Menderez Chitichia had reasons for leaving Turkey and, more pointedly, leaving behind the Istanbul authorities. He"d speak of his birthplace but never of why he left. France was now his home. That he was perfectly content with his third shift position at the solitary Paradis District Mortuary should have indicated, to anyone who cared, his desire to exist under the radar. The best thing about life in Paradis was… nobody cared.
Chitichia, thin, brown and asthmatic, peered through the door"s wired window at the hall, leading to the offices, laboratory and gloomy pathology room beyond, and the starkly lit reception area with the second shift attendant, Pierre Vayssie, at his desk. Vayssie was a pig; too fat, too loud, too leering (when he wasn"t eating). Now, of course, he was eating. He cri
