She grabbed a taxi, switched to another one at St. Paul, and rode home. Just to be sure, she doubled back along the quai twice. Dawn was an hour away. Miles Davis greeted her in the dark flat, sniffed her noisily, then burrowed into her patchouli-scented jacket. Silhouetted against the quai's street lamp, the black shadow of the Seine snaked outside her window.
Aimee felt more guilty than she ever had in her life. Somehow she should have gotten away from him. But she'd drunk too much and enjoyed how Yves had made her feel. The brandy hadn't dulled her brain, she'd known what she was doing. And she'd wanted to do it. What if he'd been a part of the old woman's murder? Sick, she made herself sick. How could she have slept with him?
She opened a bottle of Volvic spring water and popped a handful of vitamin B and C. She slid Les Blancs Nationaux's video labeled 'Meeting November 1993' into her VCR. Miles Davis nestled into her lap and she hugged him, trying to prepare for the awful truth.
SUNDAY
'CONGRATULATIONS,
Hartmuth was afraid his smile looked like a grimace of pain, and he glanced away. He concentrated his gaze on the balding mayor of Paris, standing among the European diplomats at the ceremony. Only once did his eyes drift to the gray wainscotting of the room.
He remembered these walls well. In this very room he had routinely filed Jewish Population Removal Orders in quadruplicate. His
Ilse beamed from under the brim of her rose-colored hat. Across from them, Cazaux laughed familiarly with the mayor. After the opening ceremony, Hartmuth escorted Ilse in her brown orthopedics across the rotunda of black-and-white tiles.
He entered the waiting limo that would take them to Saint Sulpice Church. There under the smoky, incense- filled nave, below the leering phantoms imprisoned in Delacroix's mural, he exhaled quickly. He realized that he'd been holding his breath. Soon, he told himself, soon this whole thing would be over. A few more days and he would be safely back in Hamburg.
As the bells pealed and the party descended the marble stairs of Saint Sulpice, the hairs lifted on his neck.
He had the oddest sensation of being watched. Of course, the Werewolves were watching, but this felt different. And he didn't know if he minded at all.
At the reception following, Cazaux smiled and pulled him aside. 'We must talk of the trade commission's future. You know, I think you would be best qualified to lead negotiations.'
Hartmuth did not want to have this conversation. Nor did he believe in the unfair treaty that he was being pressured to sign. He'd stall Cazaux and buy time. Maybe he could lobby other delegates to effect compromise on the harshest policies. He didn't hold out much hope but he would try.
'I'm flattered,' he said. 'Others are more qualified than I.'
'Politicians can't afford to be modest.' Cazaux winked and patted him on the back. 'Of course, the commission gets in place after the treaty is signed. First things first.'
Quimper, the rosy-cheeked Belgian delegate, joined them. 'This pate is superb!' he said, gently dabbing at his mustache with a napkin.
Cazaux grinned. 'May I offer you the privacy of my office to conduct your perusal of the treaty clauses?'
Hartmuth had already seen the addendum. He figured Cazaux wanted to get Belgium's and Germany's approval first, then convince other delegates to agree.
'My understanding, Minister Cazaux,' Hartmuth said, 'is that the European Union delegates, as a body, are presented with the treaty tomorrow and we discuss any details or changes before we ratify.'
A shadow passed briefly over Cazaux's face but it was gone in an instant.
'But of course you are right, Monsieur Griffe.' He nodded his head sadly. He put his arms around their shoulders and steered them away from the babbling crowd.
'You know and I know, this isn't the best answer,' Cazaux said. 'However, France's economy and our relationship with you, our close European neighbors, will suffer if this isn't signed.' He sighed. 'Mass unemployment—well, that's just the tip of it.'
Quimper nodded in agreement. Cazaux dropped his arms and studied the floor.
Hartmuth stared at Cazaux. 'This treaty sidesteps due legal proceedings for immigrants. The mandate allows them to be held in detention centers indefinitely, without trial by judge or jury. No high court will sanction this.'
'High court? No, dear Monsieur Griffe, it will never come to that. Once the treaty is passed and signed, discouraging new immigrants, we begin proceedings to strike those clauses.' Cazaux smiled expansively. 'The clauses will be deleted, like they never were there! Immigration will have slowed to a trickle. Eh, voila, our consciences will rest quietly after that.'
'Plenty of time for us to deal with that tomorrow,' Hartmuth said.
'Of course, gentlemen.' Cazaux smiled, putting his arms again around both of them. 'As the host, where are my manners? And where is that pate?'
Hartmuth felt Cazaux's clawlike grip on his shoulder. More than ever, he wished he was far away.
SARAH PULLED THE HAT lower over her eyes. She felt disoriented, grappling with the old Paris she knew and the changes in the fifty years since she'd left.
'
She paid and passed under the damp colonnades of Place des Vosges. The Marais felt oddly the same yet different, memories accosting her at every corner.
The wind whipped crackly brown leaves around her legs and she pulled her raincoat tightly around her thin body. The smell of roasting chestnuts wafted across the square. At the bottom of the back page, she saw the article she'd been looking for. Marais Murder Lili Stein, sixty-seven years old, of 64 rue des Rosiers, was found dead on late Wednesday evening. According to autopsy findings she was a victim of homicide. Police inquiries are centered in the Marais and surrounding 4th arrondissement. The Temple E'manuel has posted a reward for information leading to the conviction of person/s involved.
