“Wait a minute,” said Agent Favreau. “What’s all this about? No one leaves until we get an explanation.”

Gamache stepped closer to him. The agent backed up and put his hand on his billy club.

Gamache cocked his head to one side, taking in the movement. Then he turned away from the agents, toward the villagers who were watching with unease.

“Go on,” he said.

“Armand?” asked Reine-Marie.

“I’ll be home soon.” He smiled reassuringly.

And they left, glancing back now and then to the large man and two young men, squaring off in the old-growth forest. It was hard not to get the impression of lithe young wolves closing in on a stag. Having no idea just how very dangerous a stag could be.

Laurent’s parents hadn’t budged and Gamache hadn’t expected them to. They were now the exceptions.

Gamache returned his attention to the young men.

“You see them?” When the agents didn’t respond, he continued. “That’s Evelyn and Al Lepage. They lost their son, Laurent, a few days ago. I believe you wrote up the report.”

“Yes,” said Agent Favreau. “An accident. Ran his bike off the road. What does that have to do with this?”

“His death was no accident.” Gamache lowered his voice so that the Lepages didn’t hear, yet again, what they already knew. “He was killed here, and his body taken to that ditch. The evidence is over there.”

Gamache looked behind him.

“Where?” Agent Favreau demanded.

“It’s hard to see. It’s hidden under netting.”

“Show me,” said the agent, walking toward Gamache, who stepped in front of him.

“Please don’t go any further,” he said, locking eyes with the young cop. “You’re in danger of destroying evidence.”

“And you’re in danger of obstructing our investigation.”

“I asked you here to guard the scene until the homicide team arrives from Montréal,” said Gamache.

“You asked us here?” the agent laughed. “We’re not guests at your party. Step aside.”

“I will not,” said Gamache. “You’re not trained for this. I was with the Sûreté too. Let the experts in homicide do their jobs and you do yours.”

“Step aside or I’ll knock you aside.”

He brought out his club.

Gamache’s eyes widened in shock. A look the agent mistook for fear. He grinned.

“Go on, old man. Give me a reason.” He glared at Gamache.

“My God, were you trained at the academy?” Gamache demanded.

“Don’t use that tone with me or you’ll see how the academy taught us to deal with people who harass an officer in the course of his duty.”

“Favreau,” Agent Brassard whispered, but his colleague refused to acknowledge him.

“You’ll be my first arrest. One I suspect you’ll resist.”

Gamache was looking at him with such alarm that the man laughed.

“Pissing your pants, mon vieux? Now get out of our way.”