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The next day they boarded the flight to Canada.

Daniel and Roslyn’s furnishings were being shipped back to Montréal.

They were going home.

As was Stephen. But his home was now with Armand and Reine-Marie, by choice but also necessity. He’d lost everything.

Stephen was ruined. Stephen was happy.

After the doctor had removed the life support, Armand had sat with him for hours as color returned to the old man’s face and his breathing became deeper and steadier.

Then he and Reine-Marie had gone to Stephen’s apartment, where Irena Fontaine was directing the forensics.

“My God,” she said on seeing him. “What a mess. The Prefect’s gone home to change, but he told me what’s been going on. It’s going to take months, maybe years, to sort it all out.”

She looked around. The body of the guard had been taken away and the scene-of-crime team was again doing its job.

“I’m sorry, Chief Inspector,” she said. “For not believing you.”

“Did you know what the Prefect was doing?”

“Not at all. He kept it close to his chest. Had to, I guess. I just wish he’d trusted me.”

“Oh, I trust you, Irena,” said the Prefect, just arriving back. “But I couldn’t bring anyone in. Just as my predecessor couldn’t bring me in.” He turned to Gamache. “Monsieur Horowitz?”

“We removed the life support.”

“Armand, I’m sorry,” Claude began.

“He’s alive,” said Armand. “The doctors say he seems to actually be gaining strength.”

“My God,” said Dussault. “He’s indestructible.”

“Maybe even inhuman,” said Reine-Marie, and Armand laughed.

“Come to get some of his things?” asked Fontaine.

“Non,” said Armand. “I’ve come to give you the final proof.”

“You mean you weren’t bullshitting?” asked Dussault. “It exists?”

“It not only exists, it’s been here all along.”

Armand walked over to the wall and took down the small water-color, handing it to Reine-Marie. Then, getting a screwdriver from the toolbox, he removed the screw from the wall and held it in his closed fist.

“Stand back, please,” he said, and the agents in the room stopped and looked over.

Turning to a lamp across the room, he opened his fist. The screw flew like a bullet and hit the lamp, knocking it over.

“Holy shit,” said one of the investigators. “What was that thing?”

Claude Dussault went over and looked down at the screw attached to the metal lamp.

“Proof.”

“Plessner had come back here Friday to retrieve it,” said Armand. “But was interrupted and killed. They thought they were looking for papers, but the most damning evidence was just feet from them all the time. One small screw.”

“How did you know?” Reine-Marie asked.