‘It’s this case. It’s become about more than murder. Somehow it’s about belief.’

‘Every murder you’ve been on is about belief. What the murderer believes, what you believe.’

It was true. We are what we believe. And the only case where he’d seriously been in danger of betraying what he believed had been Arnot.

‘Maybe I should have let them die.’

There it was. Had he been driven by his ego in the Arnot case? His pride? His certainty that he was right and everyone else was wrong?

Gamache remembered the hushed and hurried meeting at Sûreté headquarters. The decision to let the men commit suicide, for the good of the force. He remembered raising his objections and being voted down. And then he’d left. He still felt a pang of shame as he remembered what happened next. He’d taken a case in Mutton Bay, as far from headquarters as he could get. Where he could clear his head. But he’d known all along what he had to do.

And the fisherman had put it beyond doubt.

Gamache had jumped on a plane and headed back to Montreal. It was the weekend Arnot had chosen to go to the Abitibi. Gamache had made the long drive up. And as he got closer the weather had closed in. The first storm of the winter had descended, rapidly and brutally. And Gamache had become lost and stuck.

But he’d prayed and pushed and finally the tires had gripped and the car had headed back the way it had come. Back to the main road. The right road. He’d found the cabin and arrived just in time.

As Gamache entered Arnot had hesitated then jumped for his gun. And in that instant, as Arnot lunged, Gamache had known the truth of it. Arnot would see the others dead then he’d disappear.

Gamache had leaped across the room and grabbed the gun first. And suddenly it was over. The three men were taken back to Montreal to face trial. A trial that no one wanted, except Armand Gamache.

The trial had been a very public affair, rending the Sûreté and the entire community. And many blamed Gamache. He’d done the unthinkable. He’d taken the matter public.

Gamache had known this would happen, and that was why he’d hesitated. To lose the respect of your peers is a terrible thing. To become a pariah was hard.

And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely

His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,

And then he falls, as I do.

‘And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,’ said Gamache in a whisper.

‘Never to hope again.’ Reine-Marie finished the quote. ‘Are you that great, Armand, that your fall is legend?’

He gave a short laugh. ‘I’m just feeling sorry for myself. I miss you.’