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street was deserted. He set up a photo of his target against the window frame, admiring her good looks, the well-stacked figure, the gleaming auburn hair. At times his job was hard. It was never easy killing a lovely woman, but money was money and there were plenty more beautiful women.
    He saw a long, black limousine pull up in front of the Police Headquarters. It’s squat, dated shape proclaimed it to be a Zil, the model favoured by Russian government officials. This would be the one that was to collect Commander Dacic. His job was to ensure she didn’t reach the car. He checked the Kalashnikov. When he turned back to the window he blinked for a moment in surprise. The Zil limousine had been joined by two more.
    A few minutes later the double doors of the Police Headquarters swung open and the woman strode out dressed in uniform. Herecognized the auburn hair below the peaked cap and started to sight the Kalashnikov.
    Almost at once he was distracted by movement in his peripheral vision. He straightened and stared in disbelief. He looked again. Another Commander Dacic with the same auburn hair had emerged. As he stared, mouth agape, a third Commander Dacic exited the headquarters. The trio stood like mannequins on a catwalk.
    He was still gazing at them when a voice alongside him brought his wandering wits back into focus. ‘Dobera Den,’ (Good day,) Zena Dacic murmured. ‘Please raise your hands high above your head.’
    Zena’s voice was persuasive to the point of seductive when she wanted but what really convinced him was the small, extremely ugly Makarov semi-automatic pistol she was holding against his temple. That ensured his unquestioning obedience.

chapter four
    Lulu should have been frightened. But she was beyond fear, at least the fear the staff of Good Buys Supermarkets was trying to instil. They weren’t to know she didn’t understand their threats. More to the point, her ignorance rendered her unaware and unafraid of the consequences of her theft.
    Even if she’d known, Lulu wouldn’t have been concerned. Lulu was an illegal immigrant, without passport or any identification. Within the past twenty-four hours she’d murdered three men. A charge of shoplifting would have frightened many youngsters. It would have hardly raised Lulu’s heart rate.
    Unable to get any response, the manager rang the police. As the only female available, Mironova agreed to accompany the constable responding to the call.
    ‘I haven’t been able to get a word from her,’ the manager said irritably. Lulu sat motionless. She stared at a point between the uniformed policeman and a stack of boxes.
    ‘I’ll see if she’ll talk to me,’ Clara said. ‘The warrant card might help.’
    She placed herself in front of the girl and tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Look at me.’
    The girl looked up. Whether in response to Clara’s touch or her words, the detective couldn’t be sure. ‘I’m a police officer.’ She displayed her warrant card. ‘Understand?’ The girl’s face registered no emotion. ‘Do you understand?’ She repeated. Again there was no sign the girl had heard or comprehended. Clara looked up and nodded to the uniformed policeman who advanced with a pairof handcuffs. ‘We’ll need statements from all of you. You in particular ,’ she glanced at the guard.
    Back at the station Mironova looked at the young prisoner, a faint stirring of something approaching recognition troubling her. It wasn’t that she knew the girl, but there was something vaguely familiar about her. A familiarity based on Mironova’s past. Something in the cast of her features suggested an origin far from Yorkshire. After several minutes a mental image drifted before Clara. One from her childhood before her family left Belarus. She’d seen girls with similar features. That was a ludicrous notion, she told herself.
    Clara pulled a chair up and sat facing the prisoner. ‘Zdravstuj’ (Hello), she began. ‘Menia zvat Clara’ (My name