He glanced again to the map on the wall. And the mark that was almost invisible.

“We’ll come back tomorrow night and start fresh,” said Gamache.

Jérôme Brunel looked like a man who’d had his execution stayed. Not sure if this was a kindness, not sure if this was a trick. After a moment his shoulders rolled forward and he sighed.

With what felt like the last of his energy, Dr. Brunel erased the code and handed the paper back to Gamache.

As he returned it to his pocket, Gamache caught Thérèse’s eye. And nodded.

“Can you unplug us, please?” Jérôme asked Nichol.

She was about to argue, but decided against it, too tired herself to fight. Once again she slid off her chair and crawled under the desk.

When the cable was unplugged, they turned the lights out and Gamache relocked the door. Hoping he hadn’t made a mistake. Hoping he hadn’t just given Francoeur that critical twenty-four hours to complete his plan.

As they trudged back to Emilie Longpré’s home, Gamache caught up with Thérèse.

“You were right. I—”

Thérèse held up her Minnie Mouse hand and Gamache fell silent.

“We were both wrong. You were afraid to stop and I was afraid to go.”

“You think we’ll have less fear tomorrow?” he asked.

“Not less fear,” she said. “But perhaps more courage.”

Once in the warm house, they went to bed, falling asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. Just before drifting off, Gamache heard Henri groan contentedly, and the house creak in ways that felt like home.

*   *   *

Gamache opened his eyes and found himself staring directly into Henri’s face. How long the dog had been sitting there, his chin on the side of the bed, his wet nose within inches of Gamache’s face, was impossible to say.

But as soon as Armand’s eyes fluttered open, Henri’s entire body began to wag.

The day had begun. He looked at the bedside clock.

Almost nine. He’d had six hours of sleep, and felt as though he’d had double that. Rested and refreshed, he was certain now he’d come close to making a disastrous decision the night before. They’d rest up today, and go back that night, no longer battling fatigue and confusion and each other.

As he dressed, Gamache could hear the scrape of shovels. He drew back the curtains and saw the whole village covered in white, and the air filled with it. Flakes drifted down and piled up on the three gigantic pines, on the forest, on the homes.

There was no wind at all, and the snow fell straight down. Gentle and relentless.

He could see Gabri and Clara, out clearing their paths. He first heard, then saw, Billy Williams’s plow coming down the hill into the village. Past the small church, past the schoolhouse. And around the village green.

Parents skated on the frozen pond with shovels, clearing away the snow, while children with hockey sticks and ants in their pants waited on the makeshift benches.

He went downstairs and found he was the first one up.

While Henri ate, Gamache put on a pot of coffee and laid a new fire in the living room hearth. Then they went for a walk.

“Come on over to the bistro for breakfast,” Gabri called. He wore a tuque with an immense pom-pom and was leaning on his snow shovel. “Olivier will make you blueberry crêpes with some of Monsieur Pagé’s maple syrup.”

“And bacon?” asked Gamache, knowing he was already lost.

“Bien sûr,” said Gabri. “Is there any other way to eat crêpes?”

“I’ll be right back.”

Gamache hurried home, wrote a note for the others, then he and Henri returned to the bistro. The Chief settled in by the fireplace and had just taken a sip of café au lait when Myrna joined him.

“Do you mind company?” she asked. But she was already in the armchair opposite him and had signaled for a coffee of her own.

“I was going to come over to your shop after breakfast,” explained the Chief Inspector. “I’m looking for gifts.”

“For Reine-Marie?”

“No, for everyone here. To say thank you.”

“There’s no need, you know,” said Myrna.

Gabri brought her coffee, then pulled up a chair and joined them.

“What’re we talking about?” he asked.

“Gifts,” said Myrna.

“For me?” he asked.

“Who else?” asked Myrna. “You’re all we ever think about.”

“We have that in common, ma chère,” said Gabri.