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“It seems so.”

“Delusion and madness,” Stephen said, and handed the book back.

“I just need to ask you a few questions about last night,” said Armand. “We believe Madame Schneider was killed between ten to midnight and a few minutes after.”

“When we were all focused on other things,” said Stephen.

“Exactly. Where were you?”

“In the living room, then Ruth and I went outside to watch the fireworks.”

“In the cold?”

“Well, you never know.”

Armand finished the thought. When it will be for the last time.

“Did you see Debbie Schneider in that time?”

“To be honest, Armand, I really don’t know what she looked like. I knew the professor had arrived with Colette and someone else, but I didn’t pay attention to the someone else.”

“Did you notice anyone going into the woods?”

“No. We got back inside pretty quick once the fireworks were over.”

They went over Stephen’s impressions of the party. Like everyone else, he hadn’t seen anything specific, but he had noticed the tension, erupting at times into acrimony.

“She and the Asshole Saint sure went at it,” said Stephen. “You don’t suppose he did it?”

“At this stage, everyone’s on the list.”

“Including me?” Stephen said with a laugh. But when Armand didn’t laugh with him, he studied his godson. “You don’t really think I’d kill Madame Schneider, do you?”

“Not her, no. But do I think you’d murder Abigail Robinson? Possibly.”

Instead of taking it as an insult, as a slight on his moral character, Stephen Horowitz seemed to see it as a compliment.

“She needs to be stopped, it’s true.”

Armand leaned back and stared at his godfather. “Are you—”

“—confessing? No. Would I if I’d done it?” Stephen stopped to consider. “Yes, I probably would.”

“Life in prison isn’t such a threat.”

Stephen smiled. “And I’ve seen the fireworks. You know, while the professional shows are spectacular, I prefer the little neighborhood ones. Seeing the children trying to write their names with sparklers. Waving them like magic wands.”

Stephen moved his arm, as though conducting. Armand could see he was writing a name. Not his own. Stephen was writing I-d-o-l-a.

“I see that Madame Schneider’s parents have been notified,” said Isabelle Lacoste.

“Yes, the police in Nanaimo went to her parents’ home last night.” Jean-Guy looked at the large clock that had been placed on the wall. There was a three-hour difference between Québec and British Columbia. “We’ll call in a few hours. Also need to speak to the head of Professor Robinson’s department at the university.”

Since they didn’t yet know who the intended victim was, they were in the awkward position of having to treat it as though both Debbie Schneider and Abigail Robinson had been killed.

“Does the one hundredth monkey theory mean anything to you?”

Stephen had left, and now Armand and Reine-Marie were sitting quietly in the study, as they often did. Armand going over the reports and organizing his thoughts, and Reine-Marie sorting through the boxes of material from her client.