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“The caretaker?”

“Possibly.” Gamache didn’t want to think that Éric Viau could be involved, but knew it was a legitimate question.

Unfortunately, security cameras had never been installed in the old gym. Too expensive for a building rarely used and not particularly valuable. But Beauvoir had a thought.

“The video we were watching from her talk a few weeks ago. It was too clear, too professional to be some random audience member with a phone. I bet she hires someone to record her events.”

“You might be right. Though the camera would be trained on the stage, not the audience. But you never know. Any luck with the videos taken by spectators?”

“Not yet. Like you said, the phones were aimed at the stage. Then, when the firecrackers went off, everything goes nuts. Too shaky to see anything. You think the two are related? The firecrackers were set off to cause panic and cover the shots? Make sure no one noticed the shooter in the stampede?”

As he replayed it in his mind, Gamache slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. It seems a stretch that it could be a coincidence, but if it was planned, it didn’t work. The shots were fired thirty-two seconds after the firecrackers went off. By then people had begun to calm down. You’d have thought they were meant to happen together.”

“Maybe it was a coincidence, and when Tardif heard the firecrackers, he saw his chance and scrambled to get a shot off. But in his hurry he missed Robinson.”

“Could be.” Gamache paused in thought. “The manager of the gun club said Tardif is an excellent shot, didn’t he? And yet he missed. Twice.”

“The stress of battle. We’ve all missed. With the panic around him, his arm might’ve been jostled. And he didn’t miss by much, patron.”

“That is true.” He was still picking bits of the podium out of his jacket. “If the point was to not just kill Robinson, but cause complete mayhem, then maybe it was executed perfectly. First the firecrackers to shatter nerves, then the shots to guarantee a riot.”

To guarantee a stampede for the doors. And the subsequent crush. The injuries and deaths of men, women, and children. What sort of monster, Beauvoir wondered, was this Tardif?

“So even if Professor Robinson survived,” he said, “the deaths in the crowd would forever be associated with her campaign. It would kill her movement, if not her.”

“But would it?” Gamache asked. “Think about it. A riot with tens, maybe hundreds of injuries and deaths, would be news worldwide. She’d get publicity no amount of money could create. She wouldn’t be blamed. In fact, she’d be a victim, narrowly escaping assassination. It’s already happening. In the news tonight she had her reaction pretty perfect. Almost as though she’d prepared.”

“Wait a minute.” Jean-Guy held up his hand, trying to catch up to the Chief’s rapid train of thought. “You think she’s behind it?”

“Tardif’s an expert shot who missed,” said Gamache. “Twice.”

“Barely,” Beauvoir repeated. He also knew, but didn’t say, that had he been Tardif, he’d have taken the shot and not missed.

He brought out his notebook and made a note to see if there could have been any contact between Tardif and Professor Robinson or her assistant.

Then he stopped and looked at Gamache.

“You’re not fired,” said the Chief, understanding the look. “In the reports I sent off tonight, I didn’t mention you.”

“You lied?”

“The sin of omission. I couldn’t see the benefit to the Sûreté, or the public, if an exceptional officer was fired for a one-off event that did not actually hurt anyone.”

“If it comes out, you’ll be fired,” Beauvoir said.

“I’ve been fired before,” said Gamache. “I suspect by now they’re tired of changing the name on the door. Look, Jean-Guy, the fault was mine. While I was protecting a stranger, you were protecting your daughter. You said it last night. You warned me. And you were right. She needs protecting. That’s your life’s work. The one that matters.”

“I disobeyed orders,” Beauvoir pointed out.

“I know that. Look, do you want to be fired?” When Beauvoir shook his head, Gamache said, “Bon, then stop arguing. Just accept.”

“Merci.” Then something occurred to Jean-Guy. “Is Serious Crime going to take over? It’s not a homicide. Not our department.”

“Non. I’ve asked to be given the investigation. They’ve agreed.”

Jean-Guy began to ask why Gamache wanted this dog’s breakfast of an investigation but stopped himself. He knew why.

If Serious Crime took over, they’d dig into what exactly had happened. And they’d discover Beauvoir’s dereliction of duty.