Kahn, Adèle. Rosenthal, Marcel. Radetski, Leah …’ Vernet had said Liline Chambert had often of late found his niece here in the Jewish section of the ancien Cimetière de Neuilly and, yes, Nénette had been absolutely right, thought Kohler grimly. It was indeed the quietest place on earth next to the Bibliothèque Nationale. It was not two blocks from the Jardin d’Acclimatation and well within easy walking distance of the villa, school and church. But there was a problem. The Jews of Paris had all been taken. The Grande Rafle of 16 July 1942 had just been the start of it—the sealing off of five arrondissements by over nine thousand French police, not a German among them. More than twelve thousand terrified men, women and children, taken in the dark of that night alone, had been crammed into the cycling arena of the Vélodrome d’Hiver without sufficient water or toilet facilities. Eight days. From there they, and still others, had been bused to Drancy, and then the mothers and fathers had been sent by rail in cattle trucks to unspoken destinations, the children held for a time and then sent on themselves to God knows where.
