Isabelle Lacoste leaned forward, and everyone in the circle did too. Listening intently, drawn into the story.

“What would people do for power? For wealth?” she asked. “People spent their lives panning for gold, believing they’d find the mother lode. Some people spend all their spare time tinkering in the basement, trying to perfect an invention. Some sit day and night in front of one-armed bandits, thinking any moment they’ll hit the jackpot. People spend their lives writing a book, or looking to cure cancer.”

She looked over at Gamache and Beauvoir.

“We have colleagues who’ve spent all their spare time trying to crack a decades-old case. Rational people do become obsessed. And Project Babylon has every element necessary to grab and hold someone. Power and wealth beyond imagining. Is that worth years of work? Decades? Maybe not to you, or me. But to some, yes. The payoff is life-changing.”

“And all you need to do is be willing to take a few lives along the way,” said Beauvoir.

Eyes that had been glancing over to Monsieur Béliveau now shifted. To the one person in the room who had admitted to spending years researching Gerald Bull. Had even known the man. And known Guillaume Couture. Probably realized Couture was the architect of Project Babylon, and might even have known Antoinette was his niece.

And who lived nearby.

Michael Rosenblatt looked at them, smart enough to recognize what those glances meant. Smart enough to recognize that the facts were building a wall around him.

“But he stepped in front of Armand,” said Reine-Marie, taking her husband’s hand. “To protect him. He would never have done that if he’d killed Laurent and Antoinette.”

“Merci, madame,” said the elderly professor.

But while he said nothing, Armand wondered if that was true. He was glad Delorme hadn’t fired, but he should have. As soon as those plans hit the flames, Sean Delorme should have shot.

But hadn’t.

“So who killed Laurent and Antoinette?” Reine-Marie asked. “Do you know?”

“I’m waiting for more information,” said Lacoste. “We have our suspicions.”

“And so do I,” said Ruth. “I suspect you still have no idea.”

“We’ll find out who did it,” Lacoste assured Brian. “Believe me. It’s just a matter of time.”

Brian got to his feet, weary and disheartened. “I think it was the CSIS agents, and you let them go. I’m going back to the B and B. I need time alone.”

Professor Rosenblatt got up. “I’ll walk with you, if you don’t mind. If I’m allowed.”

Lacoste nodded.

“I did not kill Antoinette Lemaitre,” said Professor Rosenblatt, looking at them all, pausing at each face. “And I did not kill that child.”

Armand walked Brian and Professor Rosenblatt to the door.

“You’re coming with us?” asked Brian.

“Non,” said Gamache. “We’ll be here for a couple hours yet, waiting for Agent Cohen.”