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It was true. It seemed like a coincidence, but in Gamache’s experience, almost everything that happened was the end result of a series of apparently unconnected events. Often set in motion years earlier. Remove one, and the thing did not happen.

Like the book he was reading. What if …

But Armand suspected there was more than a series of chance events at work here. Someone was not leaving it up to chance. Whoever was behind this had planned well, thoroughly, and for a long time. There was no way they were not going to find that room, and probably exactly when they did.

And that led him to another question. Not just why, but why now?

“Oh, come on.”

As he entered the bookstore, Armand heard the words floating down from above.

“Guess who’s up there,” said Myrna.

“Our mini-Ruth?” asked Armand.

“If Ruth and a trash compactor had a child, yes.”

On entering the loft, Armand saw Amelia glaring at Beauvoir.

“He wants me to take the painting over to the Old Train Station,” she complained.

“What? Too hard for you?” asked Beauvoir.

“Too hard for the laws of physics,” she said. “You’ve heard of them, haven’t you? That painting’s massive. How’m I supposed to get it through—” She waved toward the opening.

“Well, it got in, didn’t it?”

“Here,” said Gamache, walking around to the back of the painting. “Clara told me how.”

Olivier and Billy were behind the painting, kneeling on the floor and examining the boards.

“Anything?” he asked them.

“We might’ve found how they got the stuff up here,” said Olivier. “I can show you.”

“In a moment.” Armand put on his glasses, turned on the flashlight app, and looked at the back of the painting. “Nails. They look old, handmade. And the wood frame also looks old.”

Taking off his glasses, he told them what Clara had said. “Take out the nails, save them, then roll up the canvas and get it to the evidence locker.”

“None of this makes sense,” said Beauvoir. “Why would someone go through the effort to make the painting look old, right down to the nails. And then paint in stuff that’s modern. Why?”

“Distraction,” said Amelia. “Or just a good, old-fashioned mind-fuck.”

“Like Grandma used to do?” said Beauvoir.

“Jean-Guy, call the Musée des beaux-arts in Montréal and get a senior conservator to come down.”

Beauvoir got on the phone while Amelia went to work on the nails.

Gamache walked over to Olivier and Billy. “What’ve you found?”

“We think the stuff came in through the floor,” said Olivier. “Looks like the ceiling in the bookshop has been repaired and repainted, and we can see where a couple of boards up here have cracked.”

“We think they used a knife to remove a section of the bookstore ceiling,” said Billy. “Then a rubber mallet to push up these boards, creating an opening just large enough for a person to get through. But in doing that, they cracked a few when the wood pulled away from the nails.”

Gamache had to get on his knees and lean close to see the cracks. Getting up, he brushed off his slacks. “They knew what they were doing.”

“True,” said Billy. “It takes some skill to repair the drywall downstairs.”