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“In counterterrorism and hostage situations,” said Dussault.

“Correct.”

“And how to kill effectively.”

“Mostly how not to have to kill.”

“Far more interesting,” conceded the Prefect. “And challenging.”

With some surprise, Gamache realized that while he harbored suspicions of Claude Dussault, it was actually a fairly crowded harbor.

It seemed Dussault might have some suspicions, too.

And Gamache could see why. He’d been essentially on the scene of both attacks. While not there for the murder of Alexander Plessner, he had discovered the body. And come away unharmed from a confrontation with an intruder no one else saw.

It would have been amusing, these two men in late middle age suspecting each other of commando-style murders. If one of them wasn’t, possibly, right.

At the door Dussault spoke quietly and gravely. Holding Armand’s eyes.

“I’m happy for your insights into Monsieur Horowitz, but please, Armand, after your talk with Commander Fontaine, it’s time for you to leave this investigation to us. Step away. You’re too close.”

“Close to what?”

The truth?

“Leave it.”

“Would you, Claude? If you were in Montréal and a man who was pretty much your father was attacked. Would you just step back?”

“If you were in charge of the investigation? Yes.”

Armand left, knowing he’d just heard at least one lie. And told at least one himself.

He called Mrs. McGillicuddy and asked her to agree that the board meeting was noted in Stephen’s agenda.

“Just, perhaps, don’t say which agenda.”

After leaving the BHV, Reine-Marie Gamache hurried back home. Showering and changing again, she placed a call before she thought better of it.

“Dr. Dussault? Monique?”

“Oui?”

“It’s Reine-Marie Gamache.”

“Oh, I was just about to call to invite you and your husband for dinner.” Monique Dussault’s voice was deep and warm. “Claude told me what happened last night. I’m so sorry.”

While Reine-Marie had only met her a few times, she’d immediately liked the woman. Dr. Dussault was a pediatrician who had a practice in Montparnasse, not far from the catacombs.

“Seems like some sort of karma,” she’d told Reine-Marie. “I live with a secretive man, and now I live over those secret tunnels. The only difference between them is that the catacombs have hidden depths.”

She’d laughed and looked across the table at her husband with undisguised affection.

“Why don’t you come to us,” said Reine-Marie. “Something simple. To be honest, once home I’m not sure I’ll want to go out again. I know the men will want to talk, and honestly, I’d like the company.”

“But you must be exhausted.”

Reine-Marie was, and could barely believe she was inviting company for dinner. But it was the only way …