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Still, this wasn’t just any night. He stepped toward the safe, then paused.

He looked over at Henri, who’d been curled at his feet and had lifted his head, his prodigious ears now folded against the underside of the desk.

Gracie was snoring away on the sofa in the living room. Fred was nowhere to be seen. Armand smiled. This had happened before. Fred, being considerably smarter than Henri, which was not actually difficult, had long ago realized the stash of dog food and treats was kept in the basement. Albeit well beyond his reach, but still there.

It was, for the old dog, his sacred place.

If the basement door was left even slightly ajar, Fred managed to get down, but being arthritic and almost blind, could not get back up.

That must be it.

Armand left the gun locked in place and headed for the basement. Sure enough, the door was open, Fred-width wide.

“Fred?”

Sam froze.

Fuck. He turned off the flashlight app, took out the hunting knife, and got into crouching position.

Armand started down, flicking on the lights.

Sure enough, there at the bottom was the old dog, smiling up at him. Front paws on the lowest step, his tail swished back and forth, back and forth.

“Silly boy,” said Armand, going down.

Sam gripped the knife and pressed his back to the wall, ducking beside the huge box of Christmas ornaments. It was an imperfect hiding place, but the best he could do.

In the dark he hadn’t seen the dog. Hadn’t even heard him. Which was a good thing for the dog.

Now he made himself small, compact, coiled. Ready. Steady.

If Gamache turned in this direction and saw him, Sam knew he could get across the space before the cop had a chance to react.

It would be over in seconds.

Please, please, please turn.

Armand got to the bottom and scooped up the old dog, holding him securely in his arms. Then he turned.

Sam braced.

Armand’s eyes went to the closed door at the far end of the room.

It was still closed, but was it locked?

He considered going over to check, but his arms were full of Fred, and he had no reason to believe the door wasn’t locked since he was the one with the code.

Armand turned back and walked up the stairs, using his elbow to turn off the lights.

Sam exhaled, though he was disappointed.

He’d imagined plunging the knife into the man. He’d done it before. Felt the knife go in, so easily. He’d seen the shock in the eyes. Not pain. Not right away. Just surprise, as the man, the woman, had looked at the handsome young fellow they’d trusted. Who’d just killed them.

He’d remove the knife and strike again. And again. Feeling the breath, the life, leave.

He’d done it to strangers and near strangers. But never had he killed anyone he actually hated.

Until tonight.