The Night Paris Burned, We Loved

“Leila Haddad. You're under arrest on suspicion of arson.”

Leila kept her palm pressed against the blood-soaked bandage. If she let go, the man beneath her hands might die.

“Move him first. He can barely breathe.”

A man in a black police uniform caught her wrist. His grip tightened through the bloodstained glove. The name on his badge read GABRIEL MOREAU.

“Paramedics are on their way.”

“You said that ten minutes ago. He doesn't have another ten minutes.”

The food distribution center in eastern Paris was burning. Flour drifted like snow across the street, glittering with broken glass. Across the road, someone was pulling down a shop's metal shutter. Protest chants tangled with screams until it was impossible to tell who was chasing whom.

The injured man in Leila's arms was a police officer. His uniform bore the name JULIEN. She had dragged him from beneath a fallen sign after the explosion.

“Officer Moreau.”

Another officer hurried over.

“We found her near the warehouse. A witness identified her.”

Gabriel looked down at Leila's red medical bag.

“Did you open the warehouse door?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought someone was inside.”

“That building was off-limits.”

Leila almost laughed. An off-limits building. While it burned around them.

“Should I have waited at the door for a permit?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I did. And right now, he comes first.”

Julien let out a ragged breath. Keeping pressure on the wound, Leila looked up at Gabriel.

“If I move my hand, he'll start bleeding again. If you want to arrest me, take over.”

Instead of reaching for his handcuffs, Gabriel put his hand over the bandage. His gloved fingers found the correct pressure point.

“Here?”

“A little higher. Yes. There.”

Only then did Leila lift her hand. The blood cooling on her fingertips made them ache in the night air.

“How do you know my name?”

Before Gabriel could answer, a voice crackled over another officer's radio.

“Female carrying a red bag. Suspect in the Valois logistics warehouse fire. Detain and transfer on identification.”

“Who reported me?”

“I can't tell you that right now.”

“Shouldn't you be finding out who set this place on fire instead of arresting the person helping him?”

Gabriel handed Julien over to the paramedics and turned back. This time he brought Leila's hands together in front of her. Cold metal closed around her wrists.

“You have the right to request a lawyer. Any statement will be taken in accordance with legal procedure.”

“And my shelter?”

“What about it?”

“The people still inside. The children who haven't eaten tonight. Who opens the doors if I'm not there?”

Gabriel had no answer. Beside the police car, a girl in wet sneakers was crying. She came to Leila every day for bread. Leila turned toward her, handcuffed.

An officer shoved the girl back.

“Behind the cordon.”

“She's waiting for her mother,” Leila said.

The officer rounded on her.

“You keep quiet.”

“Her mother works the night cleaning shift. She won't be back before eleven. There's a phone number in the girl's yellow bag. Please, just check.”

The girl stepped on her own shoelace and stumbled. Gabriel motioned to a colleague. A moment later, someone opened the bag and pulled out a slip of paper.

“Call her guardian,” he ordered.

Only then did the tension leave Leila's shoulders. At least this man listened when a child needed help. That didn't make him a good policeman. Tonight, though, it was all she had to work with.

“One more thing.”

Gabriel looked at her.

“There's insulin in our shelter's refrigerator. If the power goes out, it'll spoil. I shut down the generator beside the warehouse because I was afraid the fire would spread.”

“I'll notify the person in charge.”

“Don't just notify them. Make sure someone checks. There are people who'll need that medicine tomorrow.”

“All right. I'll make sure.”

For once, he hadn't said anything about procedure. Leila hated herself a little for feeling relieved.

“Miss Leila, will you open tomorrow?”

Leila turned so the girl couldn't see her handcuffs.

“We will. We'll open the doors tomorrow, too.”

The girl nodded, but her face said she didn't believe it.

The police car door opened. Gabriel raised a hand to shield Leila's head from the doorframe. She pulled away.

“Don't be nice to me.”

“I'm trying to keep you from getting hurt.”

“Not hurting me with your own hands doesn't mean you're doing me no harm.”

His expression tightened. Leila climbed into the car.

Then a new voice came over the radio.

“Officer Moreau, we've secured a video filed as footage from just before the warehouse fire. It shows a woman with a red bag going through the door.”

A phone screen tilted toward the car window. A woman carrying a red bag was pushing open the warehouse door.

The red bag and the clothes looked so much like Leila's that she caught her breath. The image was too blurred to identify the face.

But a police cordon was already in place outside the warehouse in the footage.

Leila had entered before that cordon was set up.

“What time does the video show?”

Gabriel read the timestamp beneath the video.

“9:18 p.m.”

The cuffs bit into Leila's wrists.

At 9:18, she had been holding back the blood pouring from this man's colleague.