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All Armand heard was blah, blah, blah as his mind worked out logistics. Distance to Fleming. Chance of distraction. Would a loud sound do it? What if he fell? Faked a heart attack?

With lightning speed Gamache grabbed at options, examined them, then tossed them aside, while Fleming showed off his brilliance.

Blah, blah, blah.

But then Fleming said something that penetrated Armand’s thoughts.

“You didn’t recognize me because all you really saw when you looked at Robert Mongeau was the fact he loved his dying wife. It never occurred to you that John Fleming could love that deeply.”

With horror, Armand knew he was right. He’d been blinded by the love Mongeau felt for Sylvie. And out of that blind spot came this monster.

“I did love Sylvie. With all my heart.”

“But you killed her.”

Fleming sneered. “Well, you love your wife, and you’ve killed her.” Now he smiled, seeing the effect that had on Gamache. “Go now to your dwelling place to enter into the days of your togetherness.”

With a jolt Armand recognized the quote from the prayer they’d had at their wedding. “And may your days be good and long upon this earth.” Fleming smiled. “Amen. We’re going to go now to your dwelling place, though I can’t vouch for the rest of the prayer.”

But Fleming didn’t move. Instead, he looked at the painting. His mercurial mood now changed to whimsical.

“That was my companion in the SHU for months and months. Painting.” He laughed and shook his head. “It was therapy. It did help, but not in the way they’d hoped. When Sylvie showed me photos of The Paston Treasure from the exhibition, I immediately saw the potential. It came to me fully formed. An act of God, a gift from God. I could create my own World of Curiosities. Put in all sorts of items you alone would recognize. So with the help of that greedy, stupid warden, I had them bring in art therapy, and use The Paston Treasure as one of the exercises. I already knew how to escape, the head guard and warden were so deeply compromised they’d do anything to avoid exposure. But I needed to know what to do once out. And so I stayed in that hellhole. For you. And painted. And waited. And thought of you, all day, all night. For years. Time and patience. Whoever said they were the strongest of warriors was right. You gave me both, dear man. I might’ve died in prison, but you gave me purpose. You made me strong.”

He actually bowed. Armand leaned forward, about to leap, but Fleming raised his head, raised his eyes. Met Armand’s eyes.

Armand stopped cold. Fleming was trying to provoke him. He wanted him to try it.

Not yet, thought Armand. There’d be time. Time and patience.

Once again, as though reading Gamache’s mind, Fleming glanced at the large clock on the wall.

“I wonder if you’ve figured out the significance of the time. Put your phone and gun on the desk, please.”

Armand took out his phone and glanced at it. No replies yet to his text.

“I’m not armed.”

“Bullshit. Gun on the desk.” Fleming’s manner went from hyper-courteous to enraged in an instant.

Armand put his arms out wide. “Really. I never wear one.”

“Turn your pockets out.” Armand did. “Take off your shoes.” Armand did. “Roll up your pant legs.” Armand did. Then stood up straight.

Fleming glared at him. “I thought you were many things, Armand, but never a coward. What kind of cop doesn’t carry a gun? What kind of cop expects others to protect him? Just one more mistake in a litany of them.”

Fleming shook his head, while Armand thanked God he wasn’t armed.

“Come along, little coward. Back to your home. The walk’ll do you good. It’ll give you a chance to clear your head and come up with a plan. Think, think, think. I’m sure there’s a way out of this. I’ve had years to plan, you have about fifteen minutes. Better think fast.”

They walked slowly through the cool evening, over the Bella Bella, past the three huge pine trees. There was still a light on at the B&B, but the bistro was in darkness, as were the other buildings. Though a weak light shone through the ragged curtains in Ruth’s home.

All the way, Armand’s mind was working.

Think. Think. Think.

If all Fleming had was a knife, there was a chance. Armand knew most people who held weapons on others at close quarters eventually lost concentration. A moment was all he needed. That and a sliver of daylight between the blade and Reine-Marie.

At their front door, he paused.