‘This was found in El’s hand.’ Gamache tried to say it gently, but knew there was no hiding the horror of it. ‘El’s mind might have been unbalanced, but her heart was steady. She knew what was important. Through all the years on the street she held on to these two things.’ He touched the box and nodded to the necklace. ‘The three of you. She surrounded herself with her friends.’

‘We tried to follow her but she was in and out of hospitals and then finally put onto the streets. We couldn’t imagine our El living on the streets. We tried to get her into shelters but she always left. We had to learn to respect her wishes.’

‘When was CC taken from her?’ Gamache asked.

‘I don’t know exactly. I think she was about ten when El was put into hospital.’

They were silent for a moment, each imagining the little girl taken from the only home she knew. Filthy, unhealthy place, but home nevertheless.

‘When did you see El again?’

‘Mother and Kaye and I often take the bus into Montreal and a couple of years ago we saw El at the station. It was a shock, seeing her like that, but we eventually got used to it.’

‘And you showed her some of Clara’s art?’

‘Clara? Why would we do that?’ Em was obviously confused. ‘We never had long with her, just a few minutes, so we’d give her clothes and blankets and food and some money. But we never showed her Clara’s art. Why would we?’

‘Did you ever show her a picture of Clara?’

‘No.’ Again Em seemed baffled by the question.

Why indeed, thought Gamache.

I’ve always loved your art, Clara, El had said when Clara was down and distressed.

I’ve always loved your art.

Gamache felt the warmth of the fire on his face. He wondered whether El had ever had a cod quota or worked construction.

‘How did you know El had been killed?’ There was no cushioning that question.

Em had clearly been bracing for it and hardly reacted at all.

‘We went back to Montreal on December twenty-third to give her a Christmas gift.’

‘Why go back? Why not give her the present after Ruth’s book launch?’

‘El was a creature of habit. Anything outside her routine upset her. A few years ago we tried to give her a gift early and she didn’t react well, so we learned. It had to be the twenty-third. You look puzzled.’

And he did. He couldn’t believe a woman living on the streets followed a Day Timer. How’d she even know what day it was?