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“It’s a lie. I’ve done nothing to be arrested for. This is an abuse of power.”

“Absolutely. I have, in signing that warrant, broken the law. Who knew?”

It was said with some amusement, though his eyes remained intense. She tried, tried, not to feel grudging admiration for the man at that moment.

But anything she felt was fleeting.

Armand Gamache had also arrested her mother, probably with as much cause as this warrant. It had led to her death.

“I clearly have no choice.”

“Well, you do, but it’s not a good one,” said Lacoste. “The shit’s about to hit the fan, and you’re standing right in front of it.”

“What do you mean?”

Gamache nodded to Lacoste, who showed Shona the photo sent by Evelyn Tardiff.

“This was taken by Sûreté surveillance two days ago.”

Shona squinted at it, then looked up. “That’s Moretti. And he’s talking to Margaux Chalifoux. Holy shit. The head of AQB’s involved with the mob? She’s even stupider than I thought.”

“She’s far from stupid.” Lacoste clicked her phone shut. “If AQB is a front, then she’s managed to keep it under the radar for years and is almost certainly an accessory to at least three murders, maybe more. This is not someone you want to underestimate.”

“But what are they up to? You know.”

“You will not post what I’m about to say. Not until I tell you to. And then you need to use your social media to sound the alarm.”

“Well, now, there’s a problem with that, one you’ve probably already considered.”

“That you don’t take direction well?” asked Lacoste, and got a smile.

“That too, though I am willing to make an exception.” She looked at Gamache. “You tell me the problem if you’re so smart.”

“The problem is that you’ve made a career out of calling out politicians, cops, judges, corporations. You have a small and very loyal following. But it’s not enough to sound any serious alarm. Not quickly enough anyway.”

“Exactly. All it will do is alert whoever’s behind this and put everyone, including myself, in the crosshairs. But—”

“Oui?”

“There is someone who could do it. My mentor, Paul.”

“You have a mentor?” asked Lacoste.

“And you don’t?” Shona’s eyes slid to Gamache. “At least mine knows what he’s doing and doesn’t act without proof.”

“Does he have a big enough following?” asked Lacoste.

“Well, he’s unemployed, so he has time.”

“That wasn’t my question,” said Lacoste.

“Yes, he has a following.”

Lacoste studied the young woman, then turned to Gamache. “You must know other journalists, patron, contacts who can get the story out when the time comes.”

“I do. We have drinks regularly, as you know, and exchange information.”

“But?”