The driver’s side window came down. The uniformed policeman from earlier was at the wheel. The distinguished-looking Bonnet, of the little notebook. I looked across and saw the policewoman in the passenger seat. Nazari, the one with the hazel and green eyes. With the sun freckles at the hollow of her throat. She’d been the one whistling. Nazari gave me a little wave. I walked over. When I got closer Bonnet said, “Want a ride?”

I got in the back. Sat behind the driver. He looked at me in the mirror, said, “Where to?”

“Train station.”

The windshield wipers squeaked. Bonnet put the car into gear. Nazari turned around and extended her hand. “Cecile Nazari.”

I said, “It’s written on your shirt." I took the hand. Strong and warm. “Tom Keeler.”

Nazari said, “Yes, I know.” She indicated the driver. “That’s Bonnet. But you know already because it’s written on his shirt.”

Bonnet made eye contact and nodded.

Nazari was still smiling. She said, “You know this is a police vehicle, Monsieur Keeler. No door handles on the inside. We might have to hold you for a while.”

Bonnet caught my eye in the mirror. He said, “She’s kidding.”

She said, “I’m kidding. Leaving us already?”

I said, “Somewhere it’s not raining.”

She laughed and examined her fingernails. Shaking her head. She said, “Have to do my nails again.”

I said, “You have plans tonight?”

She said, “I do actually.”

Bonnet said, “What did the assholes want with you at the station?”

“Assholes?”

Nazari said, “Research and Intervention police. The BRI. We call them ‘assholes’ for short.”

“Asked me to give a formal statement.”

Bonnet asked, “Rigalle there?”

“The police director. Yes.”

“They tell you about the new victim?”

I nodded. “Correct.”

We drove for a little while. The scenery rolled by. The wipers squeaked.

Nazari said, “I guess you got lucky. Seeing how it turned out for the second victim.”

“Maybe.”

Bonnet glanced at me in the rear view. “Trust me, you got lucky.”

We were already in the town center, the historical part near the station. I said, “Here already.”

Nazari said, “We don’t have much else. It’s a train station town.”

Bonnet was slowing down to pull over. Nazari turned around to look at me again. She said, “Did they show you pictures of the crime scene?”

I said, “No.”

“Me and Antoine were first responders.” She pulled out her phone and tapped it a few times. Passed it to me. “Something for you to remember us by,” she said.

Bonnet was alarmed, but spoke quietly. “Cecile.”

Nazari said, “Chill out, Antoine.”