Myrna smiled and took a sip of her beer. She followed Beauvoir, who was following Gamache. “It wasn’t your fault, you know.” Beauvoir tensed, an involuntary spasm. “What d’you mean?” “What happened, in the factory. To him. There was nothing you could have done.” “I know that,” he snapped. “I wonder if you do. It must’ve been horrible, what you saw.” “Why’re you saying this?” Beauvoir demanded, his head in a whirl. Everything was suddenly topsy-turvy. “Because I think you need to hear it. You can’t always save him.” Myrna looked at the tired young man across from her. He was suffering, she
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