CHAPTER 3Ordinarily it would have been Fritz Donhoff who would have been out hunting for Sarah Byrne. Though we were still partners, I had been operating more and more out of my house on the Riviera while he held down the Paris end.
But Fritz had had to go to Munich, the city of his birth, for the funeral of an old friend. At seventy-three, Fritz had many old friends who were either dying or dead. He himself continued to be vigorously healthy, and the widow of this particular departed friend was twenty years younger, pretty, and a great cook. So while he devoted some time to consoling her, the message on his answering machine advised business callers to try my number down on the French coast near Monaco.
That’s where I was at noon the day before the shooting in the Rue des Rosiers. With
