was found. If the plans had been there, the killer would have started sending out feelers, looking for buyers. Setting up an auction.” “How do you know he hasn’t?” It was just the two of them and the real Mary Fraser was beginning to appear, seeping out from the ladder in the stocking, the undyed roots of her hair, the clotted mascara. The file clerk was receding. But then, the real Armand Gamache was also appearing. The kindly retired cop was receding. She gave him a patient smile. “We know.” “You don’t know everything. You didn’t know about the gun.” But even as he said it he wondered if
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