Chapters (43)
- A Fatal Grace
- ALSO BY LOUISE PENNY
- A Fatal Grace
- CONTENTS
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
‘She was strangled.’ Reine-Marie lowered the file. ‘Says here her name was Elle. No last name. I can’t believe it. It’s an insult. They can’t even be bothered to find her real name so they call her She.’
‘These things are difficult,’ he said.
‘Which is probably why kindergarten children aren’t homicide detectives.’
He had to laugh as she said it.
‘They didn’t even try, Armand. Look at this.’ She held the dossier up. ‘It’s the thinnest file there. She was just a vagrant to them.’
‘Would you like me to try?’
‘Could you? Even if it’s just to find her name.’
He found the box for Elle’s case, stacked with the others from Brault against one wall of his office. Gamache put on gloves and removed the contents, spreading them on the floor of his office. Before long it was full of rancid, putrid clothing, and a smell that put their blue cheese to shame.
Old newspapers, curling and filthy, sat next to the clothing. Used for insulation, Gamache suspected, against the brutal Montreal winter. Words could do many things, he knew, but they couldn’t halt the weather. Reine-Marie joined him and together they sifted through the box.
‘She seems to have literally surrounded herself with words,’ said Reine-Marie, picking up a book. ‘Those papers for insulation and even a book.’
Opening it she started to read at random.
‘Long dead, and buried in another town,
my mother hasn’t finished with me yet.’
‘May I see that?’ Gamache took the book and looked at the cover. ‘I know this poet. I’ve met her. It’s Ruth Zardo.’ He looked at the cover. I’m FINE.
‘The one from that small village you liked so much? She’s one of your favorite poets, isn’t she?’
Gamache nodded and flipped to the beginning of the book. ‘It’s one I don’t have. Must be new. I don’t think Elle even read it.’ He looked up the publication date and noticed the inscription: ‘You stink, love Ruth.’
Gamache went to the phone and made a call.
‘Is this the Ogilvy bookstore? I’m calling to find out about – yes, I’ll hold.’ He cocked his head at Reine-Marie and smiled. She was putting on evidence gloves and reaching for a small wooden box that had also come out of the evidence box. It was simple and worn. Reine-Marie turned it over and found four letters stuck to the bottom.
‘What do you make of that?’ she asked, showing it to Armand.
B KLM
‘Does it open?’
She gently pried the top off and looked inside, and her face grew even more puzzled.
It was full of letters of the alphabet.