‘Oh, it was planned. I told her about it, but she already knew. They’d gone the year before, just after she bought the house here. She told me to get shots of her surrounded by common folk, her words not mine. So I went off to the breakfast and shot a couple of rolls, then we went to the curling. Cold as hell. My camera eventually froze up. Had to put it under my coat, under my armpit, to thaw it out. I was moving around, trying to get different angles. CC wasn’t very photogenic, so it was important to get the right lighting and angles and preferably some other point of interest in the shot. That old lady sitting beside her was great. Face full of character and the way she looked at CC, fantastic.’ Petrov threw himself back in the chair and laughed at the memory of Kaye glaring as though CC was something her dog had thrown up. ‘And she kept at CC to sit still, sit still. CC didn’t listen to many people. Anyone, actually, in my experience, but this old lady she listened to. I would too. Scary as hell. And sure enough CC sat still. Kinda. Made my job easier, anyway.’

‘Why was Kaye Thompson telling CC to sit still?’ Chief Inspector Gamache asked.

‘CC was a nervous sort. Always jumping up to straighten an ashtray or picture or a lamp. Nothing was ever right. I guess it finally got on the old girl’s nerves. She looked as though she was about to kill her.’

Gamache knew it was just a figure of speech, and Petrov clearly didn’t even realize what he’d said.

‘We got your developed film from the lab this morning,’ said Beauvoir, walking to the table and setting them out. Petrov followed as did the others. There on the table was a series of stills. CC’s final moments, and beyond.

‘Notice anything curious?’ Beauvoir asked.

After a minute or so Petrov straightened up and shook his head. ‘It looks like what I remember.’

‘Nothing missing? Like, oh, the entire series of pictures from here to here? From CC alive to CC dead. The entire murder is missing.’ Beauvoir’s voice rose. Unlike Gamache, who could sit and chat with suspects all day hoping they’d eventually open up, Beauvoir knew the only way to handle a suspect was to show them who was boss.

‘That’s where the camera froze, I guess,’ said Petrov, scanning the images, trying not to let the fear out, trying not to sink into the petulance and self-pity so much a part of his life with CC.

‘That’s convenient,’ said Beauvoir, taking a deep breath. ‘Or maybe I just inhaled the frame that shows the murder? What do you think? Did you burn the film that shows CC being murdered?’