‘I plan to see Superintendent Brébeuf,’ said Gamache, shaking the young man’s hand and introducing Reine-Marie, ‘and ask him to assign you to homicide.’

Lemieux’s face opened in astonishment. ‘Oh, my God, sir. Thank you, thank you. I won’t let you down.’

‘I know you won’t.’

Lemieux helped him clear off his car while Reine-Marie used the washroom in the bistro.

‘Poor Madame Zardo.’ Lemieux pointed his snow scraper at Ruth, sitting on her bench on the village green.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well, she’s a drunk. One of the villagers said that’s her beer walk.’

‘Do you know what a beer walk is?’

Lemieux started to say yes then wondered. Maybe he’d gotten it wrong. Jumped to a conclusion. Instead he shook his head.

‘Neither did I.’ Gamache smiled. ‘Myrna Landers explained it to me. Ruth Zardo had a dog named Daisy. I met Daisy. The two were inseparable. Two stinky old ladies limping and growling through life. This past autumn Daisy grew weak and disoriented and finally the end was near. Ruth took her old friend on one last afternoon walk. It was five o’clock and they went into the woods where they’d gone each day. She took along a gun and when Daisy wasn’t looking, she shot her.’

‘But that’s awful.’

‘It’s called a beer walk because most farmers before they put their family pets down take a twelve pack with them, get just drunk enough, and do the deed. Ruth was sober. It was an act of love and mercy and formidable courage. Later Olivier and Gabri helped her bury Daisy under the bench here. And every day at five Ruth visits Daisy. Like Greyfriars Bobby.’

Lemieux didn’t understand the reference, but he understood he’d been wrong.

‘You must be careful,’ said Gamache. ‘I’m counting on you.’

‘I’m sorry sir. I’ll do better.’

At Sûreté headquarters the phone rang and the Superintendent picked it up quickly. It was the call he’d been waiting for. After listening for a few moments, he spoke.

‘You’ve done well.’

‘I don’t feel good about this, sir.’

‘And you think I do? It makes me sick. But it has to be done.’

And it was true. The Superintendent was heartsick about the position he found himself in. But he was the only person who could bring Gamache down.

‘Yes, sir. I understand.’

‘Good,’ said Michel Brébeuf. ‘We’re clear. I have another call. Keep me informed.’ He hung up on Agent Robert Lemieux and took the next call.

‘Bonjour, Superintendent.’ Gamache’s deep warm voice came down the line.

‘Bonne année, Armand,’ said Brébeuf. ‘What can I do for you, mon ami?’

‘We have a problem. I need to talk to you about Agent Nichol.’