When Myrna finished explaining Gamache walked to his coat, feeling inside each pocket until he came to what he was looking for. The copy of Ruth’s book found on Elle’s body.
He returned to his seat and opened it, reading at random.
‘She’s a remarkable poet,’ said Myrna. ‘Too bad she’s such a mess as a person. May I?’ She reached out for the book and opened it at the beginning. ‘Did Clara lend you this?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Well, it’s inscribed to her.’ Myrna showed him. ‘You stink, love Ruth.’
‘Clara’s “You stink”?’
‘Well, she did that day. Isn’t that funny? She said she lost it. I guess she found it again, though you say you didn’t get it from her?’
‘No, it’s part of an investigation.’
‘A homicide investigation?’
‘You said she lost it after the signing? Where?’ Gamache was leaning forward now, his bright eyes focused on Myrna.
‘At Ogilvy’s. She’d bought the book at Ruth’s launch, had it signed and then we had to leave.’ Myrna could feel his energy and felt herself getting excited, though she didn’t know why.
‘Did you come straight back?’
‘I got the car and picked her up outside. We didn’t stop anywhere.’
‘Did she go anywhere else before you picked her up?’
Myrna thought about it and shook her head. Gamache stood up. He had to get over to the Morrow place.
‘Well, there was one thing she told me the next day. She bought some food for this old beggar outside. She—’ Myrna stopped herself.
‘Go on.’ Gamache turned at the door.
‘Nothing.’
Gamache just stared.
‘I can’t tell you. It’s for Clara to say.’
‘The beggar’s dead. Murdered.’ He held up Ruth’s book and said softly, ‘You need to tell me.’