Dedication

For Elsa

Chapter One

A man was walking the platform, scanning the train as it crept into Alencourt station. I was sitting at the window, watching him as we got closer. The brakes shrieked. The guy moved slow and stiff, his head swiveling like a searchlight as the train inched past. Looking for someone. He walked against the train’s direction, while his head rotated back with it, holding each window in place as his eyes examined it, then circling back to scan again, as the next car came abreast.

The train approached; we got closer. I could see his eyes darting around, the head tracked smoothly. Then the eyes found me, but settled below my eye line. Like he wasn’t interested in my face. Then the guy lifted his gaze to mine and we were looking directly at each other, engaged. The train was moving painfully slow, so there was plenty of time to get a good look.

Looked like he had recognized me, but I didn’t know him.

Then the train stopped with a delayed lurch, and I saw him back off and disengage. Around me passengers were already dragging their bags and children off luggage racks and train seats. Soon they were flooding the platform and the guy was gone.

I was halfway to the entrance hall before I saw him again, over by the ticket desk, trying not to stare at me. He was maybe nineteen or twenty. Close small eyes and a tiny chin, like a rat. Dark hair buzzed to a number two, stripes shaved into one side. Like the Adidas logo. I went over to the information board and examined him in the glass reflection. He couldn’t stop himself from looking at me. Not a professional. Some kind of petty criminal maybe.

I looked up at the clock over the information booth. Quarter to noon, Saturday, June 23rd. It was my first time in France.

The station was busy. People dragged wheeled suitcases around, ran for trains. Footsteps slapped on the concrete, echoing around the big hall. Mothers and fathers pulled their kids. The rat-faced guy I’d never seen before was just standing there looking at my back. I supposed he was planning to mug me.

The entrance to the street was a wide stone arch leading to two-way traffic and a park on the other side. There was a kiosk in the park with newspapers and magazines, and a big coffee cup on the roof. I figured I could cross through the traffic and wait to see if the guy came after me. On top of that I could get a cup of coffee.

I jogged across, weaving between taxis.