could never allow a woman to get the better of it.
She kept still as children came close, a ball crashing through the foliage. Fortunately the clothes she’d stolen weren’t brightly coloured and she wasn’t seen. Eventually the shouts and screams grew distant. Suzana was thinking about the kids in her village. They had nothing, certainly not the sturdy shoes and good quality clothes these ones wore. They used the heads of hens that had been slaughtered instead of balls, the boys with their heads shaven against lice and the girls never allowed far from their mothers or elder sisters; until they became old enough to go the way of many sisters, the way that led abroad to the worst kind of slavery. She wished she still had a weapon. That would be her priority when she found a house: a knife she could useon them when they came for her, then draw quickly across her own throat.
As the day passed, she found that sleep evaded her. She was sitting on a sheet from one of the newspapers she had taken from a bin. The print was faded and the photographs blurred. The word ‘Corham’ appeared in the title and in many other places. Was that the name of the place she had been living in for months? Cor-ham. She pronounced the word under her breath, wondering if she was saying it correctly. Cor-ham.
Then she looked closer. There was a photograph of two women coming out of a house, one of them short and white, the other tall and dark-skinned. Suzana had never seen a black person in the flesh until she was in the airport in London. This woman looked powerful, as if she was a queen, but she was different. Even though Suzana would have nothing in common with her, she felt a strange connection. She peered at the words underneath. The ones that began with capital letters were probably names. Ma-ur-een Hug-hes, she voiced. Jo-ni Pax. This was the police officer who had left the card. Pax was like Albanian ‘paqe’. Was that what the name meant? ‘Peace’? Suzana laughed silently. Peace was the opposite of what she had experienced in this land.
She fumbled in her new clothes for the wallet and took out the rectangle of card. There was a telephone number and an address under Jo-ni Pax’s name, but she wasn’t going to visit any police station. Free was what she was now, free until death. Still, this Joni woman looked capable. Maybe she really could protect her…
Suzana slapped her cheek. That was weakness. Only she could save herself. She had to plan, she had to steal, she had to be forever on the watch for Leka’s people and those who would betray her to them, she had to stay in the shadows. No policewoman, especially not a dark goddess, could help her.
Suzana put the card back in the stolen wallet and tried to understand why Jo-ni Pax was in the newspaper. She understoodsome words that were similar to her own language and to Italian, but not enough to make sense of the story. If Jo-ni Pax was anything like the Albanian police, she would be taking money from criminals. Ma-ur-een Hug-hes probably thought she had been helped by her, but she would be just another victim. The police helped no one but themselves.
When the sun sank and darkness gathered, mist rising from the river as it did in the mountains where she had grown up, Suzana crawled carefully out of the bushes, having waited until the last people with dogs had left. Then she slipped away, anonymous, no longer a slave but fully committed to remaining free. And to revenge.
21
ACC Crime Ruth Dickie leant against the window ledge and looked at the three officers sitting on the other side of her desk. She liked to have height advantage, even though she was no more than five foot five in her flat shoes.
‘Let me recap. One of the men attacked in the brothel is dead from the head injuries he suffered. Another, who was stabbed, is recovering from surgery and out of danger. Predictably, he hasn’t said a word. There’s been no sign of the man who walked down the street with what
She kept still as children came close, a ball crashing through the foliage. Fortunately the clothes she’d stolen weren’t brightly coloured and she wasn’t seen. Eventually the shouts and screams grew distant. Suzana was thinking about the kids in her village. They had nothing, certainly not the sturdy shoes and good quality clothes these ones wore. They used the heads of hens that had been slaughtered instead of balls, the boys with their heads shaven against lice and the girls never allowed far from their mothers or elder sisters; until they became old enough to go the way of many sisters, the way that led abroad to the worst kind of slavery. She wished she still had a weapon. That would be her priority when she found a house: a knife she could useon them when they came for her, then draw quickly across her own throat.
As the day passed, she found that sleep evaded her. She was sitting on a sheet from one of the newspapers she had taken from a bin. The print was faded and the photographs blurred. The word ‘Corham’ appeared in the title and in many other places. Was that the name of the place she had been living in for months? Cor-ham. She pronounced the word under her breath, wondering if she was saying it correctly. Cor-ham.
Then she looked closer. There was a photograph of two women coming out of a house, one of them short and white, the other tall and dark-skinned. Suzana had never seen a black person in the flesh until she was in the airport in London. This woman looked powerful, as if she was a queen, but she was different. Even though Suzana would have nothing in common with her, she felt a strange connection. She peered at the words underneath. The ones that began with capital letters were probably names. Ma-ur-een Hug-hes, she voiced. Jo-ni Pax. This was the police officer who had left the card. Pax was like Albanian ‘paqe’. Was that what the name meant? ‘Peace’? Suzana laughed silently. Peace was the opposite of what she had experienced in this land.
She fumbled in her new clothes for the wallet and took out the rectangle of card. There was a telephone number and an address under Jo-ni Pax’s name, but she wasn’t going to visit any police station. Free was what she was now, free until death. Still, this Joni woman looked capable. Maybe she really could protect her…
Suzana slapped her cheek. That was weakness. Only she could save herself. She had to plan, she had to steal, she had to be forever on the watch for Leka’s people and those who would betray her to them, she had to stay in the shadows. No policewoman, especially not a dark goddess, could help her.
Suzana put the card back in the stolen wallet and tried to understand why Jo-ni Pax was in the newspaper. She understoodsome words that were similar to her own language and to Italian, but not enough to make sense of the story. If Jo-ni Pax was anything like the Albanian police, she would be taking money from criminals. Ma-ur-een Hug-hes probably thought she had been helped by her, but she would be just another victim. The police helped no one but themselves.
When the sun sank and darkness gathered, mist rising from the river as it did in the mountains where she had grown up, Suzana crawled carefully out of the bushes, having waited until the last people with dogs had left. Then she slipped away, anonymous, no longer a slave but fully committed to remaining free. And to revenge.
21
ACC Crime Ruth Dickie leant against the window ledge and looked at the three officers sitting on the other side of her desk. She liked to have height advantage, even though she was no more than five foot five in her flat shoes.
‘Let me recap. One of the men attacked in the brothel is dead from the head injuries he suffered. Another, who was stabbed, is recovering from surgery and out of danger. Predictably, he hasn’t said a word. There’s been no sign of the man who walked down the street with what
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