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“Why?” demanded Beauvoir.

“Don’t answer that,” snapped Tardif’s lawyer, laying a hand on his large arm.

“To save others. To stop her.”

Maître Lacombe moaned and sat back. “There we go.”

“Why?” demanded Beauvoir.

“Wouldn’t you? Do you want her to go killing old people? Kids? What sort of person wouldn’t want to stop her? I knew I’d be caught, and it was worth it. Someone had to do it. Someone had to try.” Now the woodsman glared at Gamache. “But you saved her.”

Those few words contained all the disgust nature had placed in this man. He all but spat at Gamache.

“I did. No one has the right to take another life without permission.” Only a slight flush gave away Gamache’s feelings. “Not Professor Robinson, not the government. And not you, Monsieur Tardif.”

Now it was Tardif’s turn to redden.

“Why were you so far back in the room?” Lacoste asked, her voice matter-of-fact.

“I didn’t expect so many cops. My plan was to be at the front and shoot from there.”

“From there you couldn’t miss,” said Lacoste.

“Don’t,” warned his lawyer.

“But when I saw so many cops, I backed off. I thought if I stood in the middle I could get away.”

“So you did want to get away,” said Beauvoir.

“If I could, yes. I didn’t want to get caught. But I expected to.”

“Who set off the firecrackers?”

“I did.”

There was silence. Until Gamache spoke.

“That’s not true, is it.”

“It is.”

“What was the purpose of the firecrackers?”

“To distract.”

“Really? And yet they had the opposite effect. Everyone was now looking in your direction. Who was your accomplice?” Lacoste asked.

“No one.”

“Someone hid the gun and firecrackers three days before the event,” said Lacoste. It was the first time Tardif looked surprised. Off balance. “While you distracted the caretaker. Who was it?”

Tardif’s face hardened.

“Was it your brother, Alphonse?”

Tardif stared at her, stone-faced.

“He left for the Abitibi the day of the attack. It’s impossible to see that as a mere coincidence.”