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But there was precious little hard information. And no list of its actual projects or holdings.

When he’d finished, Armand took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“Not much here. I wonder why Stephen was interested in it. I’ve read a few annual reports in my time, and most are far more informative.”

As Claude returned to his seat, Armand noticed a small stain on his shirt, on the inside of his left elbow.

A bloodstain. Plessner’s blood?

“It’s probably just the corporate culture,” said Claude. “Secretive.”

“But that begs the question—”

“What’re they hiding?” asked Dussault.

“Yes.”

“You must be excited about the baby,” said Monique.

“We are.” Reine-Marie plugged in the old percolator.

She was suddenly exhausted, and just wanted them to go home so that she and Armand could talk, then go to bed. Bed. Bed.

But there was too much still to do before that could happen.

The aroma of coffee filled the tiny kitchen, and she watched as Monique sliced the bright pink Ispahan cake. The sharp knife cut through the layers of macaron and rose and raspberry cream.

Alexander Plessner stood at the doorway, watching her. Reine-Marie nodded acknowledgment and, taking a deep breath, she turned to Monique.

“Our anniversary is coming up, and I’m looking for a gift for Armand. Please, please don’t tell him, or Claude, that I asked, but I noticed Claude’s cologne and really like it.”

“You do? I think it smells like bark. And mud. I like Armand’s. A lot. What is it?”

“Sandalwood.”

“You’re not thinking of having him switch, are you?”

“Well, it’s just that sometimes it’s nice to have a choice. What is Claude’s cologne?”

“Something his second-in-command gave him a few years ago after they’d been to a conference in Cologne together. His number two bought a bottle for each of them when they toured the factory where it’s made. Have you ever been to Cologne? Beautiful city. Or at least once was. All but destroyed in the war.”

This conversation was hardly linear, and Reine-Marie wondered if she could continue to steer it back to a stinky cologne when there were other more interesting topics on the table.

One more try.

“He and his second-in-command wear the same scent?”

She knew the Prefect’s second-in-command was a woman, Irena Fontaine, the investigator who met them at Daniel’s apartment.

She was a protégé of the Prefect. They were obviously close, professionally, but this sharing of scents seemed a little beyond that.

“Oh, yes. Claude doesn’t wear it all the time, thankfully. Only when they’re going to meet.”

Reine-Marie stared at Monique. Didn’t she see how convenient this was? If Claude came home after this “meeting” smelling like his younger, female second-in-command, there would be no suspicion.

But this wasn’t her business. And maybe there was nothing there.

After all, Armand’s new number two was also a young woman. Isabelle Lacoste. She’d become a close family friend. A cherished and valued colleague. He’d brought her into homicide and mentored her. Isabelle had repaid Armand by saving his life, at a terrible personal cost to herself.