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“That would mean the killer took the weapon with them,” said Jean-Guy. “And that would make it premeditated. You don’t just stroll around with a log.”
“Well, not very pre-,” said Gamache. “But yes, it wasn’t the sudden lashing out we’d assumed. The killer approached Debbie prepared, if not actually committed to killing her.” He turned to Isabelle. “There was someone alone in the library at that time.”
Lacoste threw her mind back over the interviews they’d done. “Vincent Gilbert.”
“Yes,” said Gamache. “He said he’d gone in there for some peace and quiet.”
“Gilbert might’ve seen who he thought was Abigail out the library doors,” said Isabelle. “And saw his chance. He picked up the log, followed her into the woods, and killed her. Only it was Debbie Schneider. Are you saying you now believe it was Vincent Gilbert?”
“I’m saying what I’ve said all along. We need to look at everyone. Which brings me to something I wanted to show you two.”
He woke up his laptop and Paul Robinson again popped onto the screen. He was in a suit and bow tie, standing proudly, almost comically, in front of a poster of his work. An exaggerated look of delight, like a showman at a carnival.
“We’ve seen that, patron,” said Isabelle. “It was taken the week Maria died.”
“Yes, but did you notice what he’s standing in front of?” Gamache zoomed in tighter.
Lacoste and Beauvoir leaned closer.
On the poster was a series of graphs showing comparisons of statistical studies.
Isabelle stood up and turned to the Chief. “Is this a joke?”
The top graph showed that there was a direct correlation between the per capita consumption of mozzarella and civil engineering doctorates awarded.
“I’m not the one joking, if that’s what you mean,” said Gamache.
The next graph showed a correlation between people who drowned after falling out of a fishing boat and the marriage rate in Kentucky.
Lacoste and Beauvoir looked at each other.
“But this’s ridiculous,” said Beauvoir. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Exactly,” said Gamache. “They’re spurious correlations, you can just make out the title of the poster. And I’m willing to bet Paul Robinson had a coauthor. The person taking the photograph. I think it’s Colette Roberge.”
“The Chancellor?” asked Lacoste.
“Yes. Chancellor Roberge mentioned the phrase ‘spurious correlations’ several times.”
“Including last night,” said Beauvoir.
“She also said they’d collaborated on several studies,” said Gamache.
“Could that really be called a study?” asked Isabelle. “It’s more like a joke. How could this be important?”
“If she was the coauthor, it means she was with Paul Robinson around the time his daughter died. She might have even been there.”
“Are you saying you think the Chancellor killed Maria?” asked Jean-Guy.
“They spent time coming up with jokes,” said Isabelle. “That shows a closeness. Even, maybe, an intimacy.”
Beauvoir was tapping away on his laptop and now turned it around for them to see. “There’s a website called Spurious Correlations. It’s by some guy named Tyler Vigen.”
Gamache got up to look closer but stopped. The name meant something. Something. And then he gave one small laugh.
“What is it?” asked Isabelle.
“Tyler Vigen. It’s the name Chancellor Roberge used on the request form when reserving the gym for the event. Is he a real person, or an alias Colette and Paul Robinson used?”
