It was well after midnight by the time I paid off the taxi and was standing across the street from the police station, which looked even smaller and dirtier in the dark. I spotted Nazari’s silver Peugeot 206 among the cars. The double glass doors parted automatically when I approached.

The station was deserted. Two empty coffee cups occupied a lonely corner of the front desk. Nothing moved, nobody spoke. Not a whisper. The coin-operated coffee machine stood all on its own. A plastic cup forgotten beneath the spout. Now half-full and cold.

Left behind in the panic.

No coffee drinkers were slumped in the chairs lining the front window. Now just empty blue plastic bucket seats and a lone sweatshirt. As if someone had got up and left, quickly, without looking back.

Left behind in the panic.

The desk was unmanned. A beige battery-operated doorbell ringer was Scotch taped to the surface. I pressed the gray button in the middle. And was rewarded by a ding-dong sound from behind a two-way mirror. A fit man in his seventies came out of the office. He wore civilian clothes. A silver brush mustache structured his upper lip. “Monsieur, if you don’t have an emergency, I’d appreciate if you could come back tomorrow morning. We are operating a skeleton crew tonight."

“Did something happen?”

“You could say that. There’s been a serious incident and we’re short-staffed for the moment.”

“I get it. They called you in to man the desk. All hands on deck.”

“You got it.” He looked proud but not vain. This was a man who showed up when he was needed.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“No can do.”

“I’m waiting for a friend. She’s a cop. Mind if I wait here?”

“Go ahead. Let me know if you need change for the coffee machine. You might have to wait a while.”

The man returned to the office behind the two-way mirror. I could picture him operating a secure radio rig. Directing communications between the dozen or so Municipal Police officers. I sat down on one of the blue bucket seats in the waiting area. Sent Nazari a text message from the burner phone. ‘At the station.’

There was no reply. I dug out change from my pocket and put it in the coffee machine. There were two choices. Espresso coffee and Oolong tea. I chose Espresso. Which came out in a thin liquid stream, which was at least warm, if meager. I nursed it as long as possible. Then I just waited.