“Not complete misdirection,” said Beauvoir. “Laurent wasn’t killed because he was Laurent, he was killed because he found the weapon, and Antoinette was killed because her uncle designed it. The gun is at the center of everything that’s happened.”

“True, but the focus has become finding the plans, and we’ve taken our eyes off the murderer. He’s in here somewhere.” She tapped the dossier on her desk. “Mary Fraser said we don’t understand her world, and she’s right. This is the world we understand. This is what I should’ve been doing all along. I need to go back over the basics. The interviews, the forensics. Who knows, we might end up at the same place.”

“B’ezrat hashem,” he said, and left while Lacoste opened the dossier and began reading.

There was more than one path to the truth.

*   *   *

Armand went to the bookstore first. There he found Ruth, Myrna and Clara and invited them over to his place. He was vague and they were curious. It was a perfect fit.

Next he went to the bistro, where he found Brian having a beer with Gabri. It was now just past four. Gamache hesitated a moment, then invited them both. Brian might be a suspect, but he was also their greatest asset. He knew the play inside out and backward.

“Bring Olivier,” said Armand over his shoulder, as he hurried to the bistro door.

He was about to leave when he noticed Professor Rosenblatt in a corner, gesturing to him.

“What’s happening?” he asked when Gamache arrived at his table. Lowering his voice, he said, “Is it something to do with the CBC story?”

Gamache could have kicked himself. He’d been so intent on who to invite he hadn’t properly scanned the room for who not to. Rosenblatt was certainly a retired professor. Their background check bore that out. But Gamache was far from convinced he wasn’t more than that. Just as Mary Fraser and Sean Delorme were almost certainly file clerks. And much more.

“Can I help?” asked the elderly professor.

“Non, merci. I think we have it covered.”

Rosenblatt examined him, then looked around the bistro at the people chatting over drinks.

“They have no idea what’s coming their way once word of the gun gets out.”

“None of us can tell the future,” said Gamache. It was an intentionally banal response. He just wanted to get away and wasn’t interested in wasting precious time on some esoteric conversation.

“Oh, I think some can, don’t you?”

Something in his tone made Gamache refocus and give the scientist his attention. “What do you mean?”