A Walk Across the Sun (38 page)

When the food came, they got down to the business of eating. Julia told him about her years at Columbia, including a few humorous memories of Andrew Porter, and about law school at Cornell. She was gregarious and funny, and the meal passed swiftly.

They lingered over drinks until half past ten. After most of the patrons had left, Ajit approached their table and inquired about the fare. Thomas was full of praise, for the food was quite good. Then he took out Sita's picture.

Ajit nodded and took the photograph. “I will be right back.”

He approached a portly woman across the room who was organizing receipts. They spoke briefly and he showed her the photograph. Ajit returned to their table, looking disappointed. He handed the photo back to Thomas.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “My wife hasn't seen your friend.”

“What about the waitress?” Thomas asked. “She might know something.”

“Of course.” He summoned the girl.

Thinking they wanted to pay, the waitress brought them their check. Thomas handed his credit card to Ajit. “Do you mind if I speak to her alone?”

Ajit gave him a strange look but took the card and left. For reasons he could not quite understand, Thomas decided to dispense with his cover story.

“I have a friend in Bombay,” he said, meeting the waitress's eyes. “She's looking for her sister. I'm wondering if you've seen her.”

He held up the picture. The waitress looked worried for an instant but quickly recovered her composure. She walked across the room and met Ajit at the register. They had a brief exchange, and then he handed her a black folder with Thomas's receipt. When she returned to their table, she used the pen to write something on the back of the receipt.

“If I were you,” she said, “I would call Information.”

Thomas nodded and stood. After thanking Ajit for dinner, he led Julia out of the restaurant. When they reached Boulevard de Strasbourg, he took the receipt out of his pocket and read the inscription on the reverse. The girl had written in scrawling French: “Meet me here at nine o'clock tomorrow morning.”

Thomas felt chills. His hunch had paid off. The girl knew something. He handed the check to Julia. Her eyes widened with astonishment.

“Can I come with you?” she asked.

Thomas grinned. “You'll probably put her at ease. I usually have the opposite effect.”

Julia laughed. “It's something about you lawyer types. Andrew was the same way.”

They walked briskly toward the Metro station, seeking shelter from the cold. After they passed through the turnstiles, Julia kissed his cheek, this time only once.

“You want company on the ride?” he asked.

She laughed again. “You're sweet, but I bet you don't have a black belt in judo.”

“You've got me there.”

“À demain,”
she said and walked away, leaving him to ponder how it was possible that she was unattached.

On Thursday morning they met at the base of the great arch beneath gunmetal skies. The air was cold and the ground was covered with light snow. In contrast to her merriment the night before, Julia's face was all business. She gave Thomas a brief smile and walked beside him toward Passage Brady.

The waitress was standing on the sidewalk beside the wroughtiron gate. When she saw them, she turned without a word and strolled north along Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Denis. Thomas traded a glance with Julia and trailed the girl, keeping a healthy distance between them.

The waitress made a right turn on Rue du Château d'Eau and walked for a number of blocks before turning down a side street. She stopped beside an alleyway and faced them, drawing the collar of her coat around her neck. She spoke quietly, looking at Julia.

“I am Varuni. The girl you are looking for is Sita. She worked at a restaurant on Passage Brady until a few days ago. The owners told me she was a relative, but I didn't believe them. Sita also worked during the day for some Russian people. Their flat is there.” She pointed toward a set of double doors. “The man is named Vasily. I don't know the woman's name.”

“Do you know where Sita went?” Julia asked gently.

“They didn't talk to me,” the girl said. “She was there and then she was gone.”

“Do you know what she did for these Russian people?” Thomas asked.

Varuni looked afraid. “I know nothing more than I told you.”

Julia touched Varuni's arm. “It's all right. You're very brave to help us.”

The girl looked at Julia. “I liked Sita very much. I hope nothing happened to her.” She paused. “Please don't tell anyone I brought you here. It would make trouble for me.”

“Don't worry,” Julia replied. “We'll keep your secret.”

Varuni nodded and disappeared around the corner.

Thomas approached the double doors and saw the keypad. The doors had no handle and didn't budge when he pushed on them. Julia took out her mobile phone and called the office. She recited the address of the flat and asked for information on the occupants.

When the answer came, she hung up. “Vasily and Tatiana Petrovich,” she said. “Ukrainian. Possible connections to organized crime groups in Eastern Europe. Nothing confirmed. We know the BRP has been watching them for a while, but it isn't clear why. It isn't our case, and they don't share unless they have to.”

They stepped away from the door and walked across the street.

“What do we do now?” Thomas asked.

“I'll give Varuni's story to the BRP and ask for a warrant.”

“Will you get one?”

Julia shrugged. “Maybe. But if these people are high-profile targets, we may find ourselves waiting in line.”

Thomas was about to reply when the double doors to the Petrovich flat began to open. Moments later, a black Mercedes nosed out of the courtyard. A blond-haired young man was at the wheel and beside him in the passenger seat was a middle-aged woman with dark skin, gesturing animatedly with her hands. Thomas couldn't see her clearly, but she looked vaguely familiar. The blond driver looked at them intently before accelerating down the street. The rear windows were tinted black, obscuring the back seat.

The connection dawned on him as the car approached the intersection with Rue du Château d'Eau. He took off running. Julia called after him, but he had no time to explain. The woman in the passenger seat wasn't wearing Western clothing. She was wearing an Indian sari. The woman cleaning the restaurant on Passage Brady—the restaurant that was now closed—had been wearing a sari. When the Mercedes passed, he had seen a flash of purple and blue. It was the same woman. It had to be.

Thomas was fifty feet away when the car disappeared around the bend. He ran as if he was in a race for his life, but on the street he was no match for the Mercedes. When he reached the intersection and looked down Rue du Château d'Eau, the car was gone.

He stared into the sky and struggled to catch his breath. He was still wheezing when Julia caught up with him.

“What in the world was that about?”

“The woman in the front seat,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I've seen her before.”

“Where?”

“Yesterday afternoon when I was showing Sita's picture around. She was cleaning up one of the restaurants on Passage Brady. Last night the restaurant was closed.”

“Did you see the license plate?”

He shook his head. “It was too fast.”

“I'll get you your warrant,” she said, taking out her phone. “There's no way the BRP is going to sit on this one.”

Chapter 22

The time that my journey takes is long and the way of it is long.
—R
ABINDRANATH
T
AGORE

Paris, France

Minutes before, Sita had stood in the courtyard beside the black Mercedes, shivering and afraid. While she watched, Dmitri slipped into the driver's seat and keyed the ignition, bringing the car to life with a quiet rumble.

Shyam climbed into the middle of the back seat, Uncle-ji sat on the far side of the bench, and Aunti-ji joined Dmitri in the front. Sita was the last to climb into the car. She took a deep breath and recalled the airline tickets. She felt sure now that they weren't just for Uncle-ji and Aunti-ji. One of them was for her.

Taking a seat beside Shyam, she looked out the window and tried to ignore the raging wound on her scalp. She remembered every step she had taken across the courtyard the night before. Natalia ahead of them, looking back, terrified. Dmitri yanking her hair. Entering the lobby of the apartment where the girls were kept. Being dragged up the stairs and thrown against the wall in Natalia's room. Natalia pleading with Dmitri to have mercy. Dmitri's face inches from hers, his breath hot and heavy with the stench of alcohol. He whispered to her then. She would never forget the words.

“I know you have seen the basement. If you were staying, I would teach you to enjoy it. But my father has made more profitable arrangements with Dietrich.”

Natalia left with Dmitri and reappeared minutes later wearing a T-shirt and boxer shorts. She staunched the bleeding on Sita's scalp with tissues from a box on the dresser and offered her the bed. Sita shook her head and moved over, making a place for the Ukrainian girl. Natalia lay down beside her and held Sita close.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “Dmitri is horrible man.”

In the morning, Dmitri came for Sita and threw a brown wool coat on the bed.

“From my mother,” he said with disgust. “If it were up to me, you would freeze.” Then he took her to the car.

Sita watched through tinted glass as the double doors to the courtyard opened and Dmitri pulled the Mercedes out onto the street. She saw a couple standing on the far sidewalk, staring at them. The man was tall with dark hair, and the woman was wearing a crimson coat. As the car pulled away, she turned and observed the couple through the rear window. Something about the man arrested her. She was sure he couldn't see her, but she felt as if he was looking directly into her eyes.

Suddenly, the man began to run. She clutched the armrest, riveted and bewildered by the spectacle. She felt the car accelerate and realized that Dmitri had noticed him, too. They reached the end of the street and turned the corner in a hurry. The rapid movement threw her against the door, and she lost sight of the man.

When she looked back, he was gone.

A moment later, she caught Dmitri glaring at her in the rearview mirror. He placed a call on his mobile phone and spoke a few inscrutable words. Remembering Navin's visit to the restaurant, Sita was struck by an exhilarating thought: had the man been looking for her? She searched her memory for his face but found no match.
He didn't look like someone from the police
, she thought
. But if he wasn't, then why did he run?

In the front seat, Aunti-ji was prattling away about the
élégance
and
cosmopolitisme
of Dmitri's family, and Uncle-ji was staring out the window in the seat behind her, oblivious to the chase that had begun and ended so quickly. Sita glanced at Shyam and saw him watching her. He gave her a look that said,
“I saw it too.”

She sat back and closed her eyes, trying to block out the nagging sense of fear that seemed her constant companion now. Exhaustion weighed on her after the adventures and disappointments of the night. Before long, she fell asleep.