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What was that about?” asked Dussault as the two men returned to the living room.
“I’m not sure if you know that I work at GHS Engineering,” said Jean-Guy, pointing to the annual report. “I hadn’t realized until I saw that that Stephen must’ve had a hand in my hiring. I thought I got it on my own merits.”
“And you did,” said Armand. “But I needed to explain how it happened, and apologize for my part in it.”
“Which was?” asked Dussault.
Armand explained.
“Well, Horowitz must be on the board of GHS,” said Dussault, holding up the annual report. “That’s how he got Beauvoir the job, and why he has this.”
He put it back in the box and replaced the lid.
“I’ll check with Mrs. McGillicuddy, his secretary,” said Gamache.
“I’ve heard from Fontaine,” said Dussault. “They’re removing the body. I need to be at the autopsy. Would you like to be there, too?”
He looked at Gamache, then, slightly reluctantly, widened the invitation to include Beauvoir.
“Please,” said Gamache while Beauvoir nodded.
After they set up a time to meet the Prefect at the Quai des Orfèvres later that afternoon, Dussault said, “Commander Fontaine wants to interview you and the family. You’re witnesses to the attack on Horowitz.”
It was agreed that Fontaine would interview them at Daniel and Roslyn’s apartment in the Third Arrondissement, mid-afternoon.
Dussault left the Hôtel Lutetia with the box, while Reine-Marie, Jean-Guy, and Armand returned to bar Joséphine.
They needed to talk.
A waiter asked what they’d like to order.
Reine-Marie asked for tea then quickly scanned the menu, taking the first thing she saw. Thankfully it was lobster mayonnaise.
Armand ordered an herb omelette. He wasn’t hungry and knew he’d just push things around on the plate. Beauvoir had a burger.
Finally, the waiter left, and Reine-Marie turned to Armand. “Claude? That cologne we smelled in Stephen’s apartment. It’s the same one Claude’s wearing.”
“Oui. I told Jean-Guy while we were in the bedroom.”
“You don’t think … ? He’s a friend. He’s the head of the Préfecture de Police, for God’s sake.”
Armand shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“A lot of people might wear that cologne,” suggested Jean-Guy, who’d made sure he got a good whiff of the Prefect before he left.
Reine-Marie hesitated, but knew this wasn’t the time to shy away from the truth. “I’ve never smelled it before. Have you?”
Jean-Guy had to admit he hadn’t. “But it might be more popular here. Like tête de veau.”
He’d never quite recovered from the first time he and Annie, with Honoré, had wandered the Marché des Enfants Rouges, near their new home.
Turning from a bank of éclairs, he came face-to-face with a row of skinned calves’ heads. Glaring at him.
He’d scooped Honoré up and made sure the little boy didn’t see.
“What kind of people eat that?” he’d hissed at Annie as he hurried away.
“What kind of people eat poutine?” she’d countered.
