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“Colette was right,” Gamache continued. “What Paul Robinson did, he did for love. But it wasn’t murder. Inspector Beauvoir here understood that before anyone else. He knew Paul Robinson could never kill his daughter. In fact, he died protecting his family. Abby Maria.”

Colette Roberge nodded. “Abby Maria.”

“Are you saying ‘Abby Maria’ or ‘Ave Maria’?” asked Haniya. “I don’t understand.”

“My mother called us that,” said Abigail. “Abigail and Maria. Abby Maria. It was a nickname, a term of endearment.”

Colette muttered something, and when everyone looked at her, she spoke up. “It was more than that. It was a bond. It bound you.”

“Yes. It meant our fates, our lives, were intertwined. I thought it could be broken, but I was wrong.”

Abigail looked exhausted. Drained. An animal tired of the plague. Of what had been plaguing her for decades.

“What’s this about Maria?” asked Haniya. “What happened to her?”

“Maria is, was, Professor Robinson’s younger sister,” Colette explained. “She was severely disabled. After Maria was born, Madame Robinson suffered postpartum depression. Her husband, Abigail’s father, was a scientist and had heard that Ewen Cameron was the best psychiatrist in the country, doing landmark research. So he got his wife in.”

“What Paul Robinson didn’t know,” said Beauvoir, “was that Cameron was conducting experiments on his patients, for the CIA and the Canadian government.”

“What sort of experiments?”

“Mind control. Brainwashing. He used LSD. Sleep deprivation. Electric shocks.”

Haniya’s mouth dropped and the scars deepened, as though maws had opened across her face. “He tortured his patients? This was allowed? Here? In Canada?”

“Tortured them, then sent them a bill,” said Lacoste. “Signed by Vincent Gilbert. One of Cameron’s residents.”

Haniya turned to Gilbert. “You knew?”

Vincent Gilbert stared at the planks of his floor.

“Madame Robinson, Abigail’s mother, eventually took her own life,” said Colette.

“Madame Robinson would refer to her daughters as Abby Maria,” said Gamache. “As though they were one person. It was meant as a sign of affection. And perhaps slightly more than that. She was, I’m guessing, a devout Catholic.”

“Yes,” said Abigail.

“And she committed suicide?” said Haniya. “Isn’t that a mortal sin?”

“Yes,” said Gamache, when Abigail didn’t answer. “A testament to just how broken she was. To the pain she suffered. She’d been driven out of her mind, out of her faith. She’d been driven to despair.”

“By you.” Abigail glared at Vincent.

In a swift movement, Gilbert bent down and grabbed the fireplace poker.

While everyone was momentarily distracted by that, Abigail picked up the rifle. And aimed it at him.

Chapter 46

Beauvoir brought out his gun.

“Non,” commanded Gamache.

Beauvoir didn’t lower the weapon. Holding it steady in both hands, he kept it on Abigail. Prepared to fire. Longing to fire.

Come on, come on. One little movement, please. Come on.

“There’s something you don’t know,” Gamache said to Abigail. His arms were out, trying to restore calm.