Al and Evie Lepage had been on every shift, searching the forest for their son’s stick, only taking breaks when the damp and cold got into their bones and they couldn’t take it anymore.

They were in the bistro taking a rare break to warm up when Jean-Guy Beauvoir strode past on his way to the Gamache home. They followed him and were standing in the doorway when they heard his phone call to the local Sûreté detachment.

And the next call. To his own office in Montréal. Telling them to send a forensics team.

“What did you find?” Evie asked from the doorway to the study.

Al stood behind her, not allowing Beauvoir past until he told them.

“We found Laurent’s stick,” said Jean-Guy. He spoke softly, gently, clearly. Confirming the worst fear. That there was a ghost in the attic, a monster under the bed, a vampire in the basement after all.

Monsters existed. Their son had been murdered by one.

*   *   *

“I want to see,” said Al.

He and Evie had followed Beauvoir back into the forest and now confronted Gamache. Beauvoir had gone back through the hole, to start the preliminary investigation, leaving Armand outside to make sure no one else entered.

Gabri and Olivier returned to the village, to guide the police through the woods.

“I can’t let you in,” Armand said to Al and Evie. “I’m sorry. Not yet.”

Al Lepage, always large, had grown immense with anger. His chest was out, his broad shoulders back, even his beard seemed wilder than normal.

If Armand had expected Evelyn to be the voice of reason, he’d miscalculated. While smaller than her husband, her rage was no less immense.

“Get out of my way,” she snapped, barreling into him, trying to shoulder him aside. But Armand hooked his arm around her waist and held her in place, leaning over her, whispering into her long, loose hair.

“No, Evie, please. Please. Stop.”

It was no use, he knew, trying to reason with her. Warning her she might destroy evidence. Telling her the forensics team needed to get there first.

This was not about reason but raw instinct. Something primal. She needed to stand on the spot, not where her son had died, but where he’d last lived.

And Armand needed to stop her. Stop them.

“What else is in there, Armand?” Al demanded, taking his wife’s hand. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Gamache didn’t answer.

“We heard Jean-Guy on the phone, calling for help,” said Al. “He told them to bring strong flashlights and floodlights. And ladders.”

Al Lepage lifted his eyes from Armand to the wall of woody vines, intertwined, creeping into and over and through each other, creating an almost impenetrable barrier. It also created a trompe l’oeil, the illusion that it was simply thick brush. It looked, to anyone walking by, like more forest.