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Jean-Guy shifted and inhaled. They both looked at him.

“What? I didn’t say anything.”

“Who’s this Sam guy?” asked Amelia.

Gamache nodded to Beauvoir, who told her about the investigation into the death of Clotilde Arsenault and the fallout.

Amelia listened. It was a just-the-facts account, and when he’d finished, she said to Gamache, “But you don’t believe it? You don’t think the sister did it.”

“I believe they killed their mother. As to who delivered the actual blow, I don’t know. I’m willing to believe it was Fiona, but I don’t think that part matters. Those children were tortured, abused, broken. They were acting in self-defense. I believe the justice system failed them both, but especially Fiona.”

“Then what’s with this Sam Arsenault stuff?” she asked. “You want me to get close to him. Sounds like you suspect him of something. You think Sam Arsenault was the one who should’ve been in prison?”

“Non.” Gamache’s voice was curt and clear. “Absolutely not. He was ten at the time, sexually abused, prostituted out by his own mother. No. Here was a child deeply traumatized. There’s no way he could be considered guilty. They were both victims. But I think he needed far more intensive counseling and oversight than he got.”

“Désolé, patron,” said Beauvoir, “but it’s more than that. You think he was beyond help.”

“By then, by the time we first met him…” Gamache considered. “Yes.” He nodded his head slowly. There were very few people he felt were beyond redemption. Even at ten, Sam, he sensed, was one of those people. Born bad and made worse.

Beauvoir looked at Amelia and weighed what to say next. He decided on the truth.

“The Chief Inspector and I differ on this. I think Fiona Arsenault got what she deserved. I think she was the planner. I think she controlled her mother’s business when Clotilde was too far gone. The ledger we found in the house has her handwriting and the little stickers she collected. I think she murdered her mother so that she could take over prostituting her brother and was probably grooming other kids.”

“What we do agree on,” said Gamache, “is that we’re pretty sure the only reason Clotilde’s body was put where it would be found is so the children could collect the insurance.”

“You think she set up one of the molesters for the murder,” said Choquet. “The one she sold the car to. Not a very good attempt.”

“She wasn’t exactly a criminal mastermind,” said Beauvoir, grabbing some corn chips. “She probably didn’t think anyone would suspect children. It was a shitty mess.”

“It was a tragedy,” said Gamache.

“But you arrested her,” Amelia said.

“I did. I had to. To be honest, I never dreamed the prosecutor would go so hard on her.”

“And if you had known,” said Amelia, “what would you have done?”

Gamache smiled and shook his head at her. It was a question he would not answer. Could not answer. He didn’t really know the answer.

“The whole thing makes me sick,” he said. “Despite my arguments, the prosecution tried Fiona as an adult.”

“You really don’t think she was guilty?” said Amelia.

“I think, I believe, Sam instigated it, battered his own head against the brick wall in the alley, then blamed his sister. His injuries, while dramatic, were not all that serious.”

“Why did she accept the blame? Why not fight back? Why not tell them that Sam was responsible?”

“Because she loved him,” said Gamache. “Because she felt she needed to protect him. Maybe felt guilty about not being able to protect him against their mother. Against what happened. And maybe because she knew in her heart what he really was and was afraid of him.”

“And what is he?” asked Amelia.

A monster, he almost said, but did not. Instead, he said, “I’m not a good judge.”

“No, but you’ve obviously judged that the sister is safe. You’ve taken her under your wing.”

“Not just that,” said Beauvoir. “He watched over her, visited her in prison, helped her get parole and graduate with an engineering degree from the École Polytechnique.”

“Jesus,” said Amelia. “We should all be arrested by you.”