His voice was spiraling out of control.

Beauvoir was right, of course. The video had been leaked internally. Gamache had known that from the moment it had happened. But he’d chosen to, officially anyway, accept the finding of the internal investigation. That some kid, some hacker, had just gotten lucky and found the video of the raid in the Sûreté files.

It was a ludicrous report. But Gamache had told his people, including Beauvoir, to accept it. To let it go. To move on.

And as far as he knew, they all had. Except Beauvoir.

And now Gamache wondered if he should tell him that for the past eight months he and a few other senior officers, with the help of some outsiders, were secretly, carefully, quietly investigating.

Some malady is coming upon us.

But in the case of the Sûreté du Québec, it had already arrived. Had been there for years, rotting away, from the inside. And from the top down.

Sylvain Francoeur had been sent to the monastery to gather information. Not about the murder of the prior, but to find out how much Gamache might know. Or suspect.

And Francoeur had tried to get at it through Beauvoir. Pushing and prodding and trying to thrust him over the edge.

Once again Gamache felt that lick of rage.

He wished he could tell Beauvoir everything, but he was deeply glad he hadn’t. Francoeur would leave Jean-Guy alone now. Satisfied that while Gamache might still be up to something, Beauvoir wasn’t. Francoeur would be satisfied that he’d gotten all he could from Beauvoir.

Yes, Francoeur had been sent with an agenda, and Gamache had finally figured out what it was. But Gamache had a question of his own. Who had sent the Chief Superintendent?

Who was the top boss’s boss?

“Well?” Beauvoir demanded.

“We’ve been through this before, Jean-Guy,” said Gamache. “But I’m happy to talk about it again, if it’ll help.”

He looked directly at Beauvoir over his half-moon reading glasses.

It was a gaze Jean-Guy had seen often. In trappers’ cabins. In shitty little motel rooms. In restaurants and bistros. Burger and poutine in front of them. And notebooks open.

Talking about a case. Dissecting the suspects, the evidence. Tossing around ideas, thoughts, wild guesses.

For more than ten years Beauvoir had looked into those eyes, over those glasses. And while he hadn’t always agreed with the Chief, he’d always respected him. Loved him even. In the way only one brother-in-arms could love another.

Armand Gamache was his Chief. His boss. His leader. His mentor. And more.

One day, God willing, Gamache would hold his grandchildren in that gaze. Jean-Guy’s children. Annie’s children.

Beauvoir could see the pain in those familiar eyes. And he couldn’t believe he’d put it there.

“Forget I said anything,” Beauvoir said. “It was a stupid question. It doesn’t matter who leaked the video. Does it?”

Despite himself he heard the plea in those last words.

Gamache leaned back, heavily, and watched Beauvoir for a moment. “If you want to talk about it, I will, you know.”

But Beauvoir could see what saying this cost Gamache. Beauvoir knew he wasn’t the only one who’d suffered that day in the factory, that day captured by the video and released into the world. Beauvoir knew he wasn’t the only one who still bore the burden of survival.

“The damage is done, patron. You’re right, we need to move on.”

Gamache removed his glasses and looked directly at Beauvoir. “I need you to believe something, Jean-Guy. Whoever leaked that video will answer for it one day.”

“Just not to us?”

“We have our own work to do here, and frankly, I’m finding it hard enough.”

The Chief smiled, but it didn’t quite cover the watchfulness in his brown eyes. The sooner Gamache could get Beauvoir back to Montréal, the better. It was dark now, but he’d talk to the abbot and send Beauvoir back first thing in the morning.

Gamache pulled the laptop toward him. “I wish we could get this thing working.”

“No,” said Beauvoir, sharply. He leaned over the desk, his hand gripping the screen.

The Chief looked at him in surprise.

Beauvoir smiled. “Sorry, it’s just that I was working on it this afternoon and I think I’ve found the problem.”

“And you don’t want me to screw it up, is that it?”

“Absolutely.”

Beauvoir hoped his voice was light. He hoped his explanation was credible. But mostly he hoped Gamache would back away from the computer.