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He leaned forward. Then, thinking better of it since it brought him within striking distance of Comeau’s face, Armand sat back again.

“They will murder you too. I brought you here to protect you—”

“You brought me here because I have information you need.”

“That’s true too. And now you’re going to tell me what you know.”

“Why should I?”

“Because if you don’t, I will ask Inspector Beauvoir to drive you back to Réunion. Perhaps when they kill you, we will get an important lead.”

It was brutal.

Gaston Comeau sat there, stunned. He studied the man across from him, a man who had been not just his mentor but a father figure. A hero.

Did he mean it? Would he do that?

Comeau could see the rage in the man’s eyes. He would. This was no bluff.

But instead of heightening his fear, Comeau felt himself calm down. He tried not to smile. The psychology course at the Sûreté academy had taught the cadets what anger did. Far from empowering a person, it weakened them. Made them vulnerable.

Gamache was now vulnerable.

Armand had surprised himself. He needed to get himself under control while keeping his defenses up. Isabelle was not wrong to issue that bald warning.

For reasons that defied reason, Gaston Comeau managed to get under his skin. Always had. From the moment they met. Once under his skin, the young man had burrowed into Armand’s very being.

It was much the same feeling he’d had when first meeting Reine-Marie. Then, later, Jean-Guy, and later still, Isabelle.

That, somehow, he’d known them for a long time. For lifetimes. That they’d been brought together for a reason. They belonged together.

But how could that be true, given what Gaston Comeau had done?

Help me, patron.

There was an explanation, of course. For every yin, there was a yang. For every up, a down. For every day, a night.

If goodness existed, in the form of Reine-Marie, Isabelle, Jean-Guy, and so many others, maybe Comeau was the ballast, the balance.

CHAPTER 41

“How did you find the body?”

There were, of course, a hundred other questions Chief Inspector Gamache had for Gaston Comeau, but they had to start somewhere, and it seemed reasonable to start at the beginning. At least the beginning for them.

Gamache knew finding Brian Fillmore’s body was far from where this began. It might have even been heading in their direction since the Empress of Ireland set sail on her final voyage. Since two a.m. on May 29, 1914.

Maybe even before that. When an adventurous Victorian woman set off on a trek to discover plants unknown. And developed a fondness for a prickly weed.

“I wasn’t looking for a body. I was just trying to find Lost Nation.”

“Why?”

“I was curious.” Comeau had sat back and brushed a bit of dirt off his slacks. “Since the only job I could get after the Sûreté was cleaning offices”—he paused to let that jab land, but there was no reaction from Gamache—“I decided to make the most of it. I amused myself by poking around at night when everyone at Réunion had gone home. Looking in drawers. Garbage cans. I’d go through their desks and read reports. Sometimes I’d see things the investigators missed.”

He still studied his former mentor.

“I was always a great investigator, you must admit that.”