CHAPTER 8.

Jean-Guy Beauvoir had come down to Three Pines to help on the second day of the search.

It was mind-numbing, back-breaking, frigid work in the dark, dank forest. But none of the villagers had dropped out. They took it in rotations, two hours at a time, and just about everyone had volunteered for a stint.

"The coroner agreed it was possible Laurent's injuries were caused by being hit, rather than hitting the ground," said Jean-Guy. "He was a little kid, even for a nine-year-old. It wouldn't take much. It's a terrible thing, to take the life of a child."

"Yes it is."

"I also looked again at the photos from the scene and stopped there on my way out. You could be right."

"Merci," said Gamache, picking up a stick, examining it and tossing it behind him.

"And since you begged for my help, it was the least I could do."

Armand smiled. "I'm lost without you."

Jean-Guy looked around. They could hear the shuffling of the other searchers, but couldn't see them.

"You might be lost with me."

Decades', centuries' worth of fallen leaves had dried and decayed on the forest floor, so that as they walked it gave off a musky, woody scent that was not unpleasant.

The leaves overhead were changing, and with the bright sun on them it felt like they were walking under a ma.s.sive stained-gla.s.s dome.

"Over here," came a yell.

Gamache and Beauvoir stopped and turned in the direction of the voice.

"I've found something."

It was Monsieur Beliveau, the grocer. He stood, tall and thin, in the middle of the woods, waving. Gamache and Beauvoir began to walk quickly, then broke into a jog.

Others, hearing the shout, also began to head over.

"Stop," shouted Gamache, picking up speed, running between the trees, trying to get ahead of the stampede. "Arrtez. Right now. Stop."

And they did. Not all at once, but the authority in his voice eventually registered and everyone ground to a halt, scattered through the woods.

"Did you find Laurent's stick?" Beauvoir asked as he approached the grocer.

"Non," said Monsieur Beliveau. "I found that."

"What?" demanded Antoinette. She stood deeper in the woods, Brian by her side. She was unmistakable and unmissable in a bright pink woolly sweater that was covered in dried leaves and bark. She looked like an escapee from a Dr. Seuss book. On the lam from green eggs and ham.

Monsieur Beliveau was pointing at something but they couldn't see what.

"What is it?" Gamache asked quietly as he got closer.

"Can't you see it?" Monsieur Beliveau whispered. He moved his hand in a circle, but all Gamache could see was a particularly thick section of forest.

"Holy s.h.i.t," Gamache heard someone say behind him. He thought it might be Clara, but he didn't turn around. Instead Armand Gamache stopped. Then stepped back. And back again.

And tilted his head up.

"Merde," he heard Jean-Guy whisper.

Then he peered at where Monsieur Beliveau was pointing. It was a small tear in the vines. And beyond that it was black.

"Do you have your flashlight?" he asked Jean-Guy, holding out his hand.

"I do, but I'm going first, patron."

Beauvoir put on gloves, knelt on the ground, turned on the light, and stuck his head through the hole. Jean-Guy looked, though Gamache would never say it to his face, a bit like Winnie-the-Pooh stuck in the honey jar.

But when he came back out there was nothing childish about his expression.

"What is it?" Gamache asked.

"I'm not sure. You need to see."

This time Beauvoir crawled all the way through the hole and disappeared. Armand followed, first telling everyone else to stay where they were. It did not seem a hard sell. As he squeezed through the opening, Gamache noticed bits of torn camouflage netting.

And then he was through into a world where there was no sun. It was dark and silent. Not even the scampering of rodents. Nothing. Except the beam from Beauvoir's flashlight.

He felt the younger man's strong grip on his arm, helping him to his feet.

Neither spoke.

Gamache stepped forward and felt a cobweb cling to his face. He brushed it aside and moved another cautious step forward.

"What is this place?" Jean-Guy asked.

"I don't know."

Both men whispered, not wishing to disturb whatever else might be in there. But Gamache's instincts told him there was nothing else. At least, nothing living.

Jean-Guy moved the flashlight around quickly at first trying to a.s.sess their situation. Then the rapid, sweeping movements of the circle of light slowed.

It fell here and there. And then it stopped and Beauvoir leapt back, pushing into Gamache and dropping the flashlight.

"What is that?" Armand asked.

Jean-Guy stooped quickly to pick up the light. "I don't know."

But he did know there was something else in there with them.

Beauvoir tilted the beam up. Up. Straight up. And Armand felt his jaw go slack.

"Oh my G.o.d," he whispered.

What he saw was unbelievable. Inconceivable.

The camouflage netting and old vines concealed a vast s.p.a.ce. It was hollow. But not empty. Inside it was a gun. A ma.s.sive artillery piece. Ten times, a hundred times bigger than anything Gamache had ever seen. Or heard of. Or thought possible.

And stretching up from the base, apparently out of the ground, was a figure.

A winged monster. Writhing.

Gamache stepped forward, then stopped as his boot fell on something.

"Jean-Guy," he said, and motioned to the ground.

Beauvoir pointed the flashlight and there, in the circle of light, was a stick.

Word spread fast. Within minutes everyone in the village knew that something had been found.

Al and Evie Lepage had been on every shift, searching the forest for their son's stick, only taking breaks when the damp and cold got into their bones and they couldn't take it anymore.

They were in the bistro taking a rare break to warm up when Jean-Guy Beauvoir strode past on his way to the Gamache home. They followed him and were standing in the doorway when they heard his phone call to the local Srete detachment.

And the next call. To his own office in Montreal. Telling them to send a forensics team.

"What did you find?" Evie asked from the doorway to the study.

Al stood behind her, not allowing Beauvoir past until he told them.

"We found Laurent's stick," said Jean-Guy. He spoke softly, gently, clearly. Confirming the worst fear. That there was a ghost in the attic, a monster under the bed, a vampire in the bas.e.m.e.nt after all.

Monsters existed. Their son had been murdered by one.

"I want to see," said Al.

He and Evie had followed Beauvoir back into the forest and now confronted Gamache. Beauvoir had gone back through the hole, to start the preliminary investigation, leaving Armand outside to make sure no one else entered.

Gabri and Olivier returned to the village, to guide the police through the woods.

"I can't let you in," Armand said to Al and Evie. "I'm sorry. Not yet."

Al Lepage, always large, had grown immense with anger. His chest was out, his broad shoulders back, even his beard seemed wilder than normal.

If Armand had expected Evelyn to be the voice of reason, he'd miscalculated. While smaller than her husband, her rage was no less immense.

"Get out of my way," she snapped, barreling into him, trying to shoulder him aside. But Armand hooked his arm around her waist and held her in place, leaning over her, whispering into her long, loose hair.

"No, Evie, please. Please. Stop."

It was no use, he knew, trying to reason with her. Warning her she might destroy evidence. Telling her the forensics team needed to get there first.

This was not about reason but raw instinct. Something primal. She needed to stand on the spot, not where her son had died, but where he'd last lived.

And Armand needed to stop her. Stop them.

"What else is in there, Armand?" Al demanded, taking his wife's hand. "What aren't you telling us?"

Gamache didn't answer.

"We heard Jean-Guy on the phone, calling for help," said Al. "He told them to bring strong flashlights and floodlights. And ladders."

Al Lepage lifted his eyes from Armand to the wall of woody vines, intertwined, creeping into and over and through each other, creating an almost impenetrable barrier. It also created a trompe l'oeil, the illusion that it was simply thick brush. It looked, to anyone walking by, like more forest.

But no one simply walked by here. They were half a kilometer into the woods behind Three Pines. Only an overgrown old path was visible from the Three Pines road, and even that disappeared after a hundred meters or so.

"What's in there?" Al repeated.

Gamache looked at Laurent's parents, and at the other searchers, including Reine-Marie, all of whom had the same question.

"I can't tell you yet," said Armand.

He saw Reine-Marie's face grow anxious.

"You don't have to tell us everything," said Antoinette. "Just tell us if we should be worried."

It was a reasonable question, but he didn't have the answer. Not yet.

They heard footfalls on the dry leaves, and three men appeared between the trees. Gabri and two Srete officers.

"We'll take it from here," said one of the young agents, dismissing Gabri. Then he turned to look at the villagers, who were obviously relieved to see them.

"Why are we here?" he asked. He looked around. "Is this a joke?"

"Not at all," said Gamache. He stepped forward and put out his hand. "My name is Armand-"

"Did I ask your name? Non. I asked why my partner and I are standing in the middle of these woods."

The young man's olive-green uniform was stiff and fresh. Not from laundering, but from lack of wear.

It might be, Gamache realized, his first day on the job. Almost certainly his first month. It was more than an hour since Beauvoir had called. They clearly had not hurried over.

The agent looked annoyed and unimpressed as he rested his hand on the hilt of his gun and had his first taste of real authority.

Gamache saw the name band on the upper left of his uniform.