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As the head of homicide, Armand Gamache had interviewed enough witnesses, enough suspects, to not rely solely on what people said.

And now he’d become like the monks of the monastery of Saint-Gilbert-Entre-les-Loups. Saint Gilbert Between the Wolves. Who’d taken a vow of silence and yet communicated volumes with a raised brow, a frown, a grin. A gesture. Though unlike the monks, the silence in Armand’s world was not a vow, not voluntary.

And he didn’t live in silence—that would have been a blessing. He lived with a permanent shriek. Like tinnitus on steroids.

At first Armand thought, feared, the screaming in his head would drive him mad. Brought on by the report of the gun right next to his head, it meant he struggled to sleep, to read, to think. He often felt off-balance, nauseous. There was now a buffer between himself and his family. His friends. His colleagues.

Reine-Marie.

It was lonely. He was lonely.

But with time, and help, he found himself more at peace with the shriek. He tried to think of it as a constant companion. Granted, one that seemed perpetually angry at him, but still, the perception seemed to help.

He wasn’t sure if it was that, or just time, but it seemed to Armand that the cicadas were leaving. The siren seemed to have diminished.

He still could not hear what was being said, but he had hope that one day he’d wake up to the soft sound of Reine-Marie’s breath on the pillow next to him.

It surprised him what he missed. The voices of family and friends were obvious. As was music. But who knew he’d miss the sound of sizzling bacon? Milk pouring into a glass for the children. The shuffle of leaves. The rustle of paper. The click of a light going on or off. A door opening.

Henri’s snore.

The minutiae. The soundscape of a life.

But for now, he had his other senses. And they all told him the same thing. Something was approaching. Something dreadful was about to happen.

He looked at his watch and was surprised by the time.

“Isabelle will be here soon,” he said.

“I hope she brings doughnuts,” said Jean-Guy.

“I hope she brings doughnuts,” said Armand.

As she approached the market, Evelyn saw the trucks being loaded. She knew that they’d soon be heading toward the border with Ontario and the Maritime Provinces. But most would cross, unchallenged, into the United States with loads of weapons, booze, drugs. Some would stop on the way to take on human cargo.

And then they’d return, laden with contraband.

She couldn’t stop the trucks even if she wanted to, so she turned her back and scanned the stalls looking for Moretti.

There was his daughter, in her cheerful amber coat, and there was Moretti’s wife. A helpmate to her mobster husband. She too came from a crime family and understood the rules. As their daughter would one day. Already unwittingly being groomed for the family business.

And there was Don Moretti, looking especially benign that Saturday morning in his canvas field coat, his peaked cap. His black Lab on a leash and choke collar beside him.

Slender, athletic, in his mid-forties, dark hair greying just at the temples, Joe Moretti looked like a country gentleman.

Though no one was fooled. Everyone in Little Italy knew him. And knew him for what he was.

“Evelyn.” The shout came from two aisles over as he spotted her and nodded to the large men to let her pass. “Thank you for coming.”

Moretti greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. She wasn’t fooled.

If he chose to have her shot right then and there, no one would stop him. And no one would see or say anything. She would end up in a crate, then a field, feeding the next crop of gourds to be sold at market.

“Come.” He took her arm. “Whisper in my ear. Tell me everything it was not wise to say over the phone. Hold nothing back.”

The hand on her arm tightened until it was almost painful.

As she spoke, Don Moretti watched her, his gaze intense. Taking in not just her words but her tone. Her body language. Her pupils, the color in her cheeks, any furrows in her brow. Searching for the crack, the lie that lay beneath the words. The one he knew must be there.