Showtime

So she told him about the unspeakable night and Manuel's confession that he had also out-cased Miguel's children.

Laila spoke in a monotone, low voice.

She lowered her eyes to her fingers folded between her knees and studied the cold metal of her handcuffs.

Laila felt the events of the night clutching her again.

As she spoke she glanced up furtively to see whether Miguel had any reaction to her words.

But Miguel had turned his chair to the side and was again immersed in the sight of his father's portrait.

She ended her report as the police entered the arbour.

Laila looked again at her handcuffs and sank back into the events that lay behind her.

The sudden blow hit her unexpectedly.

Miguel's hand clapped hard against her left cheek.

The entire face became numb until a burning pain spread.

In her left ear, the ringing and ringing sounded as if she had attended a 24-hour concert of a heavy metal group.

She made tremendous efforts not to lose consciousness.

Miguel stood up slowly, moving for his fullness with astonishing suppleness and elegance.

Roughly he pulled her up from her chair.

Laila was still dazed and took the sounds like cotton wool, her left eye was burning, hot tears flowed out of the corner of her eye so she constantly blinked.

Miguel hissed at her.

"You're lying, you miserable s.l.u.t, Manuel never desecrated his family. You will pay for this.?"

She was not sure if it was her constant blinking or if she had really for a moment seen panic and understanding in Miguel's gaze.

A small spark of hope sprouted in her.

"Consult your children. I'm telling the truth."

He pushed her back onto the chair and left the room with quick steps.

Laila wiped the tears from her face with bandaged hands.

Inexorably, the father of the two men, who would change their lives so drastically, looked down on them.

She could not bear this sight and turned away, discouraged.

'What would Miguel do now? Was he on his way to get his service weapon and shoot her in the head? Would he perhaps pick up the baseball bat from the crime scene to beat her like a sissy or, in memory of his brother's agony, treat her with the rusty hedge trimmer?'

Laila sobbed loudly and tried, using her last strength reserves, to keep back the torrent of tears.

But she had neither strength nor reserves, so she let her tears flow with resignation.

A few minutes later, two uniformed men did not know Laila and took them to one of the detention cells.

She curled up on the stained mattress, pulled his knees to his c.h.e.s.t and fell asleep in seconds. Jessica kept appearing in her dreams, yelling at her with reproachful glances:

"You were not there."

Next to Jessica stood Jo, who shook his head like a wounded tin soldier, cut blood-red rose petals with the rusty hedge trimmer and sang in a scratchy voice: "He saw you dancing with me, you led him to Jessica, without you she would still live, you are guilty, are you guilty?"

Her whole body ached from the tensions of the previous night.

What time was it?

Had she slept only briefly or had her exhausted body simply demanded restful sleep for hours?

The door to her detention cell was opened.

A small, petite woman with a bright yellow headscarf entered the room, the door was closed behind her and locked.

Laila swung her legs over the edge of her bed and looked at the woman expectantly.

The headscarf hid pitch-black, thick hair that was hard to control.

The woman stroked a particularly unruly streak from her forehead again and put it behind her ear. The Mexican woman had warm, dark brown eyes that made her embarrassed.

She wore a small wicker basket on her arm.

Immediately her stomach answered and loudly began to growl.

"Oh, how rude of me. You must be very hungry."

The woman stepped quickly to her side, settled on the matzo and put the wicker basket between them.

Laila looked perplexed into the basket, there was a thermos, two buns with salami and a poison green apple.

She looked questioningly at the stranger.

"Go on, are you working hard?"

The woman smiled encouragingly at her.

Laila grabbed one of the sandwiches and bit hearty a big bite.

While the girl chewed, the woman opened the thermos and poured fragrant coffee into the lid of the pot.

"I'm Anita, Miguel's wife. Unfortunately, I had no room left for sugar and milk, but I hope they drink it too black."

Laila got the big bite in his throat.

She coughed so hard that tears came to her eyes.

How casually did her Anita patted her back assuring,

"All right, breakfast is not poisoned, nor do they have anything to fear from me."

She handed her the cup of coffee.

Laila drank the hot brew with small sips and was glad that the half-chewed bite in her throat was slipping noticeably through her oesophagus.

Anita looked at her attentively.

"What is your name of my love? Tell me something about yourself"

She sighed and gave Anita the required report with short sentences.

"My name is Laila Harriette Baxter. I am 23 years old and what you benevolently a ...?" she cleared her throat. " ... Would call an exotic dancer."

Somewhat quieter "I murdered your brother-in-law"

Anita straightened her shoulders and put a dainty hand on her knee.

And with that they have helped my children and my family to justice.

She looked surprised in Anita's eyes.

These were swimming in tears.

But with pinched corners Anita chatted on.

"I am here to help you. As far as that is in my power. Miguel will not kill you. Since he is on the verge of renaming the mayor and district Sheriff, he has no choice and must put you in jail. Do not worry, in a few months, if some grass has grown over the story, I'll buy you free. Nothing unusual in Mexico. My family has enormous funds. I'll fetch you out as soon as the new elections are over and nobody thinks about you anymore?"

Laila shook his head in disbelief. "Why??"

Anita laughed hard.

"Why? My dear, when Miguel came home early this morning, he shook me awake. He pulled me into the bedroom of our children."

"He woke the children and asked my drowsy daughter if Uncle Manuel had done anything with her, that she did not want to. My daughter crossed her arms over her c.h.e.s.t and began to howl, my son peeing silently into his pyjamas. Miguel got up without a word and left the room. I put dry clothes on my son and put the distraught children back to bed. When I came down to the kitchen, my husband sat sobbing heavily at the kitchen table and drank tequila from a glass of water. Miguel never cries and Tequila is only available for guests. So I sensed that something terrible had happened. When my husband told me everything, the tequila bottle was empty and my nightgown dripped from our tears."