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In the living room, Jean-Guy continued to stare at Sam’s back.

The boy turned around once, but thankfully not to look at the uncomfortable Sûreté officer. Sam had glanced at his sister. It was fleeting. A look Jean-Guy could not decode. She got up and left. Following the Chief Inspector to the kitchen.

It was a relief.

Now he only had the boy to deal with, and Sam seemed completely absorbed in the game show. Though Jean-Guy was not quite so thick as to believe that.

Just as he was beginning to relax—to believe maybe he could handle this, at least until the Chief came back with the tea, tea? tea??—Sam moved.

Picking up the remote, he lowered the sound to a normal level. Then the boy’s head dropped until his chin touched his chest and hair flopped over his eyes.

Beauvoir watched as Sam’s thin shoulders rounded. Then lifted. And fell. Lifted. Fell.

“Sam?” said Jean-Guy, quietly.

The boy turned around and Jean-Guy saw a child. Not a chore.

Sam’s face had crumbled. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. Had been, Jean-Guy could now see, for a while.

Sam looked at Jean-Guy. Jean-Guy looked at the boy.

Then he opened his arms and Sam rushed into them. Clinging to Beauvoir. Sobbing. His breath coming in heaves and shudders as Jean-Guy rubbed his back and whispered, “Ça va bien aller. It’ll be all right. It’ll be all right.”

It wasn’t.

Gamache returned to the living room with Fiona. He realized that while he needed to protect these children, he also needed to protect himself. The girl could easily accuse him of coming on to her. And worse. Even if easily disproved, the accusation alone would be enough.

He could not give her that opportunity. She was so clearly unbalanced. And who wouldn’t be?

As he entered the room, he saw the boy in Beauvoir’s arms and stopped dead. Could…?

“Agent Beauvoir.” But even as he spoke, he knew there was nothing sexual about this embrace, at least not on Beauvoir’s part. It was clear he was just trying to comfort the sobbing child.

Beauvoir looked over, then released Sam, whispering again, “It’ll be okay, buddy. Right?”

“Oui,” sniffed the child.

As he pulled away, Sam looked at his sister, a questioning glance. Then at Gamache. And smiled. Just for an instant. But it was enough to freeze the head of homicide for the Sûreté in place.

Headlights appeared, and a few moments later Agent Hardye Moel came through the door.

Gamache took her aside. “We’re going to need the provincial guardian. Someone needs to take charge of these children. We’re trying to track down family, even close friends, but so far nothing.”

“I’ll put in a call,” she said, and took out her phone.

“And Hardye, there’re signs these children have been abused.”

“Physically?”

“And sexually.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” She exhaled and shook her head.

“I need to question them.”

She stared at him for just a moment, then nodded. “I’ll be in in a minute.”

And she was, saying quietly to Gamache, “Someone will be sent, but probably not until the morning. I can stay with them until then.”