As he looked more closely, and let his eyes adjust to the night, Agent Robert Lemieux became aware of the outline of something even darker than the night. A house on the hill overlooking the village. As he stared the darkness seemed to take shape and an image of turrets appeared against the dark sky and darker pine forest. From one of the chimneys he saw just a hint of smoke before it was dragged away like a wraith into the woods.

Gamache took a breath, exhaling puffy white air, and turning to the young man beside him he smiled.

‘Ready?’

‘Yes sir.’

Lemieux didn’t know why but he was suddenly a little afraid and suddenly very glad to be in the company of Armand Gamache.

At the top of the hill Agent Lemieux glided the car to a stop beside a snow bank, hoping he’d left enough room for the chief to squeeze out.

He had, and Gamache stood for the briefest moment surveying the large, dark house before beginning to walk decisively down the long path to the unlit front door. As the old Hadley house got closer Gamache tried to banish the impression it was watching him, its blinds half drawn like hooded serpent eyes.

It was fanciful, but that was a side to himself he’d come to accept and even encourage. It helped sometimes. But sometimes it hurt. Gamache wasn’t sure which this was.

From inside the house Richard Lyon watched the two men approach. One was clearly in charge. Not only was he walking first down their path, but he seemed in command. It was a quality Lyon noticed in others, mostly as a counterpoint to his complete lack of it. The other figure was smaller and slimmer and walked with a bit of a bounce, like a younger man.

Deep breath. Suck it up. Be a man. Be a man. They were almost at the door now. Should he go and open it before they arrived? Should he wait for them to ring? Would making them wait be rude? Would opening the door show anxiety?

Richard Lyon’s mind was racing, but his body was frozen. It was his natural state. He had a very slim brain and a very generous body.

Be a man. Firm handshake. Look him in the eye. Lower your voice. Lyon hummed a little, trying to get his voice below the soprano register. Behind him in the gloomy living room his daughter Crie stared into space.

Now what? Normally at a time like this CC would have told him exactly what to do. Be a man. Suck it up. He wasn’t totally surprised to hear her voice in his head still. It was almost comforting.

God, you’re such a loser.

Almost comforting. It would be helpful if she’d say something constructive, like ‘Go open the door, you idiot’ or ‘Sit down and make them wait. Jesus, do I have to do everything?’