‘You’re a good teacher, Mr Croft.’

‘You must have low standards. Look where your arrow went.’

‘I can’t see it. Hope it isn’t lost.’

‘It isn’t. They never are. Haven’t lost one yet.’

‘Mrs Croft,’ said Gamache, ‘your turn.’

‘I’d rather not.’

‘Please, Mrs Croft.’ Chief Inspector Gamache handed her the bow. He was thankful he’d shot the bow and arrow. It had given him a thought.

‘I haven’t used it in a while.’

‘I understand,’ said Gamache. ‘Just do your best.’ Suzanne Croft lined up her shot, put the arrow in, grabbed the string and pulled. And pulled. And pulled until she started crying and collapsed on to the muddy ground, overwhelmed by an emotion that had nothing to do with failing to shoot the arrow. Instantly Matthew Croft was kneeling beside her, holding her. Swiftly Gamache took Beauvoir’s arm and led him a step or two away. He spoke in an urgent whisper.

‘We need to get into that basement. I’d like you to offer them a deal. We won’t take Philippe to the police station, if they take us to the basement right now.’

‘But we have to speak with Philippe.’

‘I agree, but we can’t do both and the only way we’ll get to the basement is if we give them something they really want. They want to protect their son. We can’t have both and I think this is the best we can do.’

Beauvoir thought about it while watching Croft console his wife. The Chief Inspector was right. Philippe would probably wait. What was in the basement probably wouldn’t. After that demonstration it was clear Mrs Croft knew her way around a bow and arrow, but she’d never shot that particular bow. There must be another one somewhere, one that she was used to using. And one that Philippe might have used. Probably in the basement. His nose caught the woodsmoke wafting out of the chimney. He hoped it wasn’t too late.

Peter and Clara were walking Lucy along the footpath through the woods across the Bella Bella from their home. Once over the small bridge they released her. She trudged along, showing no interest in the wealth of new scents. The rain had stopped but the thick grass and ground were sodden.

‘Weather network says it’s supposed to clear,’ said Peter, kicking a stone along with his feet.

‘But getting colder,’ agreed Clara. ‘Hard frost’s on the way. Have to get into the garden.’ She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the chill. ‘I have a question for you. It’s advice, really. You know when I went over to Yolande?’

‘At lunch? Yes. Why did you do that?’

‘Well, because she was Jane’s niece.’

‘No, really. Why?’

Damn Peter, thought Clara. He actually knows me.

‘I wanted to be kind

‘But you knew what would happen. Why would you choose to walk right into a situation where you know the person is going to be hurtful? It kills me to see you do that, and you do it all the time. It’s like a form of insanity.’

‘You call it insanity, I call it optimism.’

‘Is it optimism to expect people to do something they’ve never done before? Every time you approach Yolande she’s horrible to you. Every time. And yet you keep doing it. Why?’

‘What’s all this about?’

‘Have you ever thought how it makes me feel to watch you do this time after time, and to not be able to do anything except pick up the pieces? Stop expecting people to be something they’re not. Yolande is a horrible, hateful, petty little person. Accept that and stay away from her. And if you choose to walk into her space, be prepared for the consequences.’

‘That’s unfair. You seem to think I’m this moron who had no idea what was about to happen. I knew perfectly well she’d do that. And I did it anyway. Because I had to know something.’

‘Know what?’

‘I had to hear André’s laugh.’

‘His laugh? Why?’

‘That’s what I wanted to talk about. Remember Jane described that horrible laugh when the boys threw manure at Olivier and Gabri?’ Peter nodded. ‘I heard a laugh like that this morning, at the public meeting. It was André. That’s why I had to go up to their table, to get him to laugh again. And he did. One thing I’ll say for Yolande and André, is that they’re predictable.’

‘But Clara, André’s a grown man, he wasn’t one of those masked boys.’

Clara waited. Peter wasn’t normally this obtuse, so it was fun to watch. His furrowed brow eventually cleared.