“Do we know who the dead man is?”

“Not yet, but Mr. Scott thinks he may know the man. It’s hard to say for sure.”

Dr. Harris nodded. She doubted that the dead man’s mother would know him right away. Hanging did that to a person’s face.

“Scott didn’t try to cut him down?” she asked.

Chief Inspector Gamache shook his head. “No. He told the officers he didn’t have a knife.”

Gamache knew that was reasonable. Who went jogging with a knife? Except maybe in Detroit. And even then the weapon would be a gun. And the person would be running more than jogging.

But he also knew the doctor had hit on one very troubling part of this sad event. Why hadn’t Tom Scott tried to help the man? It would be natural to at least try to do something. And yet he’d done nothing.

Chapter Two

Dr. Harris and Inspector Beauvoir watched the dead man being lowered to the ground. At the same time, Chief Inspector Gamache walked over to the living man. Tom Scott.

“How are you feeling?”

“Sick and cold. Can I go now?”

“In a minute.”

“I’ve been here for hours.” Tom Scott looked at his watch. “It’s almost ten. I’ve missed breakfast. My wife will kill me.”

“Perhaps you should call her.”

Scott paused. “That’s okay.”

“I insist. I wouldn’t want her to worry.”

“I already called. She’s fine.”

Seeing Gamache’s face, he said in a small voice, “This is my vacation. I don’t get many. I just want to get back to the Inn.”

“Tell me again what happened.”

Tom Scott took a deep breath. “I woke up early, and it was a nice day, so I decided to go for a jog. The woman at the front desk said there were paths cut through the woods where I could run. So I did. After about five minutes, I found . . .” He jerked his head toward the now-empty tree.

“What did you do?”

“I had my cell phone with me, so I called the police. Then I called my wife.”

Gamache studied Tom Scott. He was lying. That much was certain. But why? What was this nervous little man hiding?

“And then what did you do?”

“I waited for the cops. What else would I do? Keep on jogging?”

“You might have tried to help the man.”

“Are you crazy?” Scott yelled. “Did you see what he looked like? You should thank me for even stopping and calling. I could have just run away. But I didn’t.”

Scott was so angry he trembled.

The chief inspector waited. And waited. Quietly staring at Tom Scott.

“What?” Scott’s voice was high, like a girl’s. “What is it?”

“You might have helped the man,” Gamache said again.

“He was dead!”

“He certainly was by the time we arrived.”