“Yes, of course,” said Delorme. “He’s dead. Five bullets to the head will do that.”

Gamache smiled. “Merci. I was just wondering. And John Fleming?”

Now the CSIS agents really did stare at him, though both Lacoste and Beauvoir dropped their eyes to the table.

“I beg your pardon?” asked Mary Fraser. “John Fleming?”

“Yes,” said Gamache, his voice conversational, friendly even. “How is he connected?”

Mary Fraser looked first at her colleague, then over to the Sûreté agents. There was an awkward silence.

“You do know we’re talking about Project Babylon,” she said.

“Oui,” Beauvoir jumped in. “We found a play by John Fleming and it seemed a coincidence, that’s all.”

“You found it at the site of the gun?” asked Sean Delorme, trying to follow, trying to find the logic.

“Well, no,” Gamache admitted.

“Then why’re we talking about this?” Mary Fraser looked at the Sûreté officers, obviously asking for clarification. None was coming. They’d lapsed into embarrassed silence.

Armand Gamache, however, had not.

“So as far as you know, John Fleming has no involvement at all with Gerald Bull and Project Babylon?” he asked, looking from Mary Fraser to Sean Delorme and back again.

“I frankly don’t even know who you’re talking about,” said Mary Fraser, getting to her feet. “I think this conversation has run its course. Thank you for your company and your help. Will you excuse us?”

“I have work to do too,” said the professor. “Notes I’d like to reread. I’d also like to borrow those”—he pointed to the redacted pages—“if you don’t mind. I’ll give them back to you.”

“It would be good to get your opinion, sir,” said Lacoste, handing them to the elderly scientist.

Professor Rosenblatt chose the spacious banquette by the window and immediately started reading.

After Gabri took their breakfast orders, Isabelle turned to Gamache.

“What was that about?”

“What?”

“John Fleming.”

“I just wanted to see their reaction,” said Gamache.

“And you saw it,” said Lacoste. “They think you’re nuts.”

“And you?” he asked, the smile softening. “What do you think?”

Isabelle Lacoste looked into his shrewd eyes. “I’ve never known you to ask a stupid question, sir. You might sometimes be wrong, but not foolish. I think you genuinely believe there might be a connection.”

“But you don’t?”

He looked from Lacoste to Beauvoir, who dropped his eyes.

“I just don’t see it,” Isabelle admitted. “Bull and Fleming use a popular biblical quote on their creations, but that doesn’t mean they worked together or knew each other.”

Gamache looked over at Beauvoir, who was fidgeting a little.

“I agree with Isabelle. I think you blew your credibility with those people. I could see the way she looked at you.”

“Yes,” said Gamache, sitting back. “That was interesting. A bit too dismissive, wouldn’t you say? She never even asked who I meant by John Fleming.”