Nour wipes her lashes with orange nails. “Angela is a good friend, but she’s . . . how do you say? Ambitious? She knew what she wanted. We did not see each other so much over the last year. The last time we hung out was my fucking birthday last August. I only learned about her disappearance from friends.”

A twinge of pride registers. My flighty sister, Angela, was focused. “I wonder if Seb knows any of them. Do you have their numbers? I’d love to speak to them.”

Nour stops picking at a cuticle. “Who is Seb?”

“Angela’s boyfriend. They were dating for a year before the shooting. Angela never told you about him?”

She shakes her head. “No. I don’t think so. A year? My party was almost a year ago, but we haven’t really caught up on campus in ages. I’m in the master’s program for costume design.”

“Okay. Well, what about those friends? Do you think I could ask them a few questions?”

“Sorry, love. Most people at the Sorbonne are on summer holiday right now. People leave the city and go home to the countryside or holiday somewhere in Europe.”

Must be nice. No wonder the police have made almost no progress in solving Angela’s case.

“Do you have any idea who might want to hurt Angela?”

Nour’s face hardens, but her reply is instant. “Manu. I don’t know if she’s capable of attacking Angela, or orchestrating anything against her, but she didn’t like her. They were friends at first, then they had some kind of conflict. She actually stole Angela’s bike six months ago.”

“Did Angela report it?”

Nour shakes her head. “Not that I know of. Manu kept harassing her in these ways. Angela would go to the toilets, and Manu would go into her purse and take her metro tickets. Pressure Angela to allow Manu to drive her home.”

“How do you know all this if you didn’t see Angela over the last year?”

Nour shrugs. “Everyone knew—other people saw it. I ran into Angela one time at the campus store, and she looked exhausted. I asked her what was wrong, and she nodded behind her. Manu was staring at us from a table.”

I nod myself, imagining the scene. How difficult must it have been for Angela to navigate harassment in her second language? Someone should have helped her.

Hugo begins to play with Nour’s hair, but she doesn’t react. She leans forward, as if to tell a secret. “Manu is also rumored to have connections to a few . . . how do you say . . . gangs? And she is Roma.”

Hugo throws up his hands, speaking in French at a mile-a-minute pace, frowning at her words. Nour shouts him down, then points to me, and they both quiet.

“Um, what is Roma? Italian?” I offer.