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“He hasn’t a clue. He’s on leave and recovering in that little village of his. He’s been silent since all this happened.”

“Silent doesn’t mean inactive. You underestimated him once. That can’t happen again.”

She sighed. “If you’re that worried, why not just kill him now? The first snowfall is in the forecast. He probably doesn’t have his snow tires on yet. Just run him off the road. Fini.”

She waited. We wait. We wait.

Moretti was considering it.

“Non. If he’d died in the church or the water-treatment plant, that would’ve been fine. Line of duty and all that. But now? Kill a senior Sûreté du Québec officer? Can you imagine the blowback? Even if it looked like an accident, the timing would be suspicious. There’d be questions. His people would never stop digging and God knows what they’d find. Non. We just need to make sure he’s not a problem.”

“He’s not.”

“You keep saying that, but how can you be so sure?”

“Because if he has any suspicions, I’ll be the first one he comes to.”

“He trusts you? Still?”

“Of course. Why not? As far as he knows, I helped end the poison plot.”

“You aren’t lying to me, are you?”

“I wouldn’t do that, Don Moretti. If nothing else, it wouldn’t be prudent.”

There was a pause, and then soft laughter. “You are many things, but prudent isn’t one.”

He was probably right, she thought. Otherwise she’d never have found herself this far from shore.

“Bon,” he finally said. Good. “It’ll be over soon.”

The thing about psychopaths, and she’d met her fair share, was that they knew they were the sun around which everything moved. They were the light, the dark, the gravity, the rational. The reason and the reason why. Joseph Moretti knew he was the sun, the son, the grandson. The grand sun. That nothing happened without his approval. He was all-seeing, all-knowing.

He was wrong.

This was bigger than even he knew. There was another celestial body that eclipsed even the boss of bosses. She just had to keep skating, keep her equilibrium. Keep him happy and onside. And looking in one direction, and not the other.

“C’est vrai,” she laughed. “We’re safe. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, I’m not the one who should be worried.”

There was a pause, and in that moment she saw her mistake. She’d dared think that she might yet make it to safety.

That was how mistakes were made, how cracks formed. Hope lured people closer to the edge, to the shore. Not realizing that was where the ice melted first. Just feet from solid ground, it gave way, and they plunged into the icy water, their breaths taken away, their hearts spasming, their last view that of the pine trees overhead, almost within reach as they sank.

“And the map?” he asked. Down the phone line she could hear voices raised, calling to each other. Friendly voices.

“We don’t know for sure there is one. If Charles Langlois had a map, it’s well hidden. If it exists at all, we’ll find it. No one else has it, otherwise I’d have heard.”

“I think it would be a good idea if you joined me here, Evelyn.”

“Now, today? At the market?” She felt her anxiety rise along with the hairs on her forearms.

Was he serious? Was this a test? Or had she already flunked the test? Was it a trap? “But we might be seen together.”

“I’m sure you can come up with a believable explanation. You’re allowed to shop for dinner.”

Into the silence, she sighed. “I’m on my way.”