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Not Marie Lauzon.

“I’m Reine-Marie Gamache,” said the voice out of the darkness.

“Oui. I know who you are.”

“But you don’t know me,” said the large man beside her. “I’m Daniel Gamache.”

Armand could sense a change in Lauzon. A stiffening. A sudden alertness.

“You’re under arrest.” Reine-Marie’s voice was strong and clear.

“What is this? I don’t understand.”

“It’s a citizen’s arrest, Monsieur Lauzon,” said Armand.

He looked beyond the man at his side, to Reine-Marie. To Daniel. Who had waited so long for justice. That he and his mother should be the ones to deal it out was more powerful than any arrest Armand had ever made. More poetic than anything Shakespeare, Auden, Atwood, and Zardo could ever capture.

If the head of homicide had his way, every murderer would be arrested by citizens whose loved ones had been stolen from them.

Now the three figures on the village green separated themselves from the pines and walked up the hill. Led by Prime Minister Woodford.

“What?” demanded Lauzon. “You’re arresting me? You think I’m behind it?” He turned to Gamache, pleading. “For God’s sake, man, it’s him.” He waved toward James Woodford, who was now standing between Reine-Marie and Daniel at the bottom of the stairs. “He’s fooled you. Don’t you see what he’s done, what he’s capable of? Circles within circles. Nothing left to chance. For Chrissake, before it’s too late. Stop him!”

Lauzon was wild now, with panic. With rage. The approaching aircraft stopped and hovered overhead, its floodlight catching his eyes. Here was not just a wild creature, but a rabid one.

Armand gripped his arm and held him fast. Then, while Beauvoir recorded it, Daniel read the former Deputy Prime Minister his rights.

The helicopter landed and Shona got out, falling to the ground with relief. Then she got up and helped Isabelle. Behind them came Captain Pinsent, gripping the arm of her prisoner, the Minister of Public Safety.

It was over.

CHAPTER 35

As Armand bit into the cannoli, cream squeezed out of the pastry onto his fingers.

Reine-Marie shook her head in amusement as he licked it off. “I can see where Florence gets it from.” Their granddaughter loved being brought to Open Da Night by her grandfather.

They’d been joined by their son and daughter, Daniel and Annie, along with Jean-Guy and Isabelle. Evelyn Tardiff and Yvette Nichol, who seemed to be a couple, were also there for this very informal debrief two days later.

The door opened and Shona arrived, followed by a very familiar face. Paul Workman had come from Toronto. He and his protégée had been promised the exclusive.

They dragged over another round table and a couple of chairs.

So far, what had happened hadn’t gotten out. Prime Minister Woodford had assembled a hastily put-together committee, made up of all parties, to begin the task of investigating what had happened. And quickly assessing the fallout.

The PM had also prevailed on his people, and those in Washington, to allow the police and intelligence services to quietly finish their job before making anything public.

They didn’t want any of the conspirators to go to ground. Or South America.

But Armand trusted everyone at the table, including the journalists. Should anything go wrong, and there was a possibility it still could, the best protection wasn’t force but truth.

Transparency.

“How did you know?” Workman asked, placing his iPhone next to Shona’s. Both recording.

“That it was Lauzon all along?” asked Armand.

“No. We’ve read the document.” Shona nodded to the file on the table, sitting innocently among the demitasses of espresso and the plates of cannoli and bomboloni.