"Yo, Jacques," Gwen said. "Read the room, we're not exactly psychic detectives. We don't know where he'll go next, and unless you've got a hidden crystal ball in your pocket, we're flying blind."
"Yeah," Siobhàn chimed in. "Besides, he's Jean-Claude. The guy's unpredictable as hell. He could be sipping wine on a rooftop in Marseille one minute and having sex with Santa's wife in the catacombs the next. What makes you think we can predict a guy who's practically ghost incarnate?"
"I don't know, but maybe we don't have to predict him," Jacques said. "We just have to think like him."
"Jesus, Mr. Detective," Colette said, "I've been in the DST for god knows how many years now, and I've never heard such a cliché. Thinking like the criminal? Really? What's next, you gonna start smoking a pipe and wearing a deerstalker hat? The man's a lunatic. You wanna start sniffing wine corks and quoting Baudelaire while setting fire to everything in sight? Be my guest."