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Claude Dussault leaned back in his chair.

“You were telling me about the van,” said Gamache. “Where was it found?”

“It was abandoned just outside the bois de Boulogne.”

Armand brought up, in his mind, the map of Paris. And the location of the huge park, the Woods of Boulogne.

“The bois is close to the headquarters of GHS,” he said.

“Yes, and Mr. Horowitz had the GHS annual report in his possession,” said Dussault. “Probably just a coincidence.”

“More than that. He was planning on going to the GHS board meeting on Monday morning.”

Dussault stared at him. “How do you know that?”

“It’s in his agenda.”

“What agenda?” The stare had become a glare.

It was the moment of truth. The moment for truth.

“The one Mrs. McGillicuddy has,” Armand lied. “She told me his plans.”

“Was he a member of the board?” the Prefect asked.

“No.”

“Then why would he go? And would they even let him in? Why’re you shaking your head?”

“If GHS Engineering is somehow involved, why would the attacker abandon the van pretty much on the corporation’s doorstep?”

“He might not have known who his employer was. The bois de Boulogne, as you know, has become a dumping ground for all sorts of things.”

“True. Which is why you have cameras all over it. Do they show anything?”

But Armand already knew the answer. If they did, Dussault would have said something.

“We have cameras, but as soon as we put them up, they’re smashed.”

“So, once again, no footage?”

“No.” Dussault was quiet for a moment before asking his next question. “Your former number two, Beauvoir, works for GHS, isn’t that right?”

“It is.” Gamache’s tone was relaxed. Reasonable. But his guard was up.

“In fact, Horowitz helped get him the job,” said Dussault. “That was the drama this morning in the Lutetia.”

“Right.”

Gamache made up his mind.

His suspicions of the head of the entire Préfecture were so paper-thin as to be almost irrational.

He had to share some information.

“Does Luxembourg mean anything to you?”

“Luxembourg? The country or the garden?”