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But even as she said it, she recognized her mistake. It was childish. Worse, she’d placed the power back in Gamache’s hands after he’d offered her a chance to frame the events herself.

“The conspiracy, Madame Chancellor, to stop Professor Robinson, by killing her if necessary.”

“That’s not true,” protested Colette Roberge, outraged.

“What?” said Abigail, almost laughing. Then, seeing Gamache’s serious expression, she turned to Colette. “What’s he saying?”

“Nothing. He’s taking leaps of logic. Making spurious correlations.”

“He’s saying,” said Beauvoir, “that your former mentor, your friend, has been involved in a plot to murder you.”

“That’s not possible,” said Abigail, though they could see her hesitation now. “Is it?”

Vincent Gilbert put his hand over Colette’s. To stop her from saying anything more? But Gamache didn’t think so. It was an intimate gesture. Meant to support and comfort.

Colette was shaking her head. “All I wanted to do was change your mind about your campaign. I tried to talk you out of it.”

“You never did,” said Abigail. “I sent you my preliminary research and you thanked me. You never said you disagreed. You invited me here. You set up that talk. You told me I could meet with Dr. Gilbert.”

“Is that why you came to Québec?” Gamache asked. “Not to see Ruth Zardo, not even to see Chancellor Roberge, but to meet Vincent Gilbert?”

Abigail Robinson hesitated, then nodded. “To get him to publicly endorse my work. The Royal Commission would listen to him.”

“What made you think he’d do that?” Gamache asked.

“Because when Colette showed him my report, he didn’t disagree with it. He has a reputation for brutal honesty, so I assumed that meant he, you, agreed.” Gilbert dropped his eyes. “So I came here to see you. To ask for your help.” She turned to her former mentor. “But you actually planned to kill me? Colette?”

“No. We planned to talk you out of it. When you called and said you wanted to visit, we saw our chance. I offered you the event to make sure you’d come. I had no idea so many would show up. That only strengthened our resolve.”

“To kill me?”

“To stop you,” said Gilbert. “The Royal Commission was right not to hear your submission. Even if your findings are correct, they aren’t right. There’re human factors.”

“You’d say that? To me?” demanded Abigail, rounding on him. Sneering at him. “You’d lecture me on what’s right? On human factors?”

Gamache watched this with intense interest and was tempted to interrupt. To ask his question. But once again he remained quiet, to see where this would go.

“Damn right I will,” said Gilbert, leaning toward her. “I was there, at your rally. You whipped them into a frenzy with your patented mix of facts and fear. Like some snake oil salesman at a fairground, trying to get gullible people to buy your poison. First you scare them, then you offer them your false hope. It’s disgusting. But it works. And now the politicians, familiar with the power of fear, have bought your potion wholesale.”

“You’d give me a sermon on morals, then murder me?”

Abigail looked from Gilbert to Colette.

“No,” said Gilbert. “She had no idea what I had in mind. I didn’t even know, not until I saw your rally at the University. Colette wasn’t there. Clips on television or social media couldn’t fully capture the atmosphere. I saw what you did. I saw your face as your supporters chanted. You weren’t triumphant, you were smug. You knew exactly what you were doing. And I knew there was no stopping you.”

Gilbert failed to mention that he’d also seen Édouard Tardif raise the gun to shoot Abigail Robinson. And had done nothing.

It was Vincent Gilbert’s first attempt at the murder of Abigail Robinson. Perhaps not in the eyes of the law, but in a higher court, almost certainly.

Professor Robinson’s eyes widened as she followed the logic, the steps, the evidence, until she reached the only possible conclusion.

“You killed Debbie.”

“No.”

“Yes, you killed her thinking it was me.”

“No, no, I didn’t. I’m not that stupid.”