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into Aix. He leaned back and closed his eyes. A few of the passengers got back to work, unperturbed by the delay: theyhad work to do, and there was nothing anyone could do. Others pressed their faces against the glass, trying to see a bit of blood or scoping out the possibilities of slipping out for a quick cigarette. A woman behind Verlaque called home, instructing whoever it was who answered about which leftovers to heat up for the children and not to forget that
petit Charles
did not like zucchini but was to eat it anyway.
    Verlaque looked out at the sunny day, feeling the warmth of the late-afternoon sun on his forearms. He suddenly missed Marine, terribly. He felt saddened, not by the delays and the fate that seemed to rule this day, but by the desperation that led people to take their own lives. It was a threat that Monique had used to use on the young Verlaque: “If you don’t come, I’ll do something drastic.” Verlaque closed his eyes, angry at himself for allowing the ghost of Monique to reappear. He hadn’t thought about her in months.
    The emergency teams arrived, and passengers began talking among themselves and inviting each other to the bar car for coffee or beer. Two hours later, they were still there, in the middle of a flat but pretty countryside, and a farmer drove by on a parallel farm track. Verlaque looked up and watched the farmer as he drove, dust flying up behind the tractor, and noted that he did not turn his head to see why police and firemen were gathered around a stopped TGV. Work to be done. Or perhaps the farmer had seen this sort of thing before? The fields on either side of the train tracks were planted with some kind of fruit trees, Verlaque now noticed, and the yellow wildflowers that lined the tracks began waving in the breeze.

Chapter Five

An Attack in Éguilles
    T he TGV pulled into Aix’s contemporary wood-and-steel station four hours late, at 9:15 p.m. A sigh of relief swept the tired passengers as they reached for their coats and bags. “Well, have a great evening, everyone,” joked a middle-aged man as he tucked his laptop into his briefcase.
    â€œYeah, it’s been a blast,” answered a student, putting his headphones and iPod in a tattered backpack. The woman behind Verlaque was once again on the phone as she made her way up the aisle—it seemed that
petit Charles
had indeed eaten all of his vegetables, but he was now refusing to go to bed until Maman was at home.
    Verlaque smiled at the elderly woman who had been sitting across the aisle and let her pass in front of him. “We have been inconvenienced,” she said, admiring her handsome fellow passenger with the dark, sad eyes. “But that’s nothing compared with the poor desperate soul who ended his or her life today.”
    Verlaque nodded. “Yes, madame, we are inconvenienced, but fortunate.” He didn’t bother telling her that it was his second suicide of the day. “Would you like me to help you with your suitcase?” he offered, seeing that she had a large brown suitcase on the luggage rack as well as a carrier bag.
    â€œThat’s very kind,” she replied. “Yes, I would. My son-in-law should be waiting for me on the platform.”
    Verlaque lifted her suitcase and followed her out onto the lit-up platform. A man in his late thirties was there, arms outstretched, to greet her. She embraced her son-in-law and thanked Verlaque, and they wished each other well. It was the first time on any of his TGV journeys that he had made an acquaintance. The shock of the suicide had been great, he realized.
    Verlaque looked out into the night sky and saw a full moon over Aix. He stood there for a few seconds, wondering if he should drag himself to the other side of the station and down several flights of stairs to where the shuttle might or might not be waiting, or simply walk out the door and take one of the taxis that were lined up just a few