“We can’t be sure,” said Gamache.

“Antoinette might’ve hid all her uncle’s things in the basement and then brought them here in the last few days,” said Lacoste. “That suggests she knew her uncle was involved with Gerald Bull and the gun. Why else hide the things? Why else bring them here?”

“To get them out of the house, I agree,” said Beauvoir. “But why only in the last few days? What happened then? She didn’t do it when she took over his house. She didn’t do it when Laurent was murdered. What happened to make her get the wind up?”

“The gun,” said Gamache.

“But it was found when Laurent died,” said Lacoste. And then it dawned on her. “But no one knew what was under the netting. It was only three days ago that people found out it was Gerald Bull’s missile launcher.”

Gamache nodded. “I think when Antoinette heard, she panicked. She must’ve realized it was her uncle’s gun and that was why Laurent was killed.”

“She was afraid she’d be next,” said Beauvoir. “If the murderer found out about her uncle and his connection to Bull.”

“And she was right,” said Lacoste. “But by the time she hid the things, it was too late.”

“Which means,” said Gamache, “her uncle must’ve told her at least something about his work.”

“Probably to warn her,” said Lacoste.

“But how did the murderer find out about Dr. Couture? And that his niece was living in his home?” asked Beauvoir.

“The photograph of them together in Brussels was published in his obituary, probably furnished by Antoinette, not realizing what it revealed,” said Gamache. “Anyone looking for the plans would see the significance immediately.”

“But Dr. Couture died years after Gerald Bull was murdered,” Isabelle pointed out. “Was anyone still interested?”

“In a fortune?” asked Beauvoir. “Even Professor Rosenblatt admitted there’d be people out there still looking for the mythical Supergun. What I’m not clear on is, after Laurent found the gun and was killed to stop him blabbing, why did the murderer wait a week or more to kill Antoinette and search her house for the plans? If he knew her uncle had worked on the Supergun, why not go there right away?”

Gamache took a deep inhale, held it a moment, then exhaled.

It was a very good question. There was a reason, of course. And perhaps the answer was—

“Maybe they aren’t the same person,” said Armand. “Maybe someone killed Laurent and someone else, on hearing of the find, came down to see it and look for the plans. They knew that Guillaume Couture was Antoinette’s uncle, and if anyone had the plans to Project Babylon it would be him.”

“They?” asked Lacoste. “You’re thinking of Mary Fraser and Sean Delorme, aren’t you?”

“I’m not sure what I’m doing could really be called ‘thinking,’” said Gamache. “But yes, they’re a possibility. I put in that call to my contact in CSIS this morning. We should know more about them later today.”

Lacoste looked around the stage. They’d printed, swabbed and bagged the items they knew were from Antoinette’s home but hadn’t found the firing mechanism or the plans.

Gamache picked up a few of the bagged items and examined them. A pen set. A bookend. The peeing boy.

“I don’t suppose…” Gamache turned the Manneken Pis around, and around.

“You think that’s the firing mechanism?” asked Beauvoir, trying not to laugh.

“I think if a weapon’s powerful enough to wipe out an entire region, and is worth billions, some effort might be made to disguise the one component that will make it work. And that”—Gamache handed the Manneken Pis to Jean-Guy—“is not it.”

Beauvoir looked at it with distaste. “It does look familiar. Don’t Florence and Zora…?”

“Oui,” said Gamache. “Reine-Marie bought them each one. Guess what you’re getting for Christmas.”

They heard heavy steps on the stairs and turned around to see Brian emerging from the wings.

“I was sitting in the greenroom when I realized that Antoinette has a desk down there. I almost looked but then thought you might want to do it yourselves.”

“I’ll go,” said Beauvoir, handing the small statue back to Gamache. “I’m rethinking your gift now, patron.”

He came back up twenty minutes later, shaking his head. “Just old scripts and crap. When’s the team getting here from Montréal? It’s a real rat’s nest down there with costumes and props.” He looked out into the body of the theater. “It’ll take hours to go through this place. Maybe days.”