The Eyewitness by Stephen Leather Page A

I'm not a policeman. You speak good English.”
    The boy shrugged, but steadfastly refused to look at him.
    Solomon turned to the old woman.
    “I was saying, Nicoletta wasn't among the victims.”
    At the mention of the name, the boy jerked as if he'd been stung.
    “You know Nicoletta?” Solomon asked.
    The boy shrugged again.
    “They were at school together for a while, before his family moved away,” said the old woman.
    “He spent holidays on their farm.” She reached over and pinched the boy's cheek with a gnarled hand.
    “Mr. Solomon won't bite, you can talk to him,” she said.
    “You can practise your English.”
    The boy looked down again, his cheeks reddening.
    “She didn't like to be called Nicoletta,” he said quietly.
    “She wanted everyone to call her Nicole. Like Nicole Kidman. The movie star.”
    “Pretty lady,” said Solomon.
    “Nicole was prettier. She could have been a movie star, too. I kept telling her. If she could just get to Hollywood, she'd be rich and famous.” The boy went quiet.
    “Anyway, as I was saying, Nicoletta wasn't in the truck...” The boy glared at him and Solomon smiled an apology.
    “Nicole wasn't in the truck, so I wanted to ask you if she had definitely been on the farm at the time of the .. . incident.”
    Kimete translated for the old woman.
    “I don't think she would have gone anywhere else,” said the old woman.
    Solomon picked up the photograph and scanned the faces. Most of them the faces of the dead. An image flashed through his mind, of screams and shouts and fingernails clawing at the locked door, and in a corner of the truck the parents cuddling their little girl, trying to comfort her even though they knew they were all going to die. Solomon shuddered.
    “The thing is, Nana, if she was away from the farm on an errand, or if she had hidden when it happened, she'd have sought help afterwards, wouldn't she?”
    ' Tako pretpostavljam," she said.
    “I suppose so.”
    “And the farm has been thoroughly searched so we're sure she's not there.” He chose his words carefully: her body wasn't there, was what he meant.
    “What happened to her family?” asked the boy quietly, in English. He looked up and brushed his fringe away from his eyes, “They were killed,” said Solomon.
    The boy's eyes narrowed.
    “How?”
    “That doesn't matter,” said Solomon.
    “It's more important now that we find out who did it.”
    The old woman snorted.
    “We know who did it. The bastard Serbs killed them. Who else would do such a thing?”
    “Nana, please .. .” Solomon said. It was important to keep emotion out of the investigation. All he wanted were the facts.
    “I just need to know how I can find Nicole.”
    Kimete translated.
    “Why?” the boy asked Solomon.
    “Why do you want to find her?”
    “She might be a witness,” said Solomon.
    “She might have seen what happened to her family.” Solomon looked across at the old woman.
    “What do you think, Nana?”
    The old woman sighed.
    “Can you think of anywhere she might have gone?”
    “She was sixteen. A child.”
    “She didn't come here?”
    “My memory might be failing, young man, but I'm not yet senile. If she had come here, I would have told you so.”
    “I know, Nana. I'm sorry. It's just that I can't understand why she didn't go for help,” said Solomon.
    “Help from whom?” the old woman sneered.
    “The neighbours were all bastard Serbs. Do you think they would have helped? Do you think the Serbian army would have helped? If it was me, I'd have run and kept on running.”
    “Do you think that's what she did, Nana?”
    “I don't know. I hope so, because if she didn't she's dead.”
    “Why can't you leave her alone?” shouted the boy, startling them all.
    “Why are you picking at their bones like vultures? They're dead and there's nothing anyone can do!” He jumped to his feet, knocking over his stool, and ran from the cottage.
    He left the door open. Solomon got up and closed it.
    “He