Still Life (A Three Pines Mystery)

Peter reached out for the book and scanned the beginning of the poem, the part Jane hadn't read: 'Towards the end he sailed into an extraordinary mildness, and anchored in his home and reached his wife and rode within the harbour of her hand, and went across each morning to an office as though his occupation were another island. Goodness existed: that was the new knowledge. His terror had to blow itself quite out.'

Peter looked into the fire, listening to the murmur of the familiar voices. Gently he slipped a piece of paper into the book and closed it.

'Like a paranoid person he read hidden messages into everything,' said Gamache. 'Ben had the opportunity and skill to kill Jane. He lived practically beside the schoolhouse, he could go there without being seen, let himself in, take a recurve bow and a couple of arrows, change the tips from target to hunting, then lure Jane and kill her.'

The movie played in Peter's head. Now he dropped his eyes. He couldn't look at his friends. How had he not known this about his best friend?

'How'd he get Jane there?' Gabri asked.

'A phone call,' said Gamache. 'Jane trusted him completely.

She didn't question when he asked her to meet him by the deer trail. Told her there were poachers so she'd better leave Lucy at home. She went without another thought.'

This is what comes of trust and friendship, loyalty and love, thought Peter. You get screwed. Betrayed. You get wounded so deeply you can barely breathe and sometimes it kills you. Or worse. It kills the people you love most. Ben had almost killed Clara. He'd trusted Ben. Loved Ben. And this is what happened. Never again. Gamache had been right about Matthew 10:36.

'Why did he kill his own mother?' Ruth asked.

'The oldest story in the book,' said Gamache.

'Ben was a male prostitute?' Gabri exclaimed.

'That's the oldest profession. Where do you keep your head?' asked Ruth. 'Never mind, don't answer that.'

'Greed,' explained Gamache. 'I should have twigged earlier, after our conversation in the bookstore,' he said to Myrna. 'You described a personality type. The ones who lead what you called "still" lives. Do you remember?'

'Yes, I do. The ones who aren't growing and evolving, who are standing still. They're the ones who rarely got better.'

'Yes, that was it,' said Gamache. 'They waited for life to happen to them. They waited for someone to save them. Or heal them. They did nothing for themselves.'

'Ben,' said Peter. It was almost the first time he'd spoken all day.

'Ben.' Gamache gave a single nod. 'Jane saw it, I think.' He got up and hobbled to the wall. 'Here. Her drawing of Ben. Did you notice he's wearing shorts? Like a little boy. And he's in stone. Stuck. Facing his parent's home, facing the past. It makes sense now, of course, but I didn't see it earlier.'

'But why didn't we see it? We lived with him every day,' Clara asked.

'Why should you? You were leading your own busy lives.

Besides, there's something else about Jane's drawing of Ben.' He let them consider for a moment.

'The shadow,' said Peter.

'Yes. He cast a long and dark shadow. And his darkness influenced others.'

'Influenced me, you mean,' said Peter.

'Yes. And Clara. And almost everyone. He was very clever, he gave the impression of being tolerant and kind, while actually being very dark, very cunning.'

'But why did he kill Timmer?' Ruth asked again.

'She was going to change her will. Not cut him out entirely, but give him just enough to live on, so that he'd have to start doing something for himself. She knew what sort of a man he'd become, the lies, the laziness, the excuses. But she'd always felt responsible. Until she met you, Myrna. You and Timmer used to talk about these things. I think your descriptions got her to thinking about Ben. She'd long known he was a problem, but she'd seen it as a kind of passive problem. The only person he was hurting was himself. And her, with his lies about her -'

'She knew what Ben was saying?' Clara asked.