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“Mr. President?”

“What?”

The senior Sûreté officer was nodding toward the window.

Through it, President Pascal could see the offending gymnasium. A carbuncle of a building if there ever was one.

“You have a good view of the site,” said Gamache. “I don’t suppose you saw anything in the last week?”

“Me? No. I haven’t been in.”

Gamache noticed Pascal’s quick glance at his desk and took a step over. On it were printouts dated two days earlier.

Pascal noticed him noticing. “Well, only to get those. I took them home, then brought them back here when I realized I’d have to spend most of today putting out fires.”

He looked at Gamache as though he’d personally put a match to the University.

Gamache fought the impulse to point out he’d asked, begged, both the President and the Chancellor to cancel the event.

His phone vibrated and he glanced at the message from Beauvoir.

“We need to know,” he said, replacing his phone in his pocket, “who rented the auditorium for Professor Robinson.”

“The Administration offices are closed for the holidays,” said President Pascal.

Gamache raised his brows. “I think maybe whoever’s in charge can come in, don’t you? It shouldn’t take long. I’d hate to have to get a warrant.”

“No need for that,” said the President. “I’ll make sure you get the information you need within the hour.”

“Bon, merci,” said Gamache. “If there are no further questions . . .”

“I just wish you’d canceled the event, Armand, after we spoke,” said President Pascal as they walked him to the door. “Still, I’m grateful to you for what you and your people did.”

Gamache caught Colette Roberge’s smile of sympathy.

“I think I can get you the information you need,” she said. “My office is in the Administration Building. I have the key.”

Chapter 12

Gamache looked around the room, then at Colette Roberge.

“This’s your office?”

“Oui. I’d ask you to sit, but—”

There was nowhere to sit except at the very old, stained swivel chair behind the desk that looked like it had been salvaged from a dumpster.

Gamache had seen holding cells larger and more inviting.

“They didn’t expect the Chancellor to actually do much work,” she said, leaning against the desk strewn with papers.

“They obviously didn’t know what they were getting when they appointed you.” His expression grew serious. “Why’re we here, Colette?”

“To get you the event booking form you asked for.”

“That could be scanned to me. By someone other than the Chancellor.”

“True.”