The door opened and the agent from the hotel, Yates, stepped into the room. For a man who’d presided over a security disaster, he seemed peculiarly satisfied. There could only be one interpretation: he was involved somehow. An older woman stood beside him – she was not in uniform. She spoke first, in perfect Russian.

—You’re to come with us.

—Where is my daughter?

The woman translated to Yates. He said:

—She’s being questioned.

Raisa followed them out, saying in Russian:

—My daughter did not kill anyone.

The woman translated and Yates listened but offered no response, leading them into the main office – an open space with desks and chairs, and many people, mostly police officers, phones ringing, people shouting over each other, pushing past each other.

—Where am I being taken?

After hearing the translation, Yates said:

—You’re being moved.

—Is my daughter also being moved?

To this question she received no reply. Yates was busy talking to another man.

Waiting, disorientated and afraid, Raisa peered about the room, feeling dizzy. She was about to ask for a glass of water when, among the crowd, she glimpsed a woman – the only black woman in the room. She was wearing civilian clothes. There was a uniformed officer by her side. He was talking to her but she wasn’t paying him any attention. She was concentrated on them, staring towards them with startling intensity. Belatedly, Yates also saw the woman and reacted strongly, shouting orders. The uniformed officer grabbed the woman’s arm, trying to pull her away. She shook him free, raising her other arm. She was holding a gun.

Raisa had seen the woman before, by the body of Jesse Austin, screaming out to the sky for help when no help would come. She recognized love and pain in the woman’s expression, love turned to anger. As the gun flashed explosions of white light, she wished that the last thing she’dtold Elena was that she didn’t blame her for anything and that she loved her very much.

Harlem

Bradhurst - 8th Avenue & West 139th Street

Nelson’s Restaurant - Next Day

None of the staff were working, none of the customers were eating, all were turned towards the radio, listening to the news broadcast. Nelson was standing, hand on the volume dial, turned up as loud as it could go. Several of the women were crying. Several of the men were crying. In contrast, the voice on the radio was clipped and without emotion.