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Though there was another possibility.

That Abigail Robinson believed that what she was advocating was reasonable, even noble. Not an act of obscene cruelty, but kindness.

“Is something wrong?” Isabelle Lacoste asked into his earpiece, her voice slightly higher than usual. “Is she going to start?”

He could hear the noise beyond the curtain getting louder.

“Oui,” he said, then turned to Robinson. “If you don’t mind, it would be best if you went on. Does someone introduce you?”

He looked around. There was no one else backstage except Madame Schneider and the sound person. In a moment of panic, Gamache thought it would fall to him.

And maybe, just to get her out and settle the now raucous crowd, he’d actually do it.

Professor Robinson glanced toward the door, then said, “No. I’ll go out alone. No need for an introduction. These people know who I am.” She smiled. “For better or worse.”

She’s waiting for someone, thought Gamache. That’s why she’d been stalling. Hoping someone shows up.

Someone who might, at that moment, be hiding under the covers, not answering her phone.

“Good luck. You’ll do great, Abby Maria,” said Debbie, and beamed at her friend.

Though it was obviously meant as support, it seemed to annoy the professor. Perhaps, thought Gamache, she was of the belief that saying “good luck” would jinx it.

Most of the scientists he’d met were profoundly superstitious. As were cops, for that matter.

“Come with me, please,” he said and walked her toward the opening in the heavy curtains. “I’ve seen the footage from your last event. We will not have a repeat here. If it looks like the audience is getting out of control, you will tell them to calm down. If that doesn’t work, I’ll come out onstage and repeat the request and warn people if they don’t behave with civility, I’ll end the lecture.”

“I understand, Chief Inspector. Believe me, I don’t want a repeat either.”

“Is that true?”

“Yes. If you didn’t just watch but listened to what I said, you’d know I don’t advocate violence. Just the opposite. This is about healing. Unfortunately, some people twist my words and meaning.”

Her statement was so appalling, so inaccurate, that he just stared at her for a moment. With all his heart, Armand Gamache wanted to challenge what she’d just said. But this wasn’t the place, the time, or his job.

For now, his job was to get everyone out of there in the same condition in which they’d arrived. Though he feared that could never be totally achieved. Many would leave with some terrible idea planted. Like a weed in a crack, weakening the foundation.

“Inspector Beauvoir, how’s the door?”

“There was some pushing when we announced no one else could get in,” reported Beauvoir. “But it’s quiet now.”

“Bon, merci. We’re about to begin.”

Beauvoir clicked off his microphone and looked at the closed door. He knew, in his bones, in his marrow, that he shouldn’t do this thing. But he also knew he would.

Turning to the Sûreté officer next to him, he said, “You’re in charge out here.”

“Sir?”

“I’m going inside.”

Chief Inspector Gamache watched as Abigail Robinson took a deep breath, composing herself.

It was the same thing he’d seen Olympic divers do, as their heels hung over the edge of the platform, their arms in the air, their backs to the pool.

That instant before the impossible plunge. The irrevocable.

It was exactly what he himself did when standing at the closed door. His hand, in a fist, lifted. He paused, giving the family inside that last moment of peace. Before the plunge.