‘I didn’t mean to do anything to Jae,’ Marc said, stifling a sob. ‘She was … We had a laugh together. Now I’ll never see her again …’

Marc rested his head against the nun’s floury apron as he began to cry openly. She wanted to put an arm around his back, but he had cuts all over and she didn’t want to hurt him even more.

2Penal colony – a prison in the French colonies where inmates were expected to do backbreaking physical work.

CHAPTER FOUR

Mrs Mujard stood on the front steps of a five-storey apartment block, trying to get her money’s worth out of a cigarette stub. The elderly woman had been the building’s concierge for more than thirty years and could now barely move on the lattice of varicose veins that passed for her legs.

Her eyebrows shot up guiltily when she saw Mr Clarke’s Citroën swing into a parking bay across the street and she shuffled back to the chest-high reception desk as Rosie and Paul came into the lobby.

‘Hello, Madame,’ Paul said brightly. ‘Any post?’

Mrs Mujard pulled three envelopes from one of the cubby holes behind her. Paul aimed his Toblerone at her.

‘Chocolate?’ he asked brightly.

The elderly lady shuddered. ‘Sticks in my teeth.’ And then she looked up at Mr Clarke, who’d stepped into the lobby holding his briefcase. ‘I have news,’ she said gloomily.

Mujard always had news. News could be anything from a new tenant to someone overfilling their bath and damaging the flat below. Recently, all of Mujard’s news had been about tenants packing up to leave the city.

‘I’d love to catch up on the gossip,’ Mr Clarke said, ‘but we’re heading south. I want to get on the road as soon as possible.’

‘The news is about your apartment, sir.’

Mujard never came straight out with a story. People were more inclined to stay and gossip if you fed them slivers.

‘My apartment?’ Mr Clarke asked, as Paul and Rosie turned away from the foot of the staircase.

‘Yes sir,’ Mujard said, nodding grimly, but making no attempt to go further.

Mr Clarke sounded impatient. ‘What about our apartment?’

‘The police.’

This hook was enough to make Paul and Rosie walk back to the reception desk.

‘What would the police want with us?’ Rosie asked.

Mujard shrugged and Mr Clarke slammed his palm on the countertop, making her jump. Paul and Rosie were startled. Their father was a mild man, but he definitely wasn’t himself today.

‘I have two children,’ Mr Clarke said, almost begging. ‘I need to get them out of the city. Now if you have information, please tell me quickly.’

Mujard looked offended. ‘There’s no need to shout,’ she said, but she was secretly delighted by the outburst. ‘Three detectives, plain clothes. They asked where you were and came with a warrant to search your apartment.’