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They’d paused in front of the closed doors that led into the library.

They were immense, more suited to a fortress than a library. Fifteen feet tall at least, and made of heavy, worn wood. They were in stark contrast to the rest of the concrete-and-glass building.

This was, Beauvoir knew from watching movies late at night, how most horror stories began. With naïve people standing in front of huge, old, locked doors.

How often had he whispered at the screen, Don’t go in, don’t go in?

But of course, they always did.

Dr. Hague-Yearl unlocked the doors, and in they went.

The Asshole Saint sat back in his chair and pressed his bony knuckles against his lips.

Armand had paused the video and lowered the phone. Dr. Gilbert stared past him and out the leaded glass window, to the forest and hills spread out before them.

“Finished, Dr. Gilbert?” The waiter startled Vincent, bringing him back to the present. He looked down at his empty plate.

“Oui.”

When the young man took their dishes away, Vincent Gilbert refocused on Gamache.

But he said nothing. Not because he was waiting for his companion to speak, but because he didn’t know what to say. Where to start.

He opened his mouth, took a deep, deep breath, sighed. Then closed it again.

Finally, when the coffee had been poured, he spoke.

“I was there.”

It was, Armand knew, not said to state the obvious. It was the pause before the leap.

“What I said earlier was true. I didn’t go to her talk with any particular agenda. Certainly not to cause harm.”

Do no harm. For years Armand had thought that the phrase was part of the Hippocratic Oath all doctors swore. It was only recently he learned that wasn’t true at all.

Do no harm was part of Hippocrates’s writing, but from a different text. On epidemics.

“You know what the video shows,” said Gamache. “Not just that you were there.”

“Yes.”

The video that Jean-Guy had discovered, taken by the lighting technician in his booth above the floor of the old gymnasium, showed quite clearly what had happened.

They could see Vincent Gilbert, Canadiens tuque shoved far down his head to hide his identity as much as possible. When the fireworks went off right next to him, he ducked. Clearly surprised.

Then he stood back up and looked at the stage, along with the rest of the crowd, as Gamache calmed them, reassured them it was not gunfire.

And then those telltale few seconds.

The man beside Gilbert raised his arm. Slowly. And in his hand, seen clearly on the video, was a gun.

Everyone else was still staring at the stage. At Gamache.

Except Vincent Gilbert. He was looking at the gun. Then he turned his head, to look at the man holding it.

Aiming it. Taking his time before he pulled the trigger.

And firing.