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“Now, sir,” said Gamache with a smile. “No poaching.”

“God knows I could use good people. I seem to have made a mess of those I’ve chosen to have around me. Not the best quality in a leader.”

He’d had a carafe of coffee and some pastries brought in for them, and they helped themselves before sitting down again.

“Tell me, Chief Inspector, was Marcus Lauzon really behind the poisoning plot?”

Instead of answering directly, Gamache said, “Why do you ask? The courts found him guilty.”

“True.” Woodford cupped his warm mug in both hands, as though chilled, and looked at Gamache for a moment, trying to decide something. “I haven’t actually known the man for a long time, but I struggle to believe it. That might be my own ego. An inability to admit I not only didn’t see it, but actually elevated a mass murderer to Deputy PM.” He shook his head. “I’m surprised the no-confidence vote in Parliament failed.”

It was close, Gamache knew. Woodford had survived by only a few votes.

“Though you’re not here to relitigate the Lauzon case.” The Prime Minister looked at both officers. “What can I do for you?”

“Can we speak privately?”

Though surprised by this highly unusual request, Woodford only hesitated for a moment before asking his Chief of Staff to leave them. The woman did, though she’d been looking at Gamache as though he was not exactly an ally.

Then the Prime Minister leaned forward. “You have my complete attention, Chief Inspector.”

“Holy shit,” muttered Beauvoir. He’d eaten through two bagels with cream cheese and smoked salmon without even noticing.

“What?” asked Nichol.

“The crap that’s on the web. I’ve visited some of these sites in the past, researching conspiracies for cases, but these really are nuts.”

He thought of the young Sûreté officer who, in all sincerity, had believed the poisoning plot never happened. And that Lauzon was being railroaded by political enemies. That was crazy enough, but these sites Charles Langlois had listed went beyond nutty into demented.

“Yeah? Big surprise.”

Despite what Gamache had said, she was still trying to get into the Poisoning file. Now she leaned over and read what was on Beauvoir’s screen.

“Come on, no one’s going to believe that.” With a snort of laughter, she pointed to a post calling for an American patriot militia to be formed to protect the border against the imminent Canadian invasion.

“Has syphilis come back?” she asked.

It was right beside a report that Canada was training geese to bring down American planes.

Beauvoir was struggling to believe that people could be that stupid, that gullible. And that was one of the saner posts. Though clearly “sanity” had a whole other definition in this echo chamber.

Picking up on the previous thread, a few claimed Prime Minister Woodford had set the megafires as a first volley from Canada. An intentional attack. The worst since 9/11.

The prelude to an invasion.

Some were outright calling for his assassination. Jean-Guy forwarded that to Gamache.

“Why would we want to invade the States?” asked Nichol. “You’d think it’d be the other way around. We should put penicillin in their water. Would that be considered poison?”

“By this lot, yes. Apparently so is fluoride, which, according to one site, brainwashed people into voting for Obama.”

“And made people support those damned equal rights. Reproductive rights. Immigration. Environmental protection. Ruining our lives,” said Nichol. “Fucking fluoride.”

Jean-Guy slid her a look, hoping to God she was kidding. But it was hard to tell. Yvette Nichol also had layers within layers.

“Before we begin, I have some news,” said Gamache.

They’d taken armchairs in the comfortable seating area.