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The time as a rookie, during his first raid, he’d hid behind a wall, curled up as small as he could, as the bullets flew. While other agents moved forward, he couldn’t move. They were counting on him, expecting him to be there. And he was paralyzed. Petrified.

“I was afraid. I didn’t want to die, and I was pretty sure I would.” He’d paused and slowly moved his thoughtful gaze around the packed hall. Seeming to look into each of the students.

“I suspect most of you will face that moment. It would be delusional not to be afraid. It would be human to want to run away.” There was a long pause. “Like I did.”

There was a gasp. Not a person in that room, student or instructor, expected that.

“I was suspended. But instead of firing me, my first Chief had me in and told me I needed to really think if police work was for me. And then he said something that changed my life.”

Now there was complete silence.

And very slowly Chief Inspector Gamache listed the four statements that lead to wisdom.

“I’m sorry.

“I was wrong.

“I don’t know.”

There was a pause. Then he said, in his deep, quiet voice, into the deep quiet of the room, the last one.

“I need help.”

Agent Ferdinand had written them down, and now they sat beside his bed where he looked at them every morning before going into work.

When he arrived at the Old Train Station and made his way around the big red fire truck, he was informed that the Chief Inspector wasn’t there.

“But you can give the evidence to me,” said the man the rookie agent recognized as Inspector Beauvoir. He was taller, older, than Agent Ferdinand expected.

And over there, at a desktop computer, was Inspector Lacoste.

Here were two officers whose reputations were also becoming legend.

The homicide department was now the place every serious cop wanted to work.

After handing over the small evidence pouch to Inspector Beauvoir, he was surprised when the senior officer pointed to the boards at the front of the room.

“Want to take a look?”

“Yes, please.” He sounded, even to his own ears, like an overeager child. “Sir.”

He followed the older man.

The two stood side by side, with the rookie unconsciously mimicking the senior officer, standing tall, shoulders back, hands behind his back, lower lip slightly thrust out in concentration. The two stared at the blackboard, then stepped over to the corkboard where photos and printouts had been pinned up.

Isabelle watched this with some amusement. Since he’d fallen in love with and married Annie Gamache, Jean-Guy had softened. Allowed others in.

Since he’d had Honoré and especially Idola, Jean-Guy had become almost fatherly toward the young agents. Not in a patronizing way, but wanting to guide them. Help them.

And, yes, protect them. He knew, as did she, that the best protection was training, and information. Standing in front of them didn’t protect, it blinded the younger agents to whatever was coming their way.

This they’d learned from the Chief Inspector, when both had joined the department. Now Inspector Beauvoir and Agent Ferdinand rocked slightly as they studied the boards. Then the younger man’s eyes widened.

“I—” he began, but was interrupted by Inspector Lacoste.

“We have a report from the agents interviewing Daniel Bouvier and Léo Ouelette. Bouvier and his wife have a place in Fort Lauderdale. They went there the day after visiting Clara in November and stayed through Christmas. No record of them crossing back into Canada before that. Our agent spoke to him and he’s definitely alive.”

“Not the victim, and not likely the killer if he was in Florida at the time. The other one?”