Paris Requiem by Lisa Appignanesi Page B

was happy,’ he said simply, then rushed on to override James’s doubts. ‘All right, more important than that, she was earning her keep. She was helping to support her little brother and sister. She was devoted to them. Utterly devoted. She would never have …’ He let the sentence hang. ‘If you’d met her, you’d understand.’
    James didn’t pursue it. He considered what Raf had revealed. From his practice, he knew that the instincts of near ones were worth trusting. Though he also knew that they were often neither as near, nor as infallible as they surmised.
    ‘How … how did you come to meet her father?’
    ‘I insisted. It was only recently that she allowed it.’ He paused. ‘I guess there was an element of curiosity, too, on my part. Here I am writing about all this Dreyfus stuff, all the hatred the affair has unleashed, and … well, you understand. Olympe watched me like a hawk that first time – to see what prejudices I’d let slip.’
    ‘What’s the father’s story?’
    ‘Common enough. The family comes from Russia. They left in the early eighties, fleeing the pogroms, myths of ritual slaughter, poverty. Only to find it in a new guise.’ His tone was bitter, angry.
    ‘Hardly the same.’
    ‘Easy for you to say that. You and me. What do we know about it? Take just the getting here. You and I, we travel, we board a luxury liner, land in first class hotels, get by in one language or another. And have the security of a home to goback to. They … Olympe’s family, they walk, beg rides in carts, scramble into crowded third class compartments when they can raise the fare. When they arrive, there’s no welcoming committee. They …’
    ‘That’s enough, Raf. I get the picture. What does Olympe’s father do?’
    ‘He works for a tailoring establishment.’
    ‘I see.’
    They lapsed into silence. Raf broke it after a few minutes had passed. ‘We’re not far now.’
    ‘Are we going to the theatre where Olympe was working?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘But surely that should be our first point of call.’
    Raf gave him a scathing look. ‘Trust me, Jim. Don’t you think I’ve already interrogated everyone at the theatre? I talked to them before … before Olympe was found. They were as mystified by her disappearance as I was. In any case, that will be Durand’s first point of call. You think like a policeman, Jim.’
    ‘I’ll take that as a compliment in the present circumstances,’ James muttered. ‘So where are we going?’
    ‘You’ll see. My friend the journalist, Touquet, is joining us. And I’ve asked Antoine to come along. He can be useful.’
    ‘The boy you sent for me?’
    Raf nodded.
    ‘Good. I didn’t get a chance to thank him. You should get him some cleaner clothes.’
    Raf grinned his old grin for the first time. ‘He refuses. Says he’s got better things to do with his money.’
    ‘And Touquet?’
    ‘I didn’t altogether explain, did I, about the work we’ve been doing together? There’s been a series of strange deaths here over the last months. We’re not altogether sure how many, four certainly. Maybe five or six. Young women. Two ofthem identified as prostitutes. ‘The others … Well, they might have been. They weren’t on the official police lists. They could have been what they call ‘
insoumises
’ – clandestines. So many of the women lose their identity cards just to get off the lists. And to get the police off their backs. Harassment is prevalent to put it mildly. There are some hundred thousand whores in this city, Jim, servicing a population of only three million.’
    ‘Really!’
    ‘Takes one aback, doesn’t it. Tells you about levels of poverty. And the good citizens of Paris simultaneously want their streets orderly and clean and want their vice squad to behave like gentlemen to the whores they both loathe and desire. Publicly, they want the first a little more, of course. Anyhow, Touquet started off with a press campaign against the behavior of