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And sometimes, thought Gamache, staring at his son, lives lost.

CHAPTER 18

When the interview ended, the others went across the street to join the children and their sitter in the park. But Gamache and Beauvoir stayed behind.

Jean-Guy was dying to tell Gamache what had happened at work, and to check out what he’d recorded on his phone. But Fontaine and her number two also lingered in the apartment.

“Did you bring the box, Commander?” Gamache asked, looking around the foyer.

“The box, sir?”

“Monsieur Dussault said he’d ask you to bring Stephen’s things so we could go through them again.”

“Were you looking for anything in particular?”

“Well, yes. I wanted to look at the annual report from GHS.”

“The Prefect did ask, but I’d already left. Perhaps tomorrow.”

“Merci,” said Gamache, doubting he’d see that box the next day, or ever. He went to open the door for them, but Fontaine didn’t move.

“I’d like to speak with you. Privately, sir.” She glanced at Beauvoir.

“Yes? You can speak in front of Jean-Guy. What is it?”

He could see it was something. Something even more sensitive, it seemed, than accusing his children of murder.

They were standing in the front hall, and she pointed to the dining room. When they sat down, she said, “Are you aware of Monsieur Horowitz’s background?”

Armand opened his mouth to answer, then changed his mind. Finally saying, “I think so, but what do you know?”

“He’s German by birth.”

“Yes.”

“And fought with the French Resistance during the war,” said Fontaine. “His family was arrested for protecting Jews, and shot. Monsieur Horowitz managed to escape.”

“Oui. His family stalled the Gestapo long enough to allow him to lead the Jewish family out a hidden door in the back garden.”

This was news to Jean-Guy, who listened in astonishment. He knew about the Resistance, but not this.

“That’s the story, yes,” said Fontaine.

Gamache shifted in his seat but remained silent. He was beginning to get an inkling of what was coming.

“As you can imagine, sir, we have access to files that aren’t public. That were suppressed after the war, for all sorts of reasons.”

“Go on.”

Armand had tensed his muscles, like a boxer preparing for a body blow.

“The reports we have in the archives tell a different story,” said Fontaine. “His family was indeed killed in the war. His mother and siblings in Dresden. His father and uncle survived the war but were shot by the Russians.”

“Why?”

“They were senior Gestapo officers responsible, according to the Russians, for sending thousands to the camps.”

Armand sat perfectly still. Struck dumb. Almost blind and deaf. His senses shutting down. Not breathing. Not blinking. This was far worse than anything he could have expected or imagined. Or steeled himself against.