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As they’d left the tactical vehicle, Gamache had paused to adjust Comeau’s vest, securing his helmet.

“Nobody gets by you, right, Agent Comeau?”

“Right, patron.”

“We’re counting on you, son.”

“Yessir.”

Isabelle Lacoste looked out the window of their makeshift Incident Room and watched the car come to a halt in front of the B&B.

She waited for Jean-Guy to get out, but there was no movement. She wondered if she should go and make sure everything was okay. That Jean-Guy hadn’t lost it on Comeau.

Not for Comeau’s sake, but for Jean-Guy’s. The little shit wasn’t worth losing his career over.

But the idea of seeing Gaston Comeau turned her stomach. She turned her back. Turned away.

As she did, Isabelle Lacoste realized she was afraid. Not of Comeau, but of what she might do when she did come face-to-face with him.

As the bullets flew, and tears began to roll down his filthy cheeks, Agent Comeau knew the cordons had been breached. That at least some of those monsters were headed his way.

Another agent, this one experienced, had been assigned with him to guard this exit.

She’d stepped out and was firing. “Come on. Come on,” she called to Comeau.

Then she advanced, out of sight. Assuming, he knew, that he was behind her. Covering her. Supporting her.

There was more gunfire, and he felt a stinging. A shard had been blown off the concrete wall and had grazed his cheek.

His hand came away with blood.

He heard running. In his direction. And firing. The Chief was issuing orders. Did he know that at least one, maybe more, had broken away? He should say something. Warn him. Call for backup. For help.

And he tried. But no words came out. Instead, he backed into a corner and crouched. Making himself small. Tiny. Invisible. He closed his eyes. Squeezing them tight. You can’t seeeee meeee.

He heard the boots running toward him. He heard them stop. He heard the weapon cocked.

Mommy. Mommy. Oh, God, Mommy, help me.

He covered his head with his arms. “Please, please don’t. Please.”

Then he heard a laugh. It was high, hysterical. “Fucking perfect. Here, look, quick. Take a video.”

Comeau felt himself lifted by the collar and an arm placed around his shoulders. He opened his eyes, just as the video was taken.

“Hey, Gamache, look what we found. One of your finest. I’ll see you later, Chief. Maybe in a restaurant. Will that be fries with your burger?”

Then he’d turned to whisper in Agent Comeau’s ear. “Bang, bang, you’re dead. You died of shame, little man.”

“We should take him with us,” said the other.

“Are you kidding? No one will want this fucking coward back. Leave him.”

And they did.

The Sûreté raid managed to capture the entire gang, with the exception of the two leaders.

Inspector Beauvoir had found Agent Comeau curled on the floor, playing dead. Hours later, the video was sent to the homicide department with the subject line—