Favreau.

It was familiar and then he remembered. It was the name on the report into Laurent's death. The one that concluded it had been an accident.

"We were told to come here to look into something strange."

He looked at Gamache.

"Would that be you, mon vieux?" he asked, and got a snort of amus.e.m.e.nt from his partner.

"Do you have any idea-" Gabri began, but Armand waved him quiet.

"Any idea what?" asked the Srete agent.

"I think it's best if you all go back home," said Armand to the other searchers. "I take it Olivier's waiting for Chief Inspector Lacoste?"

Gabri nodded. "Oui. He'll show them in."

Gamache turned to Monsieur Beliveau. "Chief Inspector Lacoste might bring ladders, but I expect you have some too."

"Ladders?" the grocer asked. "Yes. My own personal one, but I can find more."

"Ladders, Armand?" asked Reine-Marie, searching her husband's face then looking behind him.

"Oui. Oh, and Monsieur Beliveau, can you make them big ladders?"

"Of course," said the grocer. An unflappable man, he now seemed slightly flapped.

"Wait a minute," said Agent Favreau. "What's all this about? No one leaves until we get an explanation."

Gamache stepped closer to him. The agent backed up and put his hand on his billy club.

Gamache c.o.c.ked his head to one side, taking in the movement. Then he turned away from the agents, toward the villagers who were watching with unease.

"Go on," he said.

"Armand?" asked Reine-Marie.

"I'll be home soon." He smiled rea.s.suringly.

And they left, glancing back now and then to the large man and two young men, squaring off in the old-growth forest. It was hard not to get the impression of lithe young wolves closing in on a stag. Having no idea just how very dangerous a stag could be.

Laurent's parents hadn't budged and Gamache hadn't expected them to. They were now the exceptions.

Gamache returned his attention to the young men.

"You see them?" When the agents didn't respond, he continued. "That's Evelyn and Al Lepage. They lost their son, Laurent, a few days ago. I believe you wrote up the report."

"Yes," said Agent Favreau. "An accident. Ran his bike off the road. What does that have to do with this?"

"His death was no accident." Gamache lowered his voice so that the Lepages didn't hear, yet again, what they already knew. "He was killed here, and his body taken to that ditch. The evidence is over there."

Gamache looked behind him.

"Where?" Agent Favreau demanded.

"It's hard to see. It's hidden under netting."

"Show me," said the agent, walking toward Gamache, who stepped in front of him.

"Please don't go any further," he said, locking eyes with the young cop. "You're in danger of destroying evidence."

"And you're in danger of obstructing our investigation."

"I asked you here to guard the scene until the homicide team arrives from Montreal," said Gamache.

"You asked us here?" the agent laughed. "We're not guests at your party. Step aside."

"I will not," said Gamache. "You're not trained for this. I was with the Srete too. Let the experts in homicide do their jobs and you do yours."

"Step aside or I'll knock you aside."

He brought out his club.

Gamache's eyes widened in shock. A look the agent mistook for fear. He grinned.

"Go on, old man. Give me a reason." He glared at Gamache.

"My G.o.d, were you trained at the academy?" Gamache demanded.

"Don't use that tone with me or you'll see how the academy taught us to deal with people who hara.s.s an officer in the course of his duty."

"Favreau," Agent Bra.s.sard whispered, but his colleague refused to acknowledge him.

"You'll be my first arrest. One I suspect you'll resist."

Gamache was looking at him with such alarm that the man laughed.

"p.i.s.sing your pants, mon vieux? Now get out of our way."

The agent went to walk past Gamache.

"Stop," said Gamache, stepping in his path. "Step back."

And the agent, surprised by the note of authority, did.

"You're new to the job," said Gamache. "Am I right?"

Bra.s.sard nodded but Favreau remained still.

"I know you want to make your mark, but your job is not to bully citizens. Nor is it to collect evidence, but to guard it. You're lucky. You'll get to see how a homicide is investigated in the real world. Most agents wait years before they get that chance." He lowered his voice. "But to Evelyn and Alan Lepage, this isn't a case. It's their son. Their child. Never forget that."

"Don't tell me my job," said Favreau.

"Someone has to. Did you hear me say the boy was murdered? And your name is on the report stating it was an accident. You messed up. Your first case and you failed to investigate properly. You failed to notice the body was in the wrong position."

He stared into the young man's eyes. Eyes that now held more than a hint of aggression.

"You're young, new to the job. Mistakes happen. And when they do, you need to learn from them. You're going to go over to that boy's parents and you're going to admit your mistake and say you're sorry. Not because I'm telling you to, but because it's the right thing to do." His voice softened slightly and he looked at Agent Favreau with genuine concern. "Surely someone in your life has taught you that."

Agent Bra.s.sard, who'd been listening, made a move toward the Lepages, but Agent Favreau stopped him.

"We don't need some broken-down old cop telling us our jobs," he said.

"I'm glad you're here, officers," said Beauvoir, coming out from the opening in the vines. He took out his ID and showed them. "Inspector Beauvoir, with homicide. I see you've met Monsieur Gamache."

"We have, sir," said Favreau. "I was just explaining to him the chain of command. I understand he was once with the Srete, so he should know better than to interfere."

Beauvoir raised his brows. "He was interfering?" He turned to Gamache. "And they had to explain things to you. I suspect the process of an investigation is much the same as when you were with the Srete."

"With a few fairly noticeable differences," said Armand.

"Really? And yet it wasn't all that long ago you were the head of homicide."

Beauvoir turned to the agents and saw Bra.s.sard's eyes widen.

"Yes," said Beauvoir, leaning close to them. "Ohhhh s.h.i.t."

Gamache and Beauvoir walked a few paces away from the two agents, putting their heads together to discuss what was found.

"You a.s.shole, do you know who that is?" Agent Bra.s.sard hissed into Favreau's ear. "That's Chief Inspector Gamache. The one who found all that corruption. Didn't you see him on the news, at the trials? At the inquiry?"

He looked over at Gamache and Beauvoir, standing side by side, heads bowed. Inspector Beauvoir was talking and the former Chief Inspector was listening, nodding.

"The former head of homicide. Former," Favreau stressed. "Yes, I saw him on the news. But he quit the force. He's a burnt-out case, a pathetic old man who couldn't take the pressure and retired to this s.h.i.thole."

A few paces away, Gamache heard the words, as did Beauvoir.

"Do you want me to...?" Jean-Guy asked, but Gamache smiled and shook his head.

"Ignore it. Did you find something?"

Beauvoir glanced quickly over to the Lepages, who were watching them closely. "It was shoved into the side of the opening. I left it there for forensics."

"What is it?"

"I think you need to see."

Gamache followed Beauvoir back through the tear and saw what Jean-Guy had found. There, half buried under rotting leaves, was a ca.s.sette tape. Armand leaned in to read the words.

"Pete Seeger," he said, straightening up. "It's an old recording, obviously." He found his gla.s.ses in his breast pocket and looked closer. "But I don't think it's been here very long. There's some dirt, but no moss or mold."

"My thinking too," said Beauvoir. "How did it get here? And who in the world still listens to ca.s.settes? And who's Pete Seeger?"

Gamache sat back on his haunches and stared at the tape, illuminated by the flashlight. He was aware of the darkness all around, and keenly aware of what loomed behind them.

"He was a folk singer. American. Very influential in the civil rights and peace movements."

"Ahhh," said Jean-Guy.

Ahhh, thought Gamache.

From outside they heard familiar voices, and both men crawled out of the opening to find Chief Inspector Lacoste talking to the Lepages, offering her condolences. Behind her Olivier was just lowering a ladder to the ground, and the forensics team was organizing floodlights and ladders and unrolling thick cable for power.

Isabelle Lacoste turned to Beauvoir and Gamache, who'd magically appeared.

"Where did you two come from?" Lacoste asked.

"From there." Beauvoir waved behind him.

"Where?"

Lacoste peered, and then her eyes widened and her face went smooth with wonder.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's camouflage netting, overgrown."

"What's it camouflaging?"

"I think you need to see," said Beauvoir.

Chief Inspector Lacoste turned to Gamache. "Would you...?"

She indicated the opening, but he shook his head and smiled slightly.

"Non, merci. Your case. I'll head back home, if it's all right with you."

"Oui. Oh, and patron." Gamache paused a few paces away. Lacoste walked back to him. "I'm sorry. I was wrong about Laurent. I should have looked more closely."

"I know you'll find out who did this to him. That's all that matters."

Gamache waited until she'd disappeared inside, then walked over to the two young agents.

"I know you think this is beneath you," he said. "And that I'm some feeble old man, but I'm begging you. Stay alert. Keep your eyes open. This is no joke. Do you understand?"

"Yessir," said Agent Bra.s.sard.

"Agent Favreau?"