The conversation was brief; a door slammed. The woman’s footsteps approached.

“No Chantal?”

“She claims not. Hasn’t lived there in months. Doesn’t know where she does live now. And doesn’t take kindly to a stranger turning up on her doorstep at this time of night.”

“Was she lying?”

“Maybe. I couldn’t tell. She slammed the door in my face.”

“Damn. Now what do we do? Maybe we should go back to the hotel. I need to think.”

“You need to sleep. You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine.” He cut the woman off in a curt way. “Come on. This is hopeless. We can’t force our way in there. We’ll have to give this information to the police. You realize Chantal could be there despite what she said. So could Star. So could Mina Landis, come to that.”

“Rowland, I know. Damn, we’ve done the wrong thing. We shouldn’t have come here like this. If they were there, or if that woman knows them, we’ve just alerted them. That was stupid. Stupid. We’re not thinking clearly.”

“I’m aware of that. Let’s get back to the St. Vincent…”

The footsteps moved off. Slowly Mina began to breathe again, began to move again. She looked down at Star. She thought he had heard none of this. He was still crouching at her feet, his hands still covered his face.

Mina knelt down beside him and put her arms around him. His face was wet. Gently she began to coax him and whisper to him; she tried to persuade him to lift his head.

“Star,” she said, “please don’t. What’s happened? What’s wrong? Don’t cry—I can’t bear to see you cry. Look at me, Star. We can’t stay here. Someone’s looking for me. They mentioned the police. We have to leave.”

“She’s dead.” He raised his face. “Maria Cazarès is dead. She died this afternoon. This evening. I just saw it on the television. She died hours ago, and I didn’t know. I didn’t sense.” He made a horrible choking sound in his throat. “The cards lied. They should have warned me. I wanted her to die. I think I did. But not like this. Not like this!”

His sudden violent gesture knocked Mina aside. He stood up.

“This is your fault. Your fault. That stupid fucking old bitch’s fault. If you hadn’t been sick, I’d have stayed, I’d have waited. I knew it was the right day. I knew she was coming—and she did. One hour, two hours after we left. After you made us leave, with your fucking dumb whinings and complainings, you’re too fucking hot, you feel sick…”

He pulled Mina up to her feet and shook her, then grasped her so her face was just inches from his own, and his blue-black eyes glared at her with that awful glittery look.

“I’d have seen her die—you realize that? I could have stood there, just the way I planned, and watched her die at my feet. With that dumb fucking Mathilde weeping and screaming and calling for a priest. Trying to find her rosary, trying to find some little sacred picture, as if a picture would save her—I could have seen all that. And I would have rejoiced. Rejoiced. Twenty-five years I’ve waited for this—and you, you—”