Paris Requiem

Contents Cover Title Page Dedication Epigraph November 1940 Overture: September 1940 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Act I: October 1940 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Act II: November 1940 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Author’s Note Acknowledgments About the Author Copyright Guide Cover Start of Content Title Page Dedication Epigraph Author’s Note Acknowledgments About the Author Copyright I III IV V VI 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 308 
 
 A Novel
 Chris Lloyd
 “A thoughtful, haunting thriller.”
 —Mick Herron
 Paris Requiem
 
 
 
 
 
 PARIS REQUIEM
 Pegasus Crime is an imprint of
 Pegasus Books, Ltd.
 148 West 37th Street, 13th Floor
 New York, NY 10018
 Copyright © 2022 by Chris Lloyd
 First Pegasus Books cloth edition February 2023
 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review in a newspaper, magazine, or electronic publication; nor may any part of this book be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or other, without written permission from the publisher.
 ISBN: 978-1-63936-266-0
 Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63936-267-7
 Distributed by Simon & Schuster
 www.pegasusbooks.com
 
 
 For my mum and dad, Averil and Mervyn Lloyd.
 
 
 
 ‘Hell is empty
 And all the devils are here.’
 William Shakespeare, The Tempest
 
 
 
 November 1940
 What is it with owls?
 As if driving through endless kilometres of darkened forest with just a slit in the headlamps to guide your way wasn’t enough, there was always some strigiform little bastard to remind you you were up to no good. That and the woods crawling with German soldiers who seemed to agree with them.
 I froze half out of my car while the echo of the shriek died in the night. The echo in my bowels died with it. Listening intently, I waited while my eyes grew used to the dark. The blackness had rushed in to fill the void the moment I’d turned off the car’s lights. This wasn’t dark. This was an absence of light. I live in Paris under the Nazis, believe me, I know the difference.
 I’d only just checked my stomach was back in place when the owl screeched again. A tortured sound shattering the louring silence of the night. I’ve heard Parisian pimps skewered by a rival make less of a song and dance.
 As I gently closed the car door, another noise stopped me. A dog barking. Somewhere in the distance. A farmer’s or a soldier’s, I had no idea. I listened out but the beast remained silent. I could wish the owl would follow suit. Other animals joined in, this time with smell, not sound. Wafting on the changing breeze, the aroma of manure tickled my nose. I twisted my head involuntarily to get it out, like trying to kill a sneeze, but it clung on. Pigs. Why anyone would want to live in this wilderness was beyond me. I’d lived too long in the din and grime of Paris to appreciate the