It was Radovan Vuksan’s opinion that one could account neither for the vagaries of fate nor, if one were a believer, for the possibility that God appeared to have a sense of humor, although one that, like so many of His ways, passed all human understanding. Yes, Radovan had advised his brother not to leave the apartment, and to maintain instead a low profile while overtures were made to Belgrade and Frend went about his work. Yet short of narcotizing him, there was little Radovan could do to prevent Spiridon from seeking exercise and fresh air. But that he should have been spotted by a Turk capable of identifying him represented misfortune on a grand scale, a calamity that had been heightened by the killing of said Turk, and further underscored by leaving the body on a park bench.

‘What were we supposed to do,’ said Ilić, ‘carry it back with us?’

‘Not killing him might have been a start,’ said Radovan.

His ambivalence about Ilić – no, call it what it was: his dislike – was hardening with every hour. That Ilić had certain talents was undeniable, but like all sadists, he lacked self-control, and his loyalty to Spiridon meant that he was unable or unwilling to rein in his worst impulses. Radovan was convinced that Zivco Ilić was the wrong man to be acting as his brother’s right hand under these circumstances. Unfortunately, he was the only man currently available.

‘The Turk was shouting,’ said Ilić. ‘The police would have come.’

‘And by the time they came, you would have been gone.’

‘You can’t say that for sure,’ said Ilić. He was unhappy at being upbraided by Radovan, but if he reacted with anger both brothers would turn on him, because only Spiridon could censure his brother, and vice versa. ‘Anyway, I didn’t kill him. The vedma did.’

Radovan winced at the use of the word, but did not contest it. He tried to have as little as possible to do with Spiridon’s shadow, but he knew what his brother and the rest of them thought of her. While not a superstitious man himself, Radovan understood the advantages of cultivating the superstitions of others. If Ilić was convinced she was a witch, he would not contest it. It bothered him more that Spiridon was similarly credulous, because it was one thing to indulge – even exploit – the gullibility of others, but quite another to fall prey to it oneself.