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childhood. “I always missed her,” she said.
    â€œI can understand that.”
    â€œYou’ve been together a long time, you and Lily?”
    â€œA while.”
    â€œWill you tell me what’s wrong with her?”
    â€œShe’s in a fucking coma in a hospital. Someone attacked her.” I stopped myself yelling. “I’m sorry.”
    â€œMe too.”
    â€œI’m crazy with this. Someone beat her up.” I showed Martha the police picture of Lily. She winced and I said, “Tell me what happened with the two of you.”
    â€œI don’t know. Nothing happened. Lily called me from London.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œLast week. She said she wanted to see me, she was coming to Paris and she wanted to meet up.”
    Lily had decided to come to Paris without me even before New Year’s Eve. She didn’t tell me until afterwards. Maybe something about the trip on the wheel convinced her.
    I thought about Lily on the wheel, her terror, her flickering eyes, then shut it away and focused on Martha who was looking expectant, as if I could tell her why Lily canceled their date. But I had to know who this Martha was and what she meant to Lily.
    I said sofly, “So what do you do, Martha?”
    She smiled. “I’m a social worker.”
    She ate in silence for a few minutes. She let me take my time and I was grateful. Martha Burnham was an intuitive woman.
    Finally I said, “Look, Lily’s hurt really bad, and I don’t know why or who did this, or if they’re coming back again, so I need to know everything you can tell me.”
    â€œYou’re a cop.”
    â€œWas.”
    â€œA good cop. Lily told me you were one of the good guys.”
    â€œI’m glad.”
    â€œDid she say anything about me?” Martha was eager.
    â€œWe were coming to Paris together this week and all of a sudden she says she’s leaving ahead of me. She says she has a friend she wants to see. You were the friend, I guess. You don’t remember the exact day she called you?”
    Martha was disappointed Lily hadn’t talked to me about her, but she ate some more soup. “The twenty-ninth,” she said. “I’m pretty sure. Two days before New Year’s Eve. I can check. She said she was thinking of coming. I was thrilled.”
    She looked at the picture again. “My God.” She was upset but not shocked. She’d seen worse. She was holding out on me, but she was good at holding out.
    I said, “Help me.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œI can work this case. But I need you to tell me everything you know about Lily’s visit to Paris, or anything you can think of. When’s the last time you heard from her before the other week?”
    â€œYears. I don’t know. We exchanged Christmas cards, a phone call once in a while. That was it.”
    â€œYou were close? Once?”
    â€œYeah, though I was too much of a hippie for Lily’s taste.” She ordered coffee. “I was heavily into windchimes back when. Communes. Sandals. Hairy women. You know.”
    â€œYou have any idea why she suddenly called you?”
    â€œI told you. She said she was coming to Paris. She said she wanted to meet for dinner. Like that, out of the blue. I said fine. I was so thrilled she called and I just said, sure, honey, of course.”
    â€œShe called you when she got here?”
    â€œYes. She called me when she got off the train. She checked into some fancy hotel, I forget the name. Over by the rue Saint-Honoré, I think. She said come over. I said, too rich for my blood, honey, come to me. She said, let me take you out, Marti, she used to call me Marti, and I said, no, I want you to see my place, and I’ll make my blanquette de veau for you. She sounded the same as always. She said I’ll come for drinks. I’ll bring wine. She didn’t exactly trust my taste.” Martha laughed. “She knew I was a lousy