“Well, it’s a living being. Better to shoo it away than kill it.”

The woman snorts. “Okay, Buddha.”

Their conversation fades into the controlled chaos. Dead for a week and moved from another location. Whoever is in there died two weeks after Angela went missing.

“Can I help you?” The lanky woman towers over my crouched mass, wearing a stern expression. I’d even venture she does not want to help me. When I don’t respond, she yanks me by the arm and plants me on the sidewalk. Voices around the front door of the building pause, and I’m sure my panicked heartbeat is audible to everyone. I don’t know anything about French police except they don’t mess around. Images of Valentin’s own disgusted expression when I sassed him in Angela’s apartment return, and suddenly I can’t remember how to say anything in French. I can only stare at her while the police officer repeats her words more slowly.

“Are you lost? Are you a tourist or are you French?”

“No, I . . .” Sweet crap, how do I conjugate? Sweat breaks across my temples, and I cast a glance at the front door, searching for Valentin. Only tall men walk in and out.

“Are you Mexican? Chinese? Your embassy is around the corner.” She points with a blunted nail down the street, then waves her hands, dismissing me in that direction.

“American. I’m here to see Inspector Valentin.” My English rings out, and the bustle pauses. If she’s going to dump me off at an embassy, at least shove me toward the right one. A pair of plainclothes cops moves into the building just as someone exits.

The officer places both hands on wide hips. “Why you are sitting . . . derrière . . . a car?”

I search for a plausible excuse when heavy footsteps pound in our direction. Inspector Valentin glares at me, sidestepping a man in a black slicker with yellow letters on the back. His mouth forms an angry curl.

“Thank you, Tremaine,” he says in French. She frowns, then cedes my guard to him.

“What are you doing here? This is a crime scene, Miss Darby.” Rather than rage at me, at my insolence, my audacity, Valentin’s face gathers into a pinch. He raises a hand, as though to rub my shoulder, before it drops to his side.