“He works with your friend, Peter Francis.” She peered at the young woman on the swing, but it was too dark to read her eyes.

“Did he say what he wanted?”

“He said you used to work with Peter Francis.” The sour taste of betrayal rose in Huda’s mouth—even though she had done worse to Ally, ten times over. “A former colleague, that’s what he called you.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” Ally feigned nonchalance. “Did I mention that Tom asked me to thank you? I’m glad I called him. He’d just heard about the amnesty himself.”

Huda frowned. Did Ally really think she could dismiss her questions so easily?

“What did the journalist mean by former colleague? Are you a journalist?”

“No, of course not,” said Ally quickly. “I was a secretary.”

“A secretary?” Huda almost laughed out loud.

“That’s right.” Ally folded her arms across her chest. “But in Australia we call it an executive assistant.”

“Then why did you put ‘housewife’ on your visa form?”

“You checked my visa form?”

“Of course not.” Huda withdrew deeper into the moon shade of the orange tree. “I handle the paperwork for all the embassy visas. I remember yours said ‘housewife,’ that’s all.”

“My, what a good memory you have.” Ally sighed, long and loud. “The truth is, I got laid off almost six months before I filled out that form. Budget cuts, my boss said.” She stopped rocking in the swing seat and kicked her heel against the lawn. “I tried to find another job, but there wasn’t anything out there. After months of looking for work, I didn’t feel I had the right to call myself anything but a housewife.”

Huda couldn’t picture Ally as a secretary, but part of her story had a vague ring of truth. She prayed the explanation would satisfy Abu Issa. At the al-Ranis’, someone turned up the stereo.

“Sounds like they’re going to be partying till dawn.” Ally paused for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was softer than the breeze. “What did your neighbor do, anyway? Did he say the wrong thing? Did he make a joke he shouldn’t have?”

Huda took a deep breath.

“He killed his wife.”

Ally’s head snapped back like she’d been clipped on the chin.

“And his family throws him a party?”

“Tonight he has a party. Maybe tomorrow his dead wife’s brothers come to settle the score.”

Ally stiffened.

“What do you mean?”

“When people cannot get justice, they take matters into their own hands.” Huda knew that among the crowd outside Baghdad’s jails, some were eager to greet loved ones. Others were waiting to take revenge. She remembered that white-hot hunger well.

“When it comes to family,” she muttered, “people do what they have to.”

When she looked up, Ally was curled up, knees tucked to her chest.