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Everyone was staring at them. There was near complete silence, except for some moans of pain.

And then all eyes shifted.

Chief Inspector Gamache appeared behind the counter. His hands up. Then he carefully, deliberately, placed his handgun on the counter and came around. To stand in front of the hostage and hostage-taker.

Gamache was staring at the gang leader. Holding his eyes. Not looking at Comeau. Except for that one, quick glance. Comeau looked away, unable to see what was in those eyes.

Still, he could see that Gamache knew exactly what was going to happen. And … was that?

Was that a tremble he saw in the Chief’s hands just before they closed into fists?

Yes.

He’s afraid.

Gaston Comeau looked into the bright garden from the dark forest.

He was suddenly very hungry. And thirsty.

What would happen if he stepped out and joined them?

But he knew perfectly well what would happen. Exactly what had happened.

Help me, patron.

“It’s something someone said, early on.” Armand was straining to remember. Then his eyes lit up and he laughed. “Ha. Got it. Ruth said she and Brian Fillmore had talked about rosemary. Clara said he’d advised her to put some in the stew.”

“So, he was aware of the connection to rosemary,” said Jean-Guy. “And probably testing Clara and the others, to see their reaction.”

He was feeling much more himself. Released from the grip of that waking nightmare about the Empress, he was almost giddy.

Talking to Annie, hearing the children’s voices, had loosened the hold it had over him, and now, sitting here in the peaceful surroundings, tossing around ideas, he could finally cut it loose.

It was a lie.

He would never, ever …

With a glass of pink lemonade and something satisfying in his stomach, and with Armand and Isabelle on either side of him, he was feeling better. Certainly safer.

The memory of the sinking, of the cabin, of—

He stopped himself.

“So, since we’re already in the rabbit hole, let’s go deeper,” said Isabelle. “Suppose Aldous and Morrow did steal something from the wreck of the Empress. Could they have buried it in the old graveyard in Lost Nation, until everything died down? It would be the perfect hiding place. It was already abandoned. Most people had forgotten it was there.”

“They put up the gravestone with the date so that they could find it again.” Jean-Guy continued the thought. The conjecture. While Armand listened.

This was his favorite part of any investigation. Tossing around ideas with these two. Watching their nimble minds at work.

“But wouldn’t Aldous and Morrow have gone back for it?” said Isabelle. “Why would Fillmore think it would still be there?”

“A guess?”

“A hope?” said Jean-Guy. “The earth around Fillmore’s body hadn’t been disturbed. Is it possible he was interrupted? Or maybe whoever went there with him killed him, then just left? Without getting what he came for? But why?”

“Maybe they hadn’t planned to kill him,” said Isabelle. “Maybe it was an accident, or a sudden impulse. More manslaughter than murder.”

It had always struck Isabelle as strange that “manslaughter” sounded so much worse than “murder.” Manslaughter. Slaughter. And yet was considered the lesser crime.