“An agreement,” Lamotte said with a sigh. “Between Arnaud Cuvilyé, Bernard Cuvilyé, and Edgar Leone. It has to do with Madame Leone.”

Ben straightened in his chair. “You mean Remi?”

“Oui.”

“May I see it?”

Lamotte ran a hand over the top, hesitant as he licked his wine-stained lips. “This is confidential.”

“My father’s name is on it,” Ben snapped.

“So it is.” Lamotte closed his eyes and sighed. “But there are two other names here as well.”

Incensed by his reluctance, Ben lurched from his chair until he towered over the lawyer. Through bared teeth, he hissed, “I have inherited my father’s estate. I have a right to these documents, Lamotte.”

“As does Edgar’s widow.”

Remi? Of course. “So I must see to it that she is in agreement?”

“A written statement with her signature will do,” Lamotte said, nodding. “Then I will release these documents to your care.”

Defeated, Ben watched as the stack disappeared into an empty bottom drawer—different from where it was before. Lamotte picked a little key from his pocket and turned the mechanism with a click. When he found Ben watching, he swallowed.

“There is sensitive information contained within,” he warned, but a sudden ruckus at the front door called their attention before Ben could respond.

“Monsieur Lamotte! Are you here?” Someone shouted in a panic as the door flew open.

At its threshold was a man about the same age as Lamotte, though he was dressed in workman’s clothing and smelled of fish. He appeared shaken, his eyes large and unfocused as they flashed back and forth between the office and the street. Behind him, people hurried along.

Jacques shot Ben a look.

“Oh, hello, George,” Lamotte said as he teetered around his desk. He crossed the room with Ben and Jacques close behind him. “What’s happened? You look alarmed, my friend.”

“There’s a body at the dock!”

“Goodness,” Lamotte gasped. “Shall I fetch the doctor then?”

“I hoped he was here.” George sagged. “Will you find him?”

Intrigued, Ben offered, “I can go in his stead. Until you find him, of course.”

Lamotte seemed surprised but did not stop either of them from going.

Ben hurried down the block, following the curiosity of a growing crowd. He quickened his pace as he approached the bodies packed tight into the streets leading to the dock. Forgetting his manners, he pushed and shoved his way through, ignoring snide remarks about his rudeness. Finally, he broke through, greeted by the acrid stench of death mixed with fish. It overwhelmed him, and he covered his nose and mouth with a kerchief.

The end of the cobbled street opened to the docks, where a body lay on the quay. The island wasn’t anywhere near the size of Paris, so he wagered a guess that its residents rarely saw a body wash ashore, especially not one so bloated. Careful of his audience, Ben approached the corpse and knelt before anyone could object.

His education, it seemed, would not yet go to waste.

“Are you the doctor’s apprentice?” a slight man in tattered clothes asked.

“No, not an apprentice. Just a student,” Ben said as he surveyed the body. There was something oddly familiar about the blonde hair, but the swollen face distorted his features. “Were you the one who found him?”

“Oui, Monsieur,” the man said. “Caught him in my fishing net.”

Ben turned the head to the left and to the right, pulling down at the collar of the shirt just a fraction. Just when he decided it was a drowning, he noticed some unusual markings. He ran his hands over them once, studying the ridges and slight punctures.

He didn’t drown.

“Oh, it’s the doctor! Let him through,” someone from the crowd shouted.

Ben reluctantly stood and stepped back from the body.

“Who is it?” the doctor asked no one in particular. Up close, he looked too old to still be in practice. Beside him, his apprentice appeared queasy.

The man who found him in his net hung his head and said with a light shake, “Leith Hersant. The miller’s son.”

Ben’s jaw dropped. It was Remi’s friend, the man he’d seen with her earlier.

“I don’t think he drowned,” Ben spoke up.

“Huh?” the doctor grumbled as if finally noticing him. “Who are you?”

“Benoît Leone, Monsieur.”

“Oh, yes. The Leone boy.” The doctor considered him. He didn’t appear all that impressed; rather, it seemed Ben’s presence put him off. “And tell me, what do you think happened?”

The whispers in the crowd shifted from Leith to Leone.

Ben ignored them, kneeling to point at Leith’s bruised neck. “He was strangled.”

“Interesting.” The older man bent down, breathing what smelled like an entire cask of dubonnet in Ben’s face. “Are you a doctor?”

“No,” Ben said. “A student.”

“Then you are no expert.” The doctor breathed again, and Ben turned away, disgusted.

The doctor’s apprentice brushed Ben aside to kneel beside Leith and shook his head. “Terrible news. They found him floating in the water by some of the boats.”

Ben was forgotten as the young man regained the attention of the doctor.

“Ah.” The doctor continued to stroke his beard, further irritating Ben. “Well, Leith was quite the lush. He must have been drinking nearby and fell in.”

What about you? Ben thought with annoyance.

He opened his mouth to protest and point out what he’d seen, but a cry erupted from the crowd. A woman came barreling forward with tears falling down her face. A burly man followed closely behind her, and then a girl and two younger boys. They saw the body, and their faces full of raw pain. Ben contained himself and waited until the moment passed.

“You see,” the doctor said as he shot Ben a hard look. “He drowned.”