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The Psalms, of course, meant it figuratively. Water being faith. But suppose Dom Philippe meant it literally? The Abbot of Saint-Gilbert-Entre-les-Loups had stood on the dock, looked out at the vast lake, and quoted that phrase from the Psalms just before he left the remote monastery. Never to return.

He’d been murdered shortly after, in the small church in Three Pines.

Armand closed his eyes. In a dry and parched land …

What happens when the water runs out?

“No, not in Parliament,” said Isabelle Lacoste. “Frederick was in a shallow grave at a remote lake. Shot in the head. Execution style.”

Jeanne Caron’s eyes widened and there was the slightest intake of breath.

“He was murdered? By a lake?”

It seemed odd to mention the lake in the same breath as the killing, as though it was equally important.

“Oui.”

“The poor little shit. Why did they do this to him?”

“Who?”

“You said execution style. I don’t think it was the fellow from the House of Commons food truck, do you?”

“We wondered if you might know.”

“For God’s sake, it’s Moretti again. You know that. But why Frederick?”

“Could he have been working with them?”

“The Montréal mob? Are you kidding?” But then she paused. And finally shook her head. “Non. No way.”

“Why not?”

“Because he was a coward. Great at filing, terrific at keeping my appointments in order. He was an officious little—” She stopped herself, remembering what had happened to him.

“Shit?” suggested Isabelle. “Why did you call him that?”

“That night, in the church in that little village—”

“Three Pines.”

“Whatever. When they murdered my uncle and tried to kill me, Frederick got me meds, but then took off. Didn’t even take me to a hospital. He was a coward.”

“He could’ve driven off when he heard the shots, but he waited to see—”

“If I was dead?”

“If you needed help.”

“Which I did. So why not take me to hospital? Never mind, you don’t know.”

But Lacoste did. At least, she knew what it was to lose your nerve. It happened to seasoned cops. To hardened veterans in battle. They suddenly broke. It was too much. They froze, or hid, or ran away. Not through cowardice. These were brave men and women. The fault lay in being asked to be superhuman. For far too long.

It happened to the best and the worst. Equally.

“But you’re right. The fact he waited and drove me that far, and didn’t leave me at the church or on some godforsaken back road to bleed to death, proves he wasn’t working for the mob. They wanted me dead. He saved me, sorta. He was just some scared little shit in over his head. He would never align himself with the mob, and the mob wouldn’t want someone so unpredictable.”

Lacoste wasn’t so sure. “You seemed surprised by the lake.”