NINE
For the second time that day Armand Gamache stood from crouching beside this flower bed.
The first time he’d been staring at a dead woman, this time he’d been staring at a prayer stick. Its bright, cheerful ribbons fluttering in the slight breeze. Catching, according to Myrna, currents of good energy. If she was right, there was a lot around, as the ribbons flapped and danced.
He straightened up, brushing his knees. Beside him, Inspector Beauvoir was glowering at the spot where the coin had been found.
Where he’d missed it.
Beauvoir was in charge of the crime scene investigation, and had personally searched the area directly around the body.
“You found it just here?” the Chief pointed to the mounded earth.
Myrna and Clara had joined them. Beauvoir had called Agent Lacoste and she arrived that moment with a crime scene kit.
“That’s right,” said Myrna. “In the flower bed. It was buried and caked with dirt. Hard to see.”
“I’ll take that,” said Beauvoir, grabbing the crime scene kit, annoyed at what he took to be a patronizing tone in Myrna’s voice. As though she needed to make excuses for his failure. He bent down to examine the earth.
“Why didn’t we find it before?” asked the Chief.
It wasn’t a criticism of his team. Gamache was genuinely perplexed. They were professional and thorough. Still, mistakes happened. But not, he thought, missing a silver coin sitting in a flower bed two feet from the dead body.
“I know how it was missed,” said Myrna. “Gabri could tell you too. Anyone who gardens could tell you. We’d weeded yesterday morning and mulched the earth in the beds so that it’d be fresh and dark and show off the flowers. Gardeners call it ‘fluffing’ the garden. Making the earth soft. But when we do that the ground becomes very crumbly. I’ve lost whole tools in there. Laid them down and they sort of tumble into a crevice and get half buried.”
“This is a flower bed,” said Gamache, “not the Himalayas. Could something really be swallowed up in there?”
“Try it.”
The Chief Inspector walked to the other side of the flower bed. “Did you mulch here too?” he asked.
“Everywhere,” said Myrna. “Go on. Try it.”
Gamache knelt and dropped a one dollar coin into the flower bed. It sat on top of the earth, clearly visible. Picking it back up, he rose and looked at Myrna.
“Any other suggestions?”
She gave the dirt a filthy look. “It’s probably settled now. If it was freshly turned it’d work.”
She got a trowel from Clara’s shed and dug around, turning the earth, fluffing it up.
“OK, try it now.”
Gamache knelt again, and again dropped the coin into the flower bed. This time it slid over onto its side, down a small crevice.
“See,” said Myrna.
“Well, yes, I do see. I see the coin,” said Gamache. “I’m afraid I’m not convinced. Could it have been there for a while? It might’ve fallen into the bed years ago. It’s made of plastic so it wouldn’t rust or age.”
“I doubt it,” said Clara. “We would’ve found it long ago. They sure would’ve found it yesterday when they weeded and mulched, don’t you think?”
“I’ve given up thinking,” said Myrna.
They walked back to where Beauvoir was working.
“Nothing more, Chief,” he said, standing abruptly and slapping his knees free of dirt. “I can’t believe we missed it the first time.”
“Well, we have it now.” Gamache looked at the coin in the evidence bag Lacoste was holding. It wasn’t money, wasn’t currency of any country. At first he’d wondered if it might be from the Middle East. What with the camel. After all, Canadian currency had a moose on it, why shouldn’t Saudi currency have a camel?
But the words were English. And there was no mention of a denomination.
Just the camel on one side and the prayer on the other.
“You’re sure it doesn’t belong to you or Peter?” he asked Clara.
“I’m sure. Ruth briefly claimed it, but Myrna said it couldn’t possibly belong to her.”
Gamache turned to the large, caftaned woman beside him, his brows raised.
“And how do you know that?”
“Because I know what it is and I know Ruth would never have one. I assumed you recognized it.”
“I have no idea what it is.” They all looked again at the coin sitting in the Baggie.
“May I?” Myrna asked and when Gamache nodded Lacoste handed her the bag. Myrna looked through the plastic.
“God,” she read. “Grant me the serenity,
To accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.”
“It’s a beginner’s chip,” she said. “From Alcoholics Anonymous. It’s given to people who’re just getting sober.”
“How do you know that?” the Chief asked.
“Because when I was in practice I suggested a number of clients join AA. Some of them later showed me what they called their beginner’s chip. Just like that.” She gestured to the bag back in Lacoste’s hand. “Whoever dropped it is a member of AA.”
“I see what you mean about Ruth,” said Beauvoir.
Gamache thanked them and watched as Clara and Myrna walked back to the house, to join the others.
Beauvoir and Agent Lacoste were talking, going over notes and findings. Inspector Beauvoir would be giving her some instructions, Gamache knew. Leads to follow while they were in Montréal.
He wandered around the garden. One mystery was solved. The coin was an AA beginner’s chip.
But who dropped it? Lillian Dyson as she fell? But even if she did his experiment showed it would just sit on the earth. They’d have seen it right away.
Did her killer lose it? But, if he was going to break her neck with his bare hands he wouldn’t be holding a coin. Besides, the same thing held true for the killer. If he dropped it, why didn’t they find it? How did it get buried?
The Chief Inspector stood quietly in the warm, sunny garden and imagined a murder. Someone sneaking up behind Lillian Dyson in the dark. Grabbing her around the neck, and twisting. Quickly. Before she could call out, cry out. Struggle.
But she would have done something. She’d have flailed her arms out, even for a moment.
And he saw clearly that he’d made a mistake.
Walking back to the flower bed he called Beauvoir and Lacoste, who quickly joined him.
From his pocket he again brought out the one dollar coin. Then he tossed it into the air and watched as it fell to the freshly turned soil, sat briefly on top of a chunk of dirt, then slipped off to be buried by earth that crumbled in after it.
“My God, it did bury itself,” said Lacoste. “Is that what happened?”
“I think so,” said the Chief, watching as Lacoste picked the coin back up and handed it to him. “When I first tried it I was kneeling down, close to the dirt. But if it fell during the murder it would have dropped from a standing position. Higher up. With greater force. I think when the murderer grasped her neck her arms shot out, almost a spasm, and the coin was flung away from her body. It would have hit with enough impact to dislodge the loose earth.”
“That’s how it got buried and how we missed it,” said Agent Lacoste.
“Oui,” said Gamache, turning to leave. “And it means that Lillian Dyson had to have been holding it. Now, why would she be standing in this garden holding an AA beginner’s chip?”
But Beauvoir suspected the Chief was also thinking something else. That Beauvoir had fucked up. He should have seen the coin and not have it found by four crazy women worshiping a stick. That wasn’t going to sound good in court, for any of them.