Once again, the chief looked out the window, as though the answer to his question was grazing in the field with the horses.

Then he smiled. But it was not a happy smile. It did not reach his thoughtful eyes.

He had his answer.

The letter he held had not been written by Mr. Ellis, but by his killer. The murderer had tried to make the death look as though Ellis had hanged himself. This letter was meant to confirm it.

Instead, the letter confirmed that Chief Inspector Gamache was on the trail of a cruel and cunning killer.

Chapter Five

Back downstairs in the entryway of the Inn and Spa, Gamache met Inspector Beauvoir.

“I’ve been thinking, Chief,” said the inspector, taking off his hat. His hair, normally so neat, stood on end. “Not everyone could carry a dead man up a tree.”

“Then tie a rope around his neck and throw him off,” agreed Gamache.

“Exactly. I’m not sure I could.”

“If you were afraid enough, you could,” said the chief. He knew that fear was so powerful it made people do things they could not normally do. Like lift a car off a loved one. Or race into a burning building.

Fear saved lives.

But fear could also kill. It made men into murderers.

Beauvoir nodded. “Still, the killer would need to be young and strong.”

From the entrance hall where they stood, they looked into the living room. Tom Scott was sitting by the fire. He had changed from his jogging clothes into jeans and a sweater. A workman was stacking wood for the fireplace, which was lit. Tom Scott ignored the man and put his feet up on the old coffee table.

Gamache handed his inspector the note he’d found and watched as Beauvoir’s handsome face showed interest, then surprise.

“So what’s the story?” Beauvoir asked. “Did he kill himself or not?”

“Not. I think that letter wasn’t written by the dead man, but by his killer, to make the death look like suicide.”

“Shit,” said Beauvoir with a sigh. “Where did you find it?”

“In the dead man’s room. His name is Ellis. First name is Arthur. I’ve locked the door.” He handed the key to Beauvoir. “Can you get the scene-of-crime people to dust for fingerprints? And check the letter, too?”

At that moment Angela, the receptionist, appeared at Gamache’s elbow. She smiled and waved into the living room.

“You know him?” Gamache nodded toward Tom Scott.

“Very well. He’s my husband.” She smiled.

“You’re married to Tom Scott?” asked Inspector Beauvoir.

“No, of course not.” Angela made a sour face and lowered her voice. “He’s just strange. No, I mean him. Mike.”

She pointed to the other man in the room. Mike was still filling the wood box.

“You both work here. That must be handy.”