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Armand carried their skates back home and, going into his study, he found the message Daniel had taken. It was from the Chief Superintendent of the Sûreté du Québec, calling from her ski chalet at Mont-Tremblant.

He returned the call and listened, surprised, as she told him what it was about.

“A lecture? From a statistician?” he’d said. Through the window he could see his family troop across the village green to Clara’s small fieldstone cottage. “Can’t campus police look after it?”

“Do you know this Abigail Robinson?” his superior asked.

Gamache had heard the name but couldn’t quite place it. “Not really, non.”

“You might want to look her up. Voyons, Armand, I really am sorry. The University’s not far from you and the lecture will only last an hour. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it would be easy. And, well, there is one other thing.”

“Oui?”

“They asked for you specifically.”

“They?”

“Well, someone at the University. I understand you have a friend there.”

Some friend, thought Gamache, trying to think who it might be. He knew a number of professors.

He’d showered, changed, jotted a note for Reine-Marie, then driven the few kilometers over to meet with the building caretaker.

The venue had once been the gymnasium of the Université de l’Estrie, until a new sports complex had been built. They now hired it out for community events. Fundraising dances, reunions, rallies. Armand and Reine-Marie had been at a dinner there in late summer. It was the first indoor public gathering permitted since the pandemic had officially ended, held to raise money for Médecins Sans Frontières. One of the many organizations that had experienced a shortfall in donations during the crisis.

But that was months ago now.

Armand knocked the snow off his boots and introduced himself to the caretaker, Monsieur Viau. They stood in the middle of the large gym, the faded circle of center court just visible under their feet. The unmistakable musk of teen sweat still hung in the air, impossible to banish even though the teens who’d produced it were now probably parents themselves.

There was a stage at one end of the rectangular room, a wall of entrance doors at the other, and windows along one side.

“Do you know the capacity?” Gamache’s voice echoed in the vast empty space.

“I don’t. We haven’t had to figure it out. It’s never been close to full.”

“The fire department hasn’t told you the capacity?”

“You mean the volunteer fire department? No.”

“Can you ask?”

“I can, but I know the answer. I’m the fire chief. Look, I can tell you that the building’s up to code. The alarms, the extinguishers, the emergency exits all work.”

Gamache smiled and put his hand on the man’s arm. “I’m not criticizing. Sorry to be asking all these questions, and interrupting your holidays.”

The man relaxed. “I imagine this isn’t exactly what you want to be doing either.”

There was truth in that. When he’d arrived at the old gym, Armand had sat in his car and checked messages. Reine-Marie had sent a photo from lunch at Clara’s. It was of their daughter, Annie, and her baby, Idola, who was wearing reindeer antlers.

He’d smiled and touched Idola’s face lightly with his finger. Then he’d put his phone away and gone into the building.

The sooner he got started, the sooner he could get home. There might even be some pie left.

“Why they agreed to this booking I don’t know,” the caretaker said as he showed the Chief Inspector around. “Two days before New Year’s. And last-minute too. I got the email just last night, for Christ’s sake. Fucking inconsiderate, excuse my English. Who is this person anyway? Never heard of her. Is she a singer? Will they need more than just a microphone? I haven’t been told anything.”

“She’s a visiting lecturer. Her talk will be in English. A podium and mic should do it.”

Monsieur Viau stopped and stared at him. “A lecture? In English? They pulled me away from a day skiing with my family because someone wants to give a talk?” His voice was rising with each word. “Are you kidding me?”