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“She’s a friend. My best friend. At one stage, I’d hoped for more, but it didn’t happen. She’s the one who got me my job at Réunion, and said she’d put in a good word to eventually hire me as an investigator. Jenny’s the only one who stayed by me after … She and her mother. I go there every Sunday for dinner. We’ve become like a little family. Please, for God’s sake. Where is she?”

While Armand knew his former protégé was a fantasist, it seemed his feelings for the young woman were real.

“She’s in the house. It was—”

Gaston turned and ran, tripping and falling over the thick growth that seemed to be doing its best to stop him. Or at least slow him enough for Gamache to catch up.

Which he did.

He grabbed the younger man from behind and held him. “Stop!”

Comeau was lashing out, crying and struggling, fighting to break free from Gamache’s grip. Until finally, exhausted, he sank to the ground and covered his face with trembling hands. And sobbed. All around him, the flowers bent forward. Armand knew it was because of the weight of the man on their stems, but still, it looked like they were intentionally laying their heads on Gaston’s legs.

Armand let him get it out. This could not have come as a complete shock. When faced with weeks of silence, Comeau must have feared the worst. To the extent where he thought the body in Lost Nation must be Jeanette. But it was one thing to fear, it was another to be faced with the fact.

Finally Comeau dropped his shaking hands and struggled to his feet. “What happened?” His voice a whisper, his eyes downcast. “Was it…”

“I’m almost certain it was an accident. She fell through the floorboards. It was quick.” Armand wasn’t sure if that was a lie. He hoped not.

“I need to see her.”

“Think carefully about that.” He didn’t need to be graphic.

“I need to see her.” The voice was firmer, the eyes raised to meet Gamache’s.

Without a word, Armand and Gaston walked to the house that, in the twilight, looked even more foreboding.

The whoop-whoop of the police siren was getting closer.

“We need to hurry.”

In the basement, Armand’s flashlight fell on Jeanette. He heard, behind him, a thump as Gaston fell to the floor.

No words escaped him. Just keening, as he rocked back and forth. Then Gaston reached out, but Armand stopped him.

“No. Don’t touch her. It’s time to go.”

“We can’t just leave her,” Gaston pleaded.

“She isn’t here.” Armand’s voice was soft. But firm. “We need to get out.”

He grabbed Comeau by the sleeve and pulled him up the stairs and outside, just as the first of the police vehicles arrived. There was a line of them, including an ambulance.

“Are you…?” The first cop consulted his notes. “Ganache?”

“Gamache. I am.”

“You found the body?”

“I did.”

What followed amounted to an interrogation. They seemed, at least until the CID inspector arrived, to believe he might have been responsible for the body in the basement.

Armand had been subjected to questioning in the past by various police departments. Sometimes quite aggressive. It was to be expected when on foreign soil. But it was always a revelation.

He could better understand the defensiveness of people who turned out to be innocent. The questions always sounded like a series of accusations.

When the CID inspector first approached him, after her initial view of the body, she had his ID in her hand.