Chapter 8 chapter eight

Gabriel put a glass of lemonade in front of Beauvoir, and his own a glass of iced tea.There was a slice of lemon on the rim of the glass, and condensation had begun to gather on the glass on a warm afternoon. "Don't you want to book a room at the B&B?" Gabriel asked. "There are plenty of rooms if you want to." "We'll discuss it, thank you." Beauvoir replied with a smile.He still didn't feel comfortable befriending the suspect, but he couldn't seem to help himself.They made him angry and excited him at the same time. Gabriel left, and the two drank their drinks quietly.

It was Beauvoir who arrived at the bistro first, and he went straight to the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, and was eager for a pill.But he once promised himself that he could only take one pill before going to bed to help him fall asleep. By the time he returned to the table the Inspector had arrived. "Have you gained anything?" he asked Garmache. "Two art dealers admitted they knew Lillian Dyson but said they didn't know much about her." "Do you trust them?" This is a consistent problem.Who do you trust?How did you decide? Gammash thought for a moment, then shook his head, "I don't know. I thought I knew about the art world, but now I realize I'm only seeing what they want me to see — what they want everyone to see .Art, gallery, but in fact there are many, many things behind it.” Garmache leaned towards Beauvoir, “For example, André Castongui owns a high-end gallery that exhibits the works of painters, Acting painter. But what about François Marois? What has he got?"

Beauvoir did not speak, and looked at the inspector quietly, looking at the light shining in his eyes.That is the light of the spirit, the light of wisdom. Many people regard the inspector as a hunter, looking for and tracking the murderer.But Beauvoir didn't see him that way. Inspector Garmache was an explorer by nature.He crosses boundaries and explores undiscovered spaces, spaces that have not even been explored or examined by the subjects themselves.Maybe it's because it's so scary. Garmash went there, to the end of the known world, and beyond it, into the dark, hidden place.He examines the crevasses, for the most terrible things may be hidden there.

Jean Guy Beauvoir followed him. "What François Marois has," continued Garmache, meeting Beauvoir's gaze, "is the painters and more. What he really has is information. He knows the buyers and the painters." They know how to navigate a world of money, ego, and insight. Marois hoards a lot of information. I think he only leaks information when he doesn’t get what he wants or when he doesn’t have a choice.” "Or when he's caught in a lie," Beauvoir continued, "like you caught him this afternoon." "But how much has he left unsaid?" asked Gamache.He didn't expect to get an answer from Beauvoir, and indeed Beauvoir couldn't.

Beauvoir glanced at the menu, but was not interested. "Have you chosen?" Gabriel asked, pen in hand, waiting. Beauvoir closed the menu and handed it to Gabriel, "I don't want anything, thank you." "I don't want it either, thank you," said the inspector.He handed back the menu and saw Clara leave Ruth and head for Myrna's bookstore. Clara hugged Myrna, feeling the thick fat beneath her bright yellow robe. Finally, the two parted, and Mona looked at the friend. "what happened?" "I was talking to Ruth just now—" "Oh dear," Myrna hugged Clara again, "how many times have I told you not to talk to Ruth alone. It's too dangerous. You don't want to be wandering around in her head alone, do you?"

Clara smiled. "You'll never believe it. She helped me." "how come?" "She points to my future, if I'm not careful." Myrna smiled, understanding what was going on, "I've been thinking about what happened—your friend's murder." "She is not my friend." Mona nodded, "How about we have a ceremony? It's for healing." "Garden?" It seemed a bit late to treat Lillian, and secretly, Clara wondered if she really wanted her to come back to life. "Your garden, and anything else that needs healing." Myna looked at Clara alarmingly.

"Me? To find a woman I hated dead in my garden, do you think it will destroy me?" "Maybe already doing damage," Myrna said. "We can do a smoke ritual to get rid of the evil energies and thoughts that are still lingering in your garden." It sounded stupid, Clara knew, even though it was said so eloquently, as if a puff of smoke over a place where a murder had been committed would have any effect.But they had done the smoking ritual before and found it really comforting and soothing.Clara needed this feeling right now. "Great," she said, "I'll call Dominique right away."

"I'll prepare those things." By the time Clara finished calling, Myrna had come down from her apartment above the bookstore.She was carrying an old twisted branch, some ribbon, and what looked like a large cigar. "I want to smoke away my jealousy." Clara pointed at the cigar-like thing. "Here you are." Myrna handed Clara the branch, "Take this." "What is this? A branch?" "Not just a branch. It's a prayer stick." "So, maybe I shouldn't use it to knock out the crap from the critics of The Ottawa Star," Clara said as she followed Myrna out of the bookstore.

"Probably. Don't hit yourself with it either." "Why do you call it a prayer stick?" "Because I said it was," Myrna replied. Dominique was walking down Mullin Street, and they waved to each other. "Wait a minute." Clara turned a corner to talk to Ruth, who was still sitting on the bench, "We're going to the back garden. Want to come with us?" Ruth looked at Clara holding a stick, then at Myrna holding a large cigar made of dried sage and vetiver. "Aren't you going to do some sacrilegious witch ritual?" "Of course." Myrna said behind Clara.

"Count me in." Ruth struggled to her feet. The police had all withdrawn, the garden was empty, no one even guarded the place where a life had been claimed.Yellow "crime scene" tape billows in the wind, framing a section of grass and a holly bed. "I always thought the garden was a sin," said Ruth. "You have to admit, it's gotten more and more beautiful since Myrna started helping," Clara said. Ruth turned to Myrna. "So that's what you do. I've been wondering, you're a gardener." "I'll fix you," Myrna said, "if you're a toxic dump."

Ruth laughed. "Well said." "This is where the body was found?" Dominique asked, pointing to the security circle. "No, these warning tapes are part of the garden design of Clara's house." Ruth snapped. "Asshole." Mona scolded. "Witch," Ruth snapped back. They were slowly beginning to like each other, and Clara could see it. "Do you think we should get past this?" Myrna asked.She hadn't expected all that tape. "No." Ruth said, pressed down the warning tape with a crutch, stepped over, then turned to everyone and said, "Come on, the water is not deep." "But it might be hot," Clara said to Dominique. "There's a shark in there," Dominique quipped. Three women joined Ruth.If anyone had polluted the scene, it would have been Ruth, and the damage might have been done.However, they are going to purify the place. "What should we do?" Dominique asked.Clara sticks prayer sticks next to the flower bed where Lillian's body was found. "We're going to do a ritual," Myrna explained. "It's called smoking. We light this," Myrna held up the hay, "and walk around the garden with it." Ruth stared at the hay cigar. "Floyd may have something to say about your ritual." "Sometimes a stick is just a stick," Clara said. "What are we doing this for?" Dominique asked.Apparently, she had no idea the neighbors were up to the trick. "To drive away evil spirits," Myrna replied.The event was so horribly stated that it sounded improbable.But Myrna believed, very much. Dominique turned to Ruth, "Well, I suspect you screwed up." No one spoke, but Ruth laughed.Hearing the laughter, Clara thought, maybe being Ruth Sadow wasn't such a bad thing. "First, we formed a circle," Myrna said.So everyone gathered around.Myrna lit the sage and vetiver and walked from Clara to Dominique to Ruth, letting the scented smoke waft over each woman.For protection, for peace. Clara took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let the soft smoke surround her.Take away all the negative energy, says Myrna.Those evil spirits, whether inside or outside the body, suck them away, leaving room for healing. Then they walked along the garden, not only around the horrible place where Lillian had died, but around the whole garden.They took turns giving smoke to the trees, to the bubbling Bella River, to roses and peonies and irises with black stamens. Finally they stopped where they had started—the yellow tape, a place in the garden where life was lost. "It's nice here now." Staring at the place, Ruth quoted a poem she had written. Mona pulled out a colorful streamer from her pocket, handed each of them one, and said, "We tie the streamers on our prayer sticks and spread our best wishes." They looked at Ruth, expecting her to say something cynical, but she said nothing.So Dominique was the first to tie her own pink streamer to the twisted branch. Next it was Myrna tying her purple streamer on.She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to think of some good wishes. "It's not the first time I've worn a streamer," Ruth admitted with a smile, and tied on her red streamer, resting her veiny hand on a prayer stick.She paused for a moment, looking up at the sky. listening. Only the buzzing of bees. Finally, Clara tied her green ribbon on, knowing that this was the time to think of Lillian's good side, if only a little.She searched her heart, peered into its dark corners, opened doors that had been closed for years, trying to find one good thing about Lillian. Time passed slowly, and several other women were waiting. Clara closed her eyes, thinking back to her time with Lillian, so many years ago.The happy memories of those early years were buried by the horrible things that happened later. Stop, Clara ordered her brain.Thinking like this can only bring me back to the park bench and the rock-hard bread. No, happy things did happen, and she needed to remember.If not for Lillian's soul, then for her own. "You've always been nice to me. You used to be a good friend." Those bright ribbons, four female ribbons, fluttered and intertwined in the wind. Myrna bent down and patted the soil around the prayer sticks more firmly. "what is this?" She stood up, holding something covered in dirt.After dusting off the dirt, she showed it to the others.It was a coin, about the size of an Old West silver coin. "That's mine," Ruth said, reaching for it. "Don't be so fast, Miss Cat. Are you sure?" Myrna asked.Dominique and Clara took turns looking.It's a coin, but not silver.It's actually covered in silver paint, but the inside appears to be plastic and has writing on it. "What is this?" Dominique handed it back to Myrna. "I think I know, and I'm sure it's not yours," Myrna said to Ruth. Inspector Isabelle Lacoste sat on the terrace with Gamache and Beauvoir.She ordered a Diet Coke and handed them a case update. A project room has been set up and functioning in the old railway station.Computers, telephone lines, and satellite lines are all installed.Desk, swivel chair, filing cabinet, all hardware is ready.Very fast and professional.Police criminal investigation teams are used to investigating homicides in remote locations, and like the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, they know the importance of timing and precision. "I have read about Lillian Dyson's family situation." Lacoste pulled his chair forward and opened his notebook. "She is divorced, has no children, and both parents live. They live on Harvard Avenue in Montreal's NDG district." .” "How old are they?" asked Garmash. "Father is 83 and mother is 82. Lillian is their only child." Gamash nodded.This situation is of course the hardest part of all cases—telling the dead to the living. "Do they know?" "Not yet," replied Lacoste, "I didn't know you—" "I'm going to find them in Montreal this afternoon." Whenever possible, he always personally notifies the family of the deceased. "We should also search Mrs. Dyson's residence." Garmash took out the guest list from his breast pocket, "Can you send someone to investigate everyone on this list? They may have attended last night's party , or visited a preview, or both. I’ve tagged the people I’ve interviewed.” Beauvoir reached out and took the list. It's his job, they all know it.Coordinate interviews, gather leads, and arrange agents. The detective paused and handed the list to Lacoste, effectively handing over control of the case investigation to her.Both agents were very surprised. "I want you to come with me to Montreal," he said to Beauvoir. "No problem," Beauvoir replied, still confused. In the criminal investigation team, they all have a very clear division of labor.This is one of the principles that the Inspector has always adhered to.No confusion, no gaps, no overlapping.They all know their responsibilities and what they should do.Working as a team, there are no confrontations, no internal struggles. Inspector Garmash is the undisputed leader of the criminal investigation team. And Beauvoir was his second-in-command. Lacoste had just been promoted to Senior Agent.Below them, more than 100 agents and investigators, and hundreds of support staff. The Inspector made it very clear that as long as there is chaos, there are cracks, there is danger.Not just internal strife and politics, but real dangers and threats.If people don't understand this, don't unite, and don't work together as a team, vicious criminals can get away with it, or worse - kill again. The murderer hides in the tiniest of crevices.Inspector Garmash would not tolerate such a gap if his department offered it. But now the Inspector has broken one of the ground rules he made himself.He handed over the day-to-day operations of the investigation to Isabelle Lacoste, bypassing Beauvoir. Lacoste took the list, glanced at it roughly, and nodded, "I'll arrange it right away, Inspector." The two watched Lacoste leave.Beauvoir leaned forward. "Okay, boss, what's going on?" he asked in a low voice.Before Garmash could answer, they saw four women approaching.Myrna leads, Clara follows, then Dominique and Ruth awake. Garmash stood up and bowed slightly to the ladies, "Shall we have a drink together?" "We won't be here long, but I want to show you something. We found this by the flowerbed where the woman was murdered." Myrna handed him the coin. "Really?" Gamash was very surprised, looking down at the dirty coin on his palm.His men scoured the entire garden, and even the entire village.What are they missing? The image of a camel can be vaguely seen on the obverse of the coin through the covering soil. "Who touched it?" asked Beauvoir. "We've all touched it," replied Ruth, proudly. "Don't you know what to do with evidence from a crime scene?" "Don't you know how to gather evidence?" Ruth asked back. "If we knew, we wouldn't have found it." "It's lying in the garden?" asked Garmash, gripping the edge with his fingertips so as not to touch more, and turning it over. "No," Myrna said. "It's buried down there." "Then how did you find out?" "Prayer sticks," Ruth replied. "What is a prayer stick?" Beauvoir asked, a little afraid of the answer. "We can show you," Dominique suggested. "We put it in the flower bed where the woman was murdered." "We were doing a purification ceremony..." Clara said, but was immediately interrupted by Myrna. "Yeeee..." Mona made a noise, "What the hell..." Beauvoir stared at the woman.Prayer sticks are not enough, and now they are speaking backwards.No wonder there are so many murders here.The only puzzling thing is that with this kind of help, the case can still be solved. "I was bending over to firm up the soil around the prayer stick, and this thing appeared," Myrna explained, as if what she was doing at the crime scene was a reasonable thing to do. "Didn't you see the tape?" Beauvoir demanded. "Didn't you see the coin?" Ruth retorted. Gamash raised his hand, and the two stopped bickering. Now revealed is the other side of the coin, with some writing on it that looks like a poem. Garmash put on half-moon reading glasses, frowned, and carefully identified through the dirt. No, not poetry. It's a prayer.