Reine-Marie had nodded. “I’d have done the same thing. Brought little Julio Jr. and Francesca with me, of course.”

“Julio and Francesca?”

“My children by Julio Iglesias.”

“Poor man, no wonder he sings so many sad songs. You broke his heart.”

“He’s never recovered.” She smiled.

“Perhaps we can introduce him to my ex,” said Gamache. “Isabella Rossellini.”

Reine-Marie snorted and picked up her book, but lowered it again.

“Not still thinking about Julio, I hope.”

“No,” she’d said. “I was thinking about Annie and David.”

“Do you think it’s over?” he’d asked.

She’d nodded. “I think she’s found someone else but doesn’t want to tell us.”

“Really?” She’d surprised him, but now he thought it might be true.

Reine-Marie nodded. “I think he might be married. Maybe someone at her law firm. That might explain why she’s changing jobs.”

“God, I hope not.”

But he also knew there was nothing he could do either way. Except be there to help pick up the pieces. But that image reminded him of something.

“Well, gotta get back to work,” said Beauvoir, rising. “The porn doesn’t look itself up.”

“Wait,” said Gamache. And seeing his Chief’s face Beauvoir sank back into his chair.

Gamache sat silently, his forehead furrowed. Thinking. Beauvoir had seen that look many times. He knew Chief Inspector Gamache was following a lead in his head. A thought, that led to another, that led to another. Into the darkness, not so much an alley as a shaft. Trying to find the thing most deeply hidden. The secret. The truth.

“You said the raid on the factory was what finally made you decide to separate from Enid.”

Beauvoir nodded. That much was the truth.

“I wonder if it had the same effect on Annie.”

“How so?”

“It was a shattering experience, for everyone,” said the Chief. “Not just us. But our families too. Maybe, like you, it made Annie reexamine her life.”

“Then why wouldn’t she tell you that?”

“Maybe she didn’t want me to feel responsible. Maybe she doesn’t even realize it herself, not consciously.”

Then Beauvoir remembered his conversation with Annie, before the vernissage. How she’d asked him about his separation. And made a vague allusion to the raid, and the fall-out.

She’d been right of course. It was the final push he’d needed.

He’d shut her down, refused to discuss it out of fear he’d say too much. But had she really been wanting to talk about her own turmoil?

“How would you feel if that’s what happened?” Beauvoir asked his Chief.

Chief Inspector Gamache sat back, his face slightly troubled.

“It might be a good thing,” suggested Beauvoir, quietly. “It would be good, wouldn’t it, if something positive came out of what happened? Maybe Annie can find real love now.”

Gamache looked at Jean Guy. Drawn, tired, too thin. He nodded.

“Oui. It would be good if something positive came out of what happened. But I’m not sure the end of my daughter’s marriage could be considered a good thing.”

But Jean Guy Beauvoir disagreed.

“Would you like me to stay?” he asked.

Gamache roused himself from his reverie. “I’d like you to actually do some work.”

“Well, I do have to look up ‘schnaugendender.’”

“Look up what?”

“That word you used.”

“‘Schadenfreude,’” smiled Gamache. “Don’t bother. It means being happy for the misfortunes of others.”

Beauvoir paused at the table. “I think that describes the victim pretty well. But Lillian Dyson took it the next step. She actually created the misfortune. She must’ve been a very happy person.”

But Gamache thought differently. Happy people didn’t drink themselves to sleep every night.

Beauvoir left and the Chief Inspector sipped his coffee and read from the AA book, noting passages underlined and comments in the margins, losing himself in the archaic but beautiful language of this book that so gently described the descent into hell and the long climb back out. Eventually he closed the book over his finger and stared into space.

“May I join you?”

Gamache was startled. He got to his feet, bowing slightly, and pulled out a chair. “Please do.”