Chapter 17 Chapter Seventeen

"Hi—" Clara called, "Is anyone there?" She could hear her own voice, but it seemed distant and faint, as if it had come from the TV.The place felt empty, even though she knew it probably wasn't. In the old train station, she walked a few steps further, past gleaming red fire trucks, past police equipment.Clara saw her own helmet and boots.Everyone in San Song Township is a member of the Volunteer Fire Brigade.Ruth Sadow was the captain of the fire brigade, for she herself was scarier than any fire.Given a choice between Ruth and a burning building, most would prefer the burning building.

"Which one?" A man's voice echoed in the huge room. Clara came out from behind the fire truck and saw Officer Beauvoir sitting at the table looking in her direction. He greeted her with a smile and kissed her on both cheeks. "Come on, sit down. Can I do something for you?" he asked. He appeared to be in a good mood and full of energy.But Clara was still shocked to see him, whether it was at the art exhibition or at this moment.Described as haggard, exhausted.Even for a man of his usual lanky build, he was painfully thin.Like everyone else, she knows what he's been through.At least, like everyone else, she knew what the rumors were about.But Clara realized that she didn't really "know", that she couldn't possibly know.

"I'm here for advice," she said, taking a seat in the swivel chair beside Beauvoir. "From me?" His surprise was evident, as was the delight in his tone. "Yes, from you." Seeing his reaction, she was glad she hadn't told him the truth.The reason she didn't go to Gamache was because Gamache was surrounded by people and Beauvoir was alone. "Coffee?" Beauvoir pointed to a pot of brewed coffee. "Thank you, let me have a drink." They stood up, poured some coffee into chipped white mugs, and sat down with a few fig puffs each.

"So, what's going on?" Beauvoir sat down and looked at the other party.In his own way, but always reminiscent of Garmache. It was comforting, and Clara was glad she had decided to talk to the young officer. "It's about Lillian's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Dyson. I know them, you know. Very well for a while. I wonder if they're still alive." "Alive. We saw them yesterday to tell about their daughter." Clara paused, trying to imagine what that would be like, for both parties. "It must be terrible. They dote on her as an only child." "It's always been scary," Beauvoir admitted.

"I liked them a lot. Even after Lillian and I had a falling out, I tried to keep in touch with them. But they weren't interested. They took Lillian at her word. I think that's understandable." Even though she didn't sound like So be sure. Beauvoir did not speak, remembering the resentment in Mr. Dyson's tone, he almost believed that Clara was the murderer of their daughter. "I want to go see them," Clara said, "and tell them how sorry I am. What's the matter?" The look on Beauvoir's face stopped her. "I wouldn't do that," he said, putting down his glass and leaning towards her. "They're upset. I don't think it's going to help if you visit them."

"Why? I know they believe Lillian's bad things about me, but I might be able to do something. Lillian and I were best friends growing up, you don't think they want to talk to anyone about their daughter Is it? Someone who loves her?" Clara paused, "Someone who once loved her." "Maybe. Eventually, but not now. Give them time." That's more or less the advice Myrna gave her too.Clara went to the bookstore to ask for ribbons and cigars made of dried vetiver and sage, but she also asked for advice.Should she go to Montreal and meet the Dysons? Myrna asked her why she did this, and Clara explained it this way.

"They're old and lonely," Clara said, surprised Myrna needed an explanation. "It's the scariest thing for them. I'm going to give them some comfort. Believe me, I'm The last thing I wanted to do was drive to Montreal to meet them, but it just seemed like the right thing to do. Put those painful feelings behind me." The ribbon was wrapped tightly around Clara's fingers, constricting tightly. "For you, maybe," Myrna said, "but for them?" "How do you know they haven't left these?" Clara let go of the ribbon, then wrapped it again, fretful, "Maybe they're sitting there alone, completely broken. I'm not going because I'm afraid? "

"If you have to go, go," Myrna said, "but make sure you're going for them, not for you." With this warning ringing in her ears, Clara walked across the village green towards the case room, to talk to Beauvoir, but also for another purpose. She wanted to know the address of the Dysons. After listening to the police officer's suggestion, Clara nodded.Both men gave her the same advice.wait.Clara realized that she was staring at the wall of the old railway station.It had a picture of Lillian, dead Lillian, in her garden. And that was where Inspector Garmash and the strange woman were waiting for her.

"I think, I've remembered most of Lillian's secrets." "You think so?" asked Garmash.They walked up and down Clara's garden, stopping every now and then to admire. "I didn't lie to you last night. Don't tell the people I lead, but I got their secrets all mixed up. As the days go by, it's hard for me to tell which things are whose. All mixed up, really. " Gamache laughed.He's also a safe with lots of secrets, things he's learned during his investigation that have nothing to do with the case.These things never had to be made public, and he just locked them away.

If suddenly someone asked Mr. Garmache about those secrets, he would be overwhelmed too.Of course, to be honest, it takes time for him to separate some things from others. "Lillian's secrets are no worse than anyone else's," Susan said, "at least, that's what she told me. Stealing, bad debts, stealing money from her mother's purse. She's done drugs, betrayed. husband. When she was in New York, she stole money from the boss's safe and took tips." "It's nothing serious," said Garmash. "It's always been like this. Most of us are overwhelmed by a few small sins. The little things add up until we're totally broken. It's easy to avoid the big sins, but it's the hundreds of mean little things that get you. If When you listen to people talk for a long time, you realize that what hurts is not a slap or a beating, but a gossip, a look of contempt, rejection. These are the things that humiliate people who still have a conscience. These are the things you rely on Things you want to forget when you drink."

"What about people who have no conscience?" "Then they don't come to AA, they don't think there's anything wrong with them." Gamash thought for a moment, "You just said 'at least, that's what she told me', does that mean she still keeps some secrets from you?" He wasn't looking at her.He found that if people were given more personal space, they were more open.Instead, Inspector Garmash looked straight ahead at the honeysuckle and roses, blooming in the warm afternoon sun. "Some people pour it all out at once," Susan said, "but most people need time, and it's not necessarily that they're hiding something on purpose. Sometimes they bury it so deep that they forget that there's still something there." thing." "until?" "Until it slowly crawled out on its own. By then, though, what had been a tiny thing had become something almost indecipherable, gigantic, fetid." "And then what?" asked the Inspector. "Then we have a choice," Susan replied. "We can face the truth, or we can bury it again, or, at least, try to." To outsiders, they looked like two old friends, discussing literature or a recent concert in the village hall.But those with sharp eyes will notice their expressions, which are not serious, but a little melancholy for this lovely sunny day. "What if people bury these secrets again?" asked Gammash. "I don't know about ordinary people. But to alcoholics, it's deadly. A secret so rotten it will force you to drink, and drinking will drive you to your grave. But before it does, it will steal everything from you. Your loved ones, your job, your home, your dignity. In the end, your life." "It's all because of a secret?" "Because of a secret, and the decision to hide it, the decision to run away." She stared at him hard. "Sobriety is not for cowards, Inspector. Whatever you think of these drunks, abstinence, abstinence Alcohol, it takes a lot of honesty which takes a lot of courage. Not drinking is the easy part. Facing ourselves, facing our demons is the hardest part. How many of us would do that What to do?" "Not many people," admitted Garmash, "but what if the demon wins?" Clara Moreau walked slowly on the small bridge, stopping now and then to look at the Beira River below.The river gurgles, and the water surface is sparkling in the sun.She could see rocks at the bottom, polished smooth by the current, and now and then a steelhead swimming by. Should she go to Montreal?In fact, she had already looked up the address of Dyson's house, she just wanted to go to Beauvoir's to check.It was in her pocket now, and she, taking a look at their car, parked there, waiting. Should she go to Montreal? What is she waiting for?What is she afraid of? They would hate her, call her names, and slam her away.The Dysons, who had been Clara's second parents, would sever ties with her. But she knew she had to, no matter what Myrna said, no matter what Beauvoir said.She didn't ask Peter.For such an important matter, she still can't trust him.But she doubted he would say the same. do not go. Don't take any chances. Clara turned and walked down the bridge. "That's right," Susan replied. "Sometimes the devil wins, and sometimes we can't face the truth. It hurts." "Then what?" Susan was sweeping the grass with her feet, no longer looking at the beautiful garden. "Have you ever heard of Humpty Dumpty, Inspector?" "The nursery rhyme? I used to read it to the kids." Daniel loved the nursery rhyme, he remembered, making him read it to himself over and over again, never getting tired of the illustration—the King's men going to rescue the silly old egg. But what about Anne?She literally wailed at the story, and the tears flowed and flowed, soaking the shirt across his chest.He had no choice but to rock her back and forth in his arms, trying to comfort her.It took Garmache a long time to calm her down and figure out what was going on.The problem is clear.Little Annie, although only four years old, couldn't stand Humpty being crushed like this.Never healed, hurt too badly. "Of course, this is just a metaphor." Susan said. "You mean that Mr. Humpty never existed?" asked Garmache. "That's what I mean, Inspector." Susan's smile faded, and she took a few quiet steps. "Like Dumpty, some people are too badly injured to heal." "Like Lillian?" "She's healing. I think she's doing well. She's really working hard." "But?" asked Garmache. Susan took a few more steps. "Lillian is hurt, badly. But she's picking herself up and getting back on track, slowly. But that's not a problem." The inspector fell into deep thought. Although this woman in front of her was gaudy and flashy, she was so loyal, what exactly was she trying to tell him?Then suddenly he realized. "She wasn't Dumpty," he said. "She didn't fall off a high wall. She pushed someone else. Others fell off a high place because of Lillian." Beside him, Susan Coates' head bobbed slightly up and down with each step. "Sorry for the delay," Clara said, turning from behind the old lilac bush in the corner, "I got these from Myrna." She holds up the ribbon and cigar.Both the Inspector and Susan looked confused. "What kind of ceremony is this?" Garmash asked, puzzled. "This is a ritual of purification. Would you like to join in?" Garmash nodded hesitantly.He is familiar with this ritual.Some villagers had done this before at some murder scenes, but no one had ever invited him.Although he had enough incense to hang around him in his Catholic youth, this time is probably no exception. For the second time in two days, Clara lit a vetiver and sage cigar.She gently waved the fragrant smoke towards the slightly nervous Susan, bathing her in incense from head to toe.This allows you to let go of any negative thoughts and energy, Clara explains. Then it was Garmash's turn.She looks at him.His expression is slightly comical, but relaxed and focused.She drove the smoke towards him until it surrounded him like a sweet cloud and dissipated in the breeze. "All negative energy has been driven away," Clara said, repeating the same ritual to herself, "no more." I hope this works, all three of them thought quietly, then everything will be easy to handle. Clara gave each a ribbon, invited them to pray silently for Lillian, and tied the ribbon to the stick. "What about the tape?" Susan asked. "Oh, that's all right," Clara said. "It was more of a cue than an order. Besides, I know the guy with the tape." "It's a useless ritual," said Garmash, helping Susan get the tape off before stepping over it himself, "but it's well-intentioned." Lacoste slowed down, almost to a stop.She was driving out of Three Pine Township, to Montreal.Investigate in the newspaper reference room for Lillian Dyson's review in The Press, to find out who wrote that particularly vicious review. While passing by Moreau's house, she witnessed an unbelievable scene.A senior Quebec police officer is apparently praying toward a stick. She smiled, wishing she could join him.At the scene of the crime, she often said silent prayers in her heart.After everyone has left, Lacoste will return to let the dead know they have not been forgotten. This time, however, it seemed it was the Inspector's turn.She wondered what exactly he was praying for.She remembered holding that bloody hand and thought maybe she could guess. Garmash put his right hand on the stick and began to collect his thoughts.After a moment, he tied the ribbon on it and stepped back. "I'm talking about the Serenity Prayer," Susan said. "What about you?" But Gamache didn't want to tell them what he had prayed. "What about you?" Susan turned to Clara. Gamache noticed that she was bossy and easy to inquire.He wondered if that was a good quality to lead. Like Gamache, Clara did not answer. "I have to leave you for a while. See you later." Clara hurried to the house.She is in a hurry now and has wasted too much time.