He moved fast around the apartment, learning its geography. One long central corridor, windowless; on either side of it, two large rooms; on the right, two bedrooms, each with its own bathroom; on the left, the sitting room they had first entered, then a dining room beyond that; finally, at the end of the corridor, a large, old-fashioned kitchen. It had almost exactly the same layout, though smaller, as Helen’s apartment—and as he realized this, his hopes rose.

He entered the kitchen, and they were dashed. Like Helen’s apartment, this, too, had a service door that led out to the fire escape stairs. Pascal stared at this door angrily: he had been counting on it. It was blocked by a huge, immovable refrigerator. He unlatched each window, as he had done in all the rooms, though he doubted it would be helpful. The windows looked long unused; they had been painted in. He leaned hard against the one above the sink; it did not budge an inch.

He looked around the room, then quietly began opening drawers. He finally found the kind of implement he was looking for: a long, thin, very sharp boning knife. He slipped it inside his jacket pocket without great optimism. A knife was a close-range weapon; a gun was not.

He was returning with the water—why water?—when he heard from the room beyond a sound that made his heart stop. A low moan, then a muffled cry from Gini. “No, please…” he heard. “Star, no—listen, please, not yet. We have to talk. You want me to do the interview. I have a tape recorder in my bag, and tapes, and—”

Pascal reached the door five seconds too late. There might have been an opportunity, but it had gone. Whatever Star had been doing, he had heard Pascal’s footsteps and had stopped. Pascal halted in the doorway, white-faced.

He could read the scenario, and it made him deeply afraid. Gini had been forced to her knees in front of Star. She was trembling violently. Star’s belt was undone. He held the gun nuzzling against her temple with his right hand. His left hand was grasping Gini by the back of the neck. On his face was an expression of arousal and urgency that was naked. As Pascal entered, he jerked Gini back up to her feet.

“Put the water down. Get back over there. Now.” He waited until Pascal had done this. “Okay. We do the interview. Pascal can take some pictures. Yeah. That could be good. I have to tell you the whole story, and…” His eyes glazed slightly, then focused again.

“I did have a whole lot of things I wanted to say. But I don’t know. I might keep it brief. I—there’s other things I might want to do. You know, before…”

He stopped. His head jerked around like an animal’s. He became instantly alert. He listened, and Gini listened, and Pascal listened—to the whoops of many sirens.

They came closer, became deafeningly loud, then stopped.