a killer.

Typing again, Armand sent, You saw the message from the coroner?

Yes. We need a clean sample for Boisfranc.

Agent Choquet’s taking care of that.

Armand’s phone pinged with the message from his agent back in Montréal. The pin showed that Harriet’s phone was in the B&B. Armand forwarded the message to Myrna and got a heart emoji reply.

Sam used the flashlight on his phone and swung it around. There were no windows in the basement of the Gamache home. No danger of being seen.

He examined the preserves on the shelves. The pickles and jams and infused oils. He saw the skis and snowshoes and hockey equipment neatly arranged along the far wall. He found old and tattered cardboard boxes of Christmas decorations in another corner.

Opening one, he picked out a length of tinsel. Doubling it up and wrapping it around both fists, he pulled it taut. Yes, it would do. Better than the twine he’d used on Harriet. Still, the girl was weak. She’d never get free. He’d go to her in the morning, and …

He spent a few minutes fantasizing about what he’d do to her. He’d seduced her to taunt her aunt. To piss off Gamache. But she’d become far too cloying, moving into the B&B. Expecting to stay with him. So he’d had no choice. She’d brought it on herself.

He dug deeper into the Christmas box and found a large glass ball with 2000 stamped on it in glitter. The millennium. If he broke it, the shards would do the trick. Sam Arsenault took pride in reusing found objects. Like bricks. And glass.

He’d brought along a serrated hunting knife, but the idea of using Christmas decorations, ones that were visible in the background of that family photograph, appealed to him.