All the Devils Are Here(77)

The business of murder. Attempted murder. And whatever it was Stephen had discovered.

Besides, when asked directly if he knew the CEO, Claude Dussault had denied it.

He’d looked Gamache in the eye and lied.

“Who’s the other man?” asked Annie.

They could see the back of his head and a bit of his face as he turned to listen to Madame Roquebrune.

Dark hair, close-cropped. Clean-shaven.

“Madame Roquebrune’s security?” asked Reine-Marie.

“I don’t think so. A security guard wouldn’t sit down for tea with a client,” said Armand. “He’s part of whatever meeting’s happening.”

“But what is happening?” asked Reine-Marie. “I can’t imagine the CEO herself is telling the Prefect of Police, in a public place, to go kill a man.”

“They obviously didn’t know that Stephen was actually staying right there,” said Jean-Guy. “Was just a few flights above them.”

Armand leaned closer to the image. And remembered the grainy photo of Himmler in bar Joséphine.

Terrible things were discussed by confident people in public places. And there was a reason this recording had been erased. When the killings and search were bungled, they had to kick over all trace.

Innocent people holding innocent meetings didn’t erase the evidence. As SecurForte had done. And deny that it ever happened. As Claude had done.

“What would they have to offer, to get him to do it?” asked Reine-Marie.

“He talked tonight about retirement,” said Armand. “They must’ve offered him more money than he could ever make as a cop. A lifetime of peace and security for himself and his family.”

Armand rubbed his forehead, his fingers naturally finding the long, deep scar at his temple.

What would it take?

“Ummm,” said Reine-Marie. “There’s something you should know. I asked Monique—” She turned to Annie and Jean-Guy and explained, “Dr. Dussault. Claude’s wife. I asked her tonight about his cologne. I’m sorry, Armand, but it seemed the only way.”

“That’s all right,” he said. “I’m sure you were careful.”

“I think I was. I found out that it’s called 4711. I have a bottle of it at home that I bought this afternoon at the BHV.”

“You found it?” said Armand.

“Oui. I wanted to be able to confirm it really is the same scent we smelled, and that Claude really does use it. I didn’t show Monique the bottle, I just said I was looking for a gift for you, Armand,” she said, turning to face him directly. “It is Claude’s cologne. Monique confirmed it.”

He gave a very small nod.

“She told me his second-in-command bought some for him and for herself,” Reine-Marie continued, “when they were on a trip together in Cologne. They toured the place where it’s made. Monique says Claude only puts it on when they’re going to meet.”

There was silence as they took that in.

“That means,” Reine-Marie said, deciding they were taking too long to get there, “that it could’ve been Irena Fontaine we interrupted in Stephen’s apartment.”

“It could also mean they’re closer than we realized. We need to find out more about her,” said Jean-Guy.

“And SecurForte,” said Reine-Marie.

She took over the laptop and put the name in. Up came a website.

It was spartan, to say the least. All they could see was the home page. They needed a security code to access more.

The home page photo showed a handsome, well-groomed, muscular man in a suit standing alert beside a Maybach, while a woman, smiling but also alert, held the door open for a little girl and her mother.

In the bottom right corner was their logo.

“That’s the same emblem I saw on the guard’s uniform,” said Jean-Guy. “The same one in that article.”

“It looks like a snowflake,” said Annie. “Why would they have a snowflake as a corporate logo?”

“Look closer,” said Reine-Marie, doing just that. “Those are spears, tridents, in a circle.”

The spears were radiating out from a central point, as though protecting it.

“That’s no snowflake,” said Reine-Marie. “That’s a promise, and a warning. Clever.” She smiled. “Making it look like one thing while actually being something else. Hiding its real nature. An insignia like that is more than just a corporate logo. It’s a symbol. It means something. Most paramilitary emblems do.”

After a few dead ends, she sat back and turned the screen to the others. “Voilà. The Helm of Awe.”

“You’re kidding, right?” said Annie, leaning in. “Sounds like a comic book.”

“The Helm of Awe,” Reine-Marie read, “is an ancient Norse symbol of protection and overwhelming might.”

“What’s the S?reté du Québec logo again?” Jean-Guy asked as they stared at the Helm of Awe. “A kitten?”

“Playing with a ball of yarn, oui,” said Armand.

Annie laughed. They all knew the S?reté logo was a fleur-de-lys. A flower. Appropriate, but hardly awe-inspiring.

Fortunately, they didn’t need a symbol to be inspired.

“Does it say who runs SecurForte?” asked Armand.