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“So I murdered Debbie to protect Vincent Gilbert? How does that make sense?”

“You’re a problem solver, a rational thinker,” said Gamache. “You probably worked out that if Abigail was going to accuse him of that, as she essentially did at the party, she’d have some proof. And that proof would have been carried by Debbie, like she carried all the papers.”

“Ahh, I see it now. I knocked her on the head, stole the papers, and burned them. Is that what you’re thinking?”

Gamache opened his hands, in agreement.

“You’ve made a few leaps of logic. If you were one of my students, you’d get a fail. The biggest leap is that my love of Vincent Gilbert is so great that I’d actually kill to protect his ego.”

“No. Not protect his ego, protect him from his ego. You were afraid that Gilbert would bend to the blackmail. Would lend his support to what Abigail was advocating.”

“Politicians are already climbing on board,” said Beauvoir. “More and more people are voicing support.”

“A prominent scientist, a renowned humanitarian publicly supporting Professor Robinson’s proposal could be the hundredth monkey,” said Gamache.

“The what?”

“The tipping point. You couldn’t take that chance. You’d do anything to protect the one you love.”

“Vincent Gilbert?” She laughed.

“Non. Not Gilbert. You knew that if Abigail was successful, Jean-Paul would be in line, one day, for a mercy killing.”

Colette stood up straighter. Raised her chin. But said nothing.

“The real motive, the final push, was to protect him,” said Armand. “It was for love.”

Chapter 42

So Abigail admitted to knowing about the letter from her father,” said Beauvoir.

They were once again in the basement of the Auberge. Shut off from the rest of the world, in their own bubble of suspects and suspicion.

It was a pretty crowded place.

“Not happily, but when I showed her your message she could hardly deny it,” said Isabelle.

“At least we know now what happened to Maria,” said Beauvoir. “That’s no longer a motive in the murder of Debbie Schneider.”

“Do we know?” asked Isabelle.

Armand and Jean-Guy turned to her.

“Well, yes,” said Jean-Guy. He pushed the plastic encased letter from Paul Robinson across the conference table. “There is a small clue in the suicide note.”

“But is it a confession?”

Now Beauvoir laughed, then looked at her with suspicion. “Of course it is.”

“What are you thinking, Isabelle?” asked Gamache.

“Something’s been bothering me about this.” She pulled the letter toward her.

Gamache moved around the table until he was beside her, while Beauvoir moved to her other side.

“Why didn’t Paul Robinson leave a note with his body?” asked Isabelle. “Most suicides do. Not all, but most. Or he could’ve easily made a copy of this note and left it in a safety-deposit box. In case the other got lost. Everyone describes him as a methodical scientist. Wouldn’t he make sure there was a copy of something so important? And why write to Colette, but not Abigail? It’s not like she was a child. She was twenty.”

“Maybe he wanted to make sure there was someone with her when she read it,” said Gamache.