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Gamache considered. “Lock them in, and bring the hikers to me.”

Then he got on the phone to Agent Moel.

“Hardye, get the children and all the evidence and go to the airport. Fly back to Montréal. Send the rest of the team here to the detachment. Let me know when you’re in the air. Hurry.”

“The forensics team isn’t—”

“Just do it.”

“Yessir.”

He had to get the children out before another attack was mounted. And, if possible, get the rest of them out too. But they could not leave until all the evidence was collected.

While he waited for word that Moel and the children were on the plane and in the air, the forensics team had arrived at the detachment and been brought up to speed. They started the investigation into wrongdoing at the detachment, while Gamache and Chernin interviewed the man and woman.

Turned out they were who they said they were. At least as far as it went.

Longtime activists with the environmental group Assez, they’d volunteered to drive up to begin organizing the protest to protect the old-growth forest.

No, they’d never been there before. They’d arrived that morning. What was happening?

Well, yes, they smoked weed, but nothing more. No, they didn’t deal. What was happening?

Did they know the dead woman? No. And, by the way, what was happening?

“Can we leave? We’re not under arrest, are we?” the man asked.

“No,” said Gamache. “But for your own safety, you need to stay here with us.”

It was possible that the off-duty agents were already outside the station. Waiting for someone to leave. Waiting to take someone hostage, or worse.

“Safety?” asked the woman. “What’s happening?”

“Some officers have been found to be involved in criminal activity.” Gamache figured they had a right to know something, if not everything. “We need to get the situation under control. Then you can leave.”

They stared at him, barely believing what they were hearing.

Taking Chernin aside, he said, “Check their records. I want to know more about them.”

“You’re not convinced?”

Gamache told her his thoughts about the children’s father. And what he might do if he found out what his ex had done to their children.

“You think he’s”—Chernin glanced behind her at the male hiker—“the father?” She considered. “He’s the right age. I’ll see what I can find out. I’m also looking into Clotilde’s history. Where she lived before coming here. Where the children were born.”

“Bon.”

Gamache looked at his watch. Still no word from Agent Moel.

He occupied himself by studying photos of the house. The children’s rooms seemed unexpectedly typical. Not unlike his son Daniel’s and daughter Annie’s rooms at home.

That, not surprisingly, made this worse.

Fiona had put up wallpaper with butterflies, as well as posters of boy bands. Sam seemed interested in puzzles and model planes and cars. He’d taken a crayon and drawn on the walls.

Daniel had done the same thing. No doubt testing his parents. But it was his room, and they had decided as long as it wasn’t offensive, Daniel could do what he wanted.

Clotilde had either come to the same conclusion or, more likely, simply didn’t care. Or notice. Gamache looked more closely at the drawings on Sam’s walls, but it was difficult to make out the images.