Too bad she couldn't persuade Rene to join her. Heat helped ease the hip displacement common to dwarves. But, of course, he was self-concious about his appearance.

The steamy shower stalls stood empty except for the mildewed tile and soapy aroma. She padded into the changing room, wrapping her old beach towel with ST. CROIX in faded letters around her chest. From her locker she pulled out her cell phone and punched in Rene's number. Then she stopped. He wouldn't be back yet from the martial-arts dojo where he practiced. She punched in the number again. This time she left a message. Her cell phone trilled and she answered eagerly.

"Leduc, I checked that demonstration you mentioned passing in Les Halles," Morbier said. "The group's called Les Blancs Nationaux, infamous for harassment in the Marais."

She cringed.

"What if a member of Les Blancs Nationaux followed her home?" he said.

Guilt caused her to hesitate…what if there was some link?

"You still there?" he said.

"What do you want me to do about it?" she snapped.

"Jump-start your brain and help me. I need more than info sharing."

There was no way to put him off. Besides, it would be a logical place for her to start.

Abstractedly, she dressed and applied makeup. After she shuffled everything into her gym bag, she looked in the mirror. Her feet were rooted to the damp floor in fear. She realized her black wool trousers were inside out and the label hung outside her silk shirt. Mascara had run on her pale cheeks and given her panda eyes. Her thin lips were smudged with red.

She looked like a scared clown. She didn't want to investigate neo-Nazi punks. Or this old woman's murder. She wanted to keep the hovering ghosts at bay.