By the time I reached street level, I’d lost him. There were no large buildings nearby for him to have disappeared into so fast. It was as if the station had been built in the center of a large field in anticipation of development closing in on it. I could see all around but there was no sign of my man. I was embarrassed. Maigret would have been ashamed of me. I sat on a bench that had the view of just one tree, and I considered my next step. Who should I tell? What exactly would I say? Would anyone believe me? And, at that moment, my man walked out of the Metro exit. Somehow I’d passed him without noticing. The telephone. That was it. He’d stopped in the telephone booth. They were a new item in Paris, so it hadn’t occurred to me. I imagined he’d reported that everything had gone according to plan.

He walked past my bench. I squeezed the cap in my hand and concentrated on the tree. I’d been a boxer and wrestler at university. Good in my weight class. But my man had a gun in his inside pocket. A lot of use the old one-two would have been against that. But, as before, he looked straight through me and crossed the park heading east. Perhaps it was there that I learned how to be invisible. I let him get fifty meters ahead then climbed back on his tail. He didn’t go far. On Constantinople, he joined the queue at a tram stop. I didn’t want to pass him, so I studied the headlines at the news kiosk. The newsagent eyed me with suspicion. The longer I stood there the deeper into me she glared. I had to make a decision. The tram was on its way. If I left it to the last moment and ran for it, I’d draw attention to myself. Then there’d be another scene when the conductor asked me for money and found out I had none. But, if I didn’t catch the tram I’d lose the second shooter.

The tram passed the kiosk. The driver clanged the bell and applied the brake. What if this was my man’s final check? What if he left it to the last second before boarding the tram? That way he’d be certain he wasn’t being followed. And then again, what if he had no intention of getting on board? And that, as Civilai would say, was the filly I put my savings on. I stood at the kiosk and waited for the passengers to board the tram. My man looked around, put his foot on the running board, then took it off and stepped backward. The conductor asked if he intended to get on, and my man waved him away.

“Hey, China,” said the newsagent. “This what you’re looking for?”