But seeing Evie’s alarm grow, Clara felt her own doubt expand, bloat, break through the other taut layers. Until doubt and dread stared at each other across the kitchen.

“It wasn’t you, was it?” said Clara. Stating what would have been obvious had she not been blinded by her own brilliance.

“That picture,” Evelyn gestured toward the now dark device in Clara’s hand, “was on the gun?”

“Yes,” said Beauvoir.

“What is it? You called it the Whore of Babylon.”

“It’s a biblical reference,” said Clara. “From the Book of Revelation. Some interpret it as the Antichrist. The devil.”

It would have sounded melodramatic had two people not already been killed, including this woman’s son.

Evie gripped the Formica countertop behind her.

“Can I see the drawings again?” Clara asked.

They followed Evelyn through the empty home, up the stairs, and into Laurent’s room. There, leaning against the books, was the row of lambs with the ewe and ram on the knoll watching over their child. The drawings progressed from the very first, which simply said “My Son,” through to Laurent aged nine. In each the lamb grew slightly larger, grew up. And then it ended. The lamb to the slaughter.

“You didn’t draw them, did you,” said Clara, seeing it now. “Al did.”

Evelyn nodded. “I thought I made that clear when you came the other day.”

“You might have, but I was so convinced it was you that I never really heard what you were saying. It didn’t occur to me that Al would do these.”

“Did you know your husband helped build the missile launcher?” Beauvoir asked.

“He couldn’t have,” said Evie. “Al hates guns, hates violence. He came here to get away from all that. There’s no way he’d have had anything to do with whatever is in those woods. Not Al.”

The Sûreté agents did not tell her what they knew about her husband. That he was not only capable of violence, he’d been involved in one of the great atrocities of the past century.

“Where is your husband?” Lacoste asked.

“In the field,” said Evie. “He spends all of his time out there now.”

Through Laurent’s bedroom window, past Spider-man and Superman and Batman on the sill, they could see the large man bending over, pulling his crop from the ground.

A minute later Clara and Evie watched as the Sûreté officers approached him. He stood up and wiped his large forearm across his forehead, then dropped his arms to his sides.

Then the Sûreté agents shepherded Al Lepage to the car.

Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

“I knew,” Ruth admitted.

“And Monsieur Béliveau knew,” said Gamache. “That’s why he’s been visiting you so early in the morning when he thought no one would see.”

“He’s a good man, Armand,” said Ruth, warning in her voice. “Too good perhaps.”

“He’s certainly good at keeping secrets.”