Gamache looked at his Inspector. “What do you think?”

“I think the trout have no choice. They return because they’re trout. That’s what trout do. Life is that simple. Ducks return to the same place every year. Geese do it. Salmon and butterflies and deer. Jeez, deer are such creatures of habit they wear a trail through the woods and never deviate. That’s why so many are shot, as we know. They never change. People are the same. We are what we are. We are who we are.”

“We don’t change?” Gamache took a piece of fresh asparagus.

“Exactly. You taught me that people, that cases, are basically very simple. We’re the ones who complicate it.”

“And the Dyson case? Are we complicating it?”

“I think so. I think she was killed by someone she screwed. End of story. A sad story, but a simple one.”

“Someone from her past?” Gamache asked.

“No, that’s where I think you’re wrong. The people who knew the new Lillian after she stopped drinking say she’d become a decent person. And the people who knew the old one, before she stopped drinking, say she was a bitch.”

Beauvoir was holding up both hands, one was clutching the massive burger, the other held a french fry. Between them was space, a divide.

“And I’m saying the old and new are the same person.” He brought his hands together. “There’s only one Lillian. Just as there’s only one me. Only one you. She might have gotten better at hiding it after she joined AA, but believe me, that bitter, nasty, horrible woman was still there.”

“And still hurting people?” the Chief asked.

Beauvoir ate the fry and nodded. This was his favorite part of an investigation. Not the food, though in Three Pines that was never a hardship. He could remember other cases, in other places, when he and the Chief had gone days with barely anything to eat, or shared cold canned peas and Spam. Even that, he had to admit, had been fun. In retrospect. But this little village produced bodies and gourmet meals in equal proportion.

He liked the food, but what he mostly loved were the conversations with the Chief. Just the two of them.

“One theory is that Lillian Dyson came here to make amends to someone,” said Gamache. “To apologize.”

“If she did I bet she wasn’t sincere.”

“So why would she have been here, if she wasn’t sincere?”

“To do what it was in her nature to do. To screw someone.”

“Clara?” Gamache asked.

“Maybe. Or someone else. She had lots to choose from.”

“And it went wrong,” said Gamache.

“Well, it sure didn’t go right, for her anyway.”

Was the answer so simple? Gamache wondered. Was Lillian Dyson just being true to who she really was?

A selfish, destructive, hurtful person. Drunk or sober.

The same person, with the same instincts and nature.

To hurt.

“But,” said Gamache, “how’d she know about this party? It was a private party. By invitation only. And we all know Three Pines is hard to find. How did Lillian know about the party, and how’d she find it? And how did the murderer know she’d even be here?”

Beauvoir took a deep breath, trying to think, then shook his head.

“I got us this far, Chief. It’s your turn to do something useful.”

Gamache sipped his beer and grew quiet. So quiet, in fact, that Beauvoir became concerned. Maybe he’d upset the Chief with his flippant remark.

“What is it?” Beauvoir asked. “Something wrong?”

“No, not really.” Gamache looked at Beauvoir, as though trying to make up his mind about something. “You say people don’t change, but you and Enid loved each other once, right?”

Beauvoir nodded.

“But now you’re separated, on your way to a divorce. So what happened?” Gamache asked. “Did you change? Did Enid? Something changed.”

Beauvoir looked at Gamache with surprise. The Chief was genuinely perturbed.

“You’re right,” admitted Beauvoir. “Something changed. But I don’t think it was us really. I think we just realized that we weren’t the people we pretended to be.”

“I’m sorry?” asked Gamache, leaning forward.

Beauvoir collected his scattered thoughts. “I mean, we were young. I think we didn’t know what we wanted. Everyone was getting married and it seemed like fun. I liked her. She liked me. But I don’t think it was ever really love. And I think I was pretending, really. Trying to be someone I wasn’t. The man Enid wanted.”