“It had all bubbled out of him, and it had felt so good. So liberating. He hadn’t told her everything but he’d told her so much. And she’d wanted to hear, like her mother had.His years of living like a mole were over.But Jutta’s killer was trying to flush him out. He had to come up with a plan.“Where to, Monsieur?” asked the taxi driver.“Montmartre,” he said.The driver gave a knowing look. “The ladies, eh?”“The cemetery.”“But it’s closed this time of night.”Stefan rolled down the window. Lights ...from the late-night cafés in Les Halles, snatches of conversation flashed past.“That’s right.”The driver would log the destination as Montmartre cemetery but Stefan always parked a few blocks away.The fountain spraying in front of hulking gothic St. Eustache church and the circus posters brought the memories back. Back to the afternoon twenty years ago, when they’d planned the heist and kidnapping.The sun had blazed in a sky enameled blue. The gang had joined bourgeois families and older couples at the zoo on a typical Sunday in Vincennes Park.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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