“She’s not praying for you. Or me,” Star said in a conversational way. “She’s praying for my mother. My mother’s dead. She died very suddenly Monday afternoon. Took too many little pills, I think. That’s what Mathilde says. She was writing a letter to me, and she’d taken three of her special little pills—which was a pretty dumb thing to do, of course. So she never finished the letter. She collapsed. Went into convulsions. It took a while, Mathilde says. Not too pretty. But then, I guess death never is.”

When Gini did not reply, he seemed irritated. Glancing up into the rearview mirror, she saw him frown again.

“My mother was a very famous woman,” he said in an insistent tone. “World famous. You’ll know her name. Maria Cazarès.” He paused. “Make a left at the next intersection. Who are you? Police—some kind of police? A private eye? Did Mina’s father hire you, maybe?”

“No. I’m a journalist,” Gini said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I’ve—been investigating Mina’s disappearance.” Where was little Mina now, she thought wildly. What had he done with her?

“Oh, yeah? And Cassandra’s death? Too bad about that. I saw it in the paper. Mina doesn’t know, of course,” he said. “A journalist. That’s nice. You write for American papers?”

“Sometimes. But I live in London. So I work for a British newspaper there. The Correspondent.”

“Oh, I know that paper!” He sounded pleased. “That’s an important paper, right? Like the Times?”

“Yes. You could say that.”

“Hey. That’s good. Make a right here.” He was smiling at her now, in the rearview mirror. His smile made Gini’s blood run cold. “You know, just for a minute back there in the lobby—I was puzzled. Because the cards told me to expect the unexpected, like I said—but they said it would be something good, something useful…” He frowned again. “You know the real reason I didn’t shoot you back there? Nothing to do with the driving. I lied a little then. It was because I was waiting. I mean, obviously, you were the surprise—and at first it didn’t seem too positive. It looked like you might really fuck up all my plans. But I trusted the cards, you see? And I was right to trust the cards. Because you’re an accident, sure, but you’re also exactly what I need. Slow up. Make a left here.”

Gini could scarcely hold the steering wheel. She knew she was sweating with tension and hoped he could not see that. She could still feel the barrel of the gun on the back of her neck. He was moving the barrel up and down in a kind of caress. Gini was very afraid of guns. In Bosnia and elsewhere she had seen at close quarters what modern weapons could do. She tried to make her voice calm.

“Why am I what you need?” she said.

“Why?” He sounded astonished. “You can’t guess? Because you can write my story, of course. You can explain. I’ll give you an exclusive if you like. You can syndicate it—worldwide. That’s what happens, right?”