Just what France needed, she thought, more fascism.

"Maman?" A man's deep voice came from the hallway.

Startled, she stood up too quickly and knocked into the bedroom's rolltop desk. The angelfish tank swayed, and she reached out to steady it. That's when she saw the torn photo under the tank, barely visible through the black gravel. She pulled it out, quickly aligning the encrypted photo next to this torn piece. They matched. Shaken, she realized she held the missing corner of the photo that this woman might have been murdered for.

"Maman, ca va?"

She slid the photos into the envelope and stuffed it down the calf of her leather boot.

"Monsieur, don't come in here," she said loudly, summoning authority in her voice. "Call le Police."

"Eh? Who…" A middle-aged man, rail thin and tall, walked in. He stooped as if apologizing for taking up space. His forelocks were worn long in the Hasidic style under a black felt hat with an upturned brim.

She blocked his view. "Is Lili Stein your mother?"

"What's happened?" He stiffened. "Maman is ill?" He peered over Aimee's shoulder before she could stop him. "No, no," he said shaking his head.

She edged toward this man, trying to help him.

"Who are you?" Fear registered in his eyes.

"I'm working with…" She caught herself before she mentioned Hecht. "Temple E'manuel. I'm a private detective, we had an appointment." She guided him towards an alcove hung with rolled scriptures. "Sit down."

He shook her off. "How did you get in here?" His eyes grew wide in terror.