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“I’ve told you why I hired you, now you tell me why you took the job. You turned it down a number of times.”

She was right. He’d declined it twice, but finally relented. And the reason?

He was worn down, worn out by his work in the Sûreté du Québec. He’d headed up the homicide department after his mentor and chief, and father-in-law, Armand Gamache, had been suspended.

Beauvoir had watched the humiliation Gamache had been put through. The insinuations of wrongdoing. The failure by politicians to protect and defend Gamache. Though they knew he’d only acted in the service’s, in the citizens’, best interest.

Chief Inspector Beauvoir himself had been reinstated after an almost equally humiliating series of investigations.

Each day they tracked down killers. Each day they put their own lives on the line.

And in return they were scapegoated. Chained to the ground, food for politicians looking for reelection.

The salary was modest compared to private industry, the risks incalculable, the rewards harder and harder to find. Jean-Guy had a young family, who he hoped to see grow up. He had a daughter arriving who’d need both her parents.

And so the third time GHS Engineering had approached him, shown him the salary they were offering, told him the job was in Paris, he’d discussed it with Annie. And they’d agreed.

So Jean-Guy Beauvoir had left the Sûreté, just as Chief Inspector Gamache had returned. Beauvoir handed the job back to the once and future head of homicide.

But he wouldn’t tell Madame Gossette all that.

“It was time for a change,” he simply said as the flight attendant cleared their plates.

And change it certainly was proving. Though perhaps not quite as much of a change as he’d thought.

“What happens if I find something’s wrong?”

“You come to me.”

“How do I know the—how did you put it?—crack in the teacup didn’t come from higher up? It often does, you know. Start there.”

“Oui. I guess that’s where your investigative skills come in.” Once again she leaned forward, as the plane banked and prepared to land on the tiny island in the middle of the vast and impossibly blue ocean. “Voyons, I have absolutely no reason to suspect anything’s wrong. If I did, I’d direct you to it. You’re here to make sure we don’t, intentionally or not, open a lane to the land of the dead.” Her gaze now was hard. Almost fierce. “We design things that improve quality of life. But that, if they fall apart, take lives. We need to make absolutely sure. You understand?”

She stared at him so intently, he was taken aback. Until that moment he’d seen the job from his perspective.

A soft landing after the harsh realities of the Sûreté. A salary far in excess of anything he ever thought he’d make. They’d be safe. They’d be comfortable. They’d be in Paris.

Now he saw it from Madame Gossette’s perspective.

Lives were at stake. And his job was to make sure none were lost.

“I can’t possibly keep an eye on all the projects,” he said. “There are hundreds.”

“Which is why you have a staff. Don’t worry, once you get comfortable, you’ll be able to get a sense when something’s off. To sniff it out.”

Sniff? he almost said. What exactly did she think investigating was? And yet he had to admit when something went corrupt, there was a certain odor.

Jean-Guy Beauvoir had thought about that conversation a lot in the following weeks and months. And he thought about it again as he looked at his deputy head of department, radiating Dior and resentment.

“I think I can muddle through the Luxembourg plans, Séverine. Merci. How’s work going on the Patagonia project?”

A part of him sympathized with Madame Arbour. But if she hadn’t accepted him by now, hadn’t gotten on board with his leadership, then one of them would have to go.

And it won’t be me, thought Beauvoir.

“Patagonia? I know nothing about Patagonia.” She got to her feet. “I’m sorry. I was under the impression you’d want to talk about the Luxembourg project.”

“Why would you think that?”