After the search they met the Lepages and Clara in the sitting room of the small farmhouse. Clara had made tea, and offered the officers some, but they declined.

The room was dominated by a large brick fireplace inserted with a woodstove. Two old sofas faced each other across the hearth, each with a knitted afghan folded across the back. The floors were hardwood, and pocked and scratched. Braided rag throw rugs were scattered here and there on the floors. The old dog lay with its head on its paws by a rocking chair.

A guitar was propped on a stand next to the chair.

Beauvoir walked over to the stereo and looked at the LPs and cassettes.

He pulled out a vinyl album and recognized the smiling man on the cover. With a full head of red hair, a bushy red beard, wearing a plaid lumberjack shirt and jeans with peace signs sewn in. He had everything but a joint.

He also recognized the background, with three tall pine trees.

The album was called Asylum.

“You?” asked Beauvoir, unnecessarily.

Al nodded. Evie took her husband’s hand.

“You’re American, is that right?” asked Lacoste. “A draft dodger?”

Al nodded. “There were lots of us.”

“I know,” said Lacoste. “It wasn’t an accusation. Why did you come here?”

“To get out of the war,” said Al.

“No, I mean, why here specifically?”

“I walked across the border from Vermont. I was tired. It was dark. I saw the lights of the village. So I stopped. Stayed.”

His speech was almost infantile, in spare declarative sentences.

“When was this?” asked Lacoste.

“Nineteen seventy.”

“More than forty years ago,” said Beauvoir.

“Do you know anything about that gun in the woods?” Lacoste asked.

“No. I hate guns.”

“Did Laurent say anything more after he found the gun? Did he talk to anyone else about it?” asked Beauvoir.

Both Al and Evie shook their heads.

“No?” asked Beauvoir. “Or you don’t know?”

“If he spoke to someone else he didn’t tell us,” said Evie. “But he must’ve, right? Was he killed because of the gun?”

“We think so,” said Lacoste. “Can you think of anything Laurent said, anything at all, that could help?”

“He came home, we had supper. Laurent read and Al and I did the vegetable baskets, then we went to bed. It was a normal night.”

“And next morning?” asked Lacoste.

“Breakfast, then he was out the door and on his bike as always.” Evie shut her eyes and both Lacoste and Beauvoir knew what she was seeing. The back of her little boy as he ran out into the sunshine. Never to return.

“We looked in his room but didn’t find anything,” said Beauvoir. “Has anything changed in there? Is there anything new?”

“Like what?” Evie asked.

Like the firing mechanism to a weapon of mass destruction, thought Beauvoir. Or plans for Armageddon.

“Just anything,” he said. “Did he bring anything home recently?”