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“I can see by your face it’s not that you’ve won the lottery,” said Woodford. “Or, better still, that I have.”

“Non.” Gamache turned to Lacoste.

“We’ve found the body of Frederick Castonguay,” she said.

“Who?”

“Jeanne Caron’s executive assistant.”

“That young man at the desk outside her office?”

“Oui,” said Gamache.

“An accident? No, of course not. You wouldn’t be here if it was. He was murdered.”

“Shot in the head and buried in a shallow grave,” said Lacoste.

Prime Minister Woodford’s face had hardened. “An execution?”

“Oui.”

“Why?”

“We think Castonguay was looking for something,” said Lacoste. “Something Charles Langlois hid.”

“Langlois was the biologist who first alerted you to the poison plot.”

“Oui,” said Gamache.

Woodford considered. “Did Castonguay find it?”

“Non. He was murdered before he could,” said Lacoste.

“Do you know what it was?”

They’d reached the moment de vérité. On the way up, while Isabelle had struggled with the elements and babbled about politicians, Armand had contemplated how much to tell the Prime Minister.

“We do,” he said. “It was Charles Langlois’s laptop. We’ve been looking for it ourselves since all this began.”

Now Woodford cocked his head, his intelligent eyes locking onto Armand’s. “You know because you found it, didn’t you?”

“Oui.”

“And?”

“If you’ll allow me, I’ll get to that in a moment. We believe Moretti was behind the murder.”

“You ‘believe,’ but if it’s an execution, isn’t it obvious, Chief Inspector?”

“Well, sir, we still need evidence. Unfortunately, anyone can put a gun to someone’s head and pull the trigger.”

“Anyone?” Now Woodford smiled ruefully. “You run in strange circles, Chief Inspector.”

“You know what I mean. It looks like a mob hit, but it could be a copycat, or done to implicate Moretti.”

Prime Minister Woodford opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Lacoste spoke.

“Excusez-moi.”