Murder in Belleville

Thursday Morning

YOUSSEFA HUDDLED IN THE back of the church, trying to make herself small. Hamid—she had to talk to Hamid. Eugénie had told her she could trust him. The problem was reaching him.

Ahead of her the hunger strikers who sprawled on the pews rested with their eyes closed. To her they looked like the dead.

Youssefa squeezed her eyes shut under the chador. But the images were burned into her memory. The surprised looks and the raw fear on the victims as the rifles pointed their way. How the bodies shuddered at the impact, then crumpled into the pits they’d been forced to dig. The flies, the heat magnified and radiating off the corrugated-iron Quonset huts.

She pinched her legs until she couldn’t stand the pain, almost screamed out. The images faded. Youssefa forced herself to gain control.

So far she’d buried the terror when it seemed ready to engulf her. She kept her story to herself. No reason to endanger the women where she worked. They asked no questions, and she gave no answers. An unspoken agreement; life stayed safe that way.

She overheard that Hamid’s strength had ebbed, only a few AFL members were allowed access to him. And they were all men. She didn’t want to bring attention to herself and was afraid the mullahs would refuse her. Especially the one called Walid, with his officious air.

“Zdanine, do me a favor,” said a voice near her. “Eat your pistachios somewhere else.”

“Je m’excuse,” Zdanine said and stood, brushing the shells from his tracksuit. Charcoal-eyed and handsome, his gaze reminded her of an undertaker estimating the length of a person’s coffin and shroud. One who lived by taking quick stock of future merchandise. Zdanine appeared sharper than the young hittistes in her village, unemployed for lack of jobs. Many made ends meet by the odd scam or lived off their girlfriends. But, like her cousins, Zdanine seemed to share a worldview limited to himself.

She watched Zdanine stroll over to Walid, hold a short conversation, then head toward the back of the church.

But Youssefa realized that if Zdanine had Walid’s ear, then maybe he could help her.