I press the large button, which allows entry, then I survey the studio apartment. It’s trashed, overrun with papers and empty boxes. Valentin’s tight, deliberate gait announces his location in the foyer, up the stairs, rounding the corner to the third floor. I stash a bra in my duffel bag, then fluff the blanket as the footsteps end outside.

Valentin greets me with a curt smile. He pats down the curly sides of his hair and then shakes my hand. “Mademoiselle.” The scent of mint carries with him despite a heavy perfume of curry that was cloaking the hall earlier. Seeing him again in person reminds me how much I’ve learned and how much I’ve lived since we met four days ago.

Valentin stares at the mess I’ve made. He steps over a crate of binders and a cardboard box to the desk chair covered in papers. He moves the pile onto the closed laptop, then he gestures to the bed. “Miss Darby.”

“I prefer to stand.”

Valentin sits at the desk. “As you wish.”

“How is Angela’s case going? Are you making any progress?”

He allows himself a smile. A reddish stubble glows along his jawline, as though he hasn’t slept much, either. Good. “It is . . . progressing. I hoped to ask additional questions, if you are amenable.”

I slouch along the kitchen counter. “Let’s have it.”

“Miss Darby, I hear you have been sightseeing much of our beautiful city. Do you consider that wise?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Forgive me, Miss Darby.” Valentin crosses thin legs. “You have come to Paris, presumably to gather your sister’s belongings and say goodbye. Instead, you were seen gallivanting about with someone you just met, while this continues to be an open investigation. Do you think this is wise?” He taps his forefingers together like a disciplinarian actually expecting a response.

My mouth splits open. “You were following me?”

“You are an interesting-looking woman. Someone memorable, as your sister was. It is possible that her beauty and friendly nature may have contributed to her demise. The intelligence we gathered on your sister makes it clear how visible she was at the Sorbonne. It would be unwise to imitate the foundations of her death.”

“I’m not imitating anything. I’m getting by.”

Valentin stands. “In France, we do not take this tone with inspectors. You are vulnerable. Especially as a woman who does not speak the language fluently, and in need of trustworthy companions. Angela’s killer is still at large, along with a potential series murderer.”

As if I’d forgotten. There’s a constant knot in my neck from looking over my shoulder. My instinct when I step into a room now is to scan the space and locate a second exit.