But he’d tried. For weeks.

He slipped one scrap between two and moved another to the top.

I just sit where I’m put, composed

of stone and wishful thinking:

that the deity who kills for pleasure

will also heal,

He took a swig of beer.

“Jean Guy,” his wife sang to him. “Luh-hunch.”

“Coming.”

that in the midst of your nightmare,

the final one, a kind lion

will come with bandages in her mouth

and the soft body of a woman,

Enid called again and he didn’t answer but instead stared at the poem. Then his eyes moved to the furry little feet dangling over the shelf above his desk. At eye level, where he could see it. The stuffed lion he’d quietly taken from the B and B. First to his room, for company. He’d sat it in the chair where he could see it from his bed. And he imagined her there. Maddening, passionate, full of life. Filling the empty, quiet corners of his life. With life.

And when the case was over he’d slipped the lion into his bag and brought it down here. Where Enid never came.

The kind lion. With its soft skin and smile. “Wimoweh, a-wimoweh,” he sang under his breath as he read the final stanza.

and lick you clean of fever,

and pick your soul up gently by the nape of the neck

and caress you into darkness and paradise.

An hour later Armand Gamache walked out of the woods and down the slope into Three Pines. On the porch of the bistro he took a deep breath, composed himself, and entered.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. When they did he saw Gabri behind the bar, where Olivier had always stood. The large man had diminished, lost weight. He looked careworn. Tired.

“Gabri,” said Gamache, and the two old friends stared at each other.

“Monsieur,” said Gabri. He shifted a jar of allsorts and another of jelly beans on the polished wood counter, then came around. And offered Gamache a licorice pipe.

Myrna walked in a few minutes later to find Gabri and Gamache sitting quietly by the fire. Talking. Their heads together. Their knees almost touching. An uneaten licorice pipe between them.

They looked up as she entered.

“I’m sorry.” She stopped. “I can come back. I just wanted to show you this.” She held a piece of paper out to Gabri.

“I got one too,” he said. “Ruth’s latest poem. What do you think it means?”

“I don’t know.” She couldn’t get used to coming into the bistro and seeing only Gabri. With Olivier in jail it felt as though something vital was missing, as though one of the pines had been cut down.

It was excruciating, what was happening. The village felt torn and ragged. Wanting to support Olivier and Gabri. Appalled at the arrest. Not believing it. And yet knowing that Chief Inspector Gamache would never have done it unless he was certain.

It was also clear how much it had cost Gamache to arrest his friend. It seemed impossible to support one without betraying the other.

Gabri rose, as did Gamache. “We were just catching up. Did you know the Chief Inspector has another granddaughter? Zora.”

“Congratulations.” Myrna embraced the grandfather.

“I need fresh air,” said Gabri, suddenly restless. At the door he turned to Gamache. “Well?”

The Chief Inspector and Myrna joined him and together they walked slowly round the village green. Where all could see. Gamache and Gabri, together. The wound not healed, but neither was it getting deeper.

“Olivier didn’t do it, you know,” said Gabri, stopping to look at Gamache directly.

“I admire you for standing by him.”

“I know there’s a lot about him that sucks. Not surprisingly, those are some of my favorite parts.” Gamache gave a small guffaw. “But there’s one question I need answered.”

“Oui?”

“If Olivier killed the Hermit, why move the body? Why take it to the Hadley house to be found? Why not leave it in the cabin? Or stick it in the woods?”

Gamache noticed the “he” had become an “it.” Gabri couldn’t accept that Olivier had killed, and he certainly couldn’t accept that Olivier had killed a “he” not an “it.”

“That was answered in the trial,” said Gamache, patiently. “The cabin was about to be found. Roar was cutting a path straight for it.”

Gabri nodded, reluctantly. Myrna watched and willed her friend to be able to accept the now undeniable truth.

“I know,” said Gabri. “But why move it to the Hadley house? Why not just take it deeper into the woods and let the animals do the rest?”