Driving into Slavic Village this week was a surreal experience. The clock appeared to have turned back to the years when this clapboard-built suburb of Cleveland, Ohio, was the proud preserve of migrant Polish and Czech steel-mill workers, and epitomised apple-pie American charm. Through the haze of a winter blizzard, one could make out what appeared to be the brightly embroidered curtains and flowers on the windowsills. And from their porches, many of the home-owners seemed to be waving a neighbourly greeting at our passing car. Pulling up at the kerbside, however, the reality came grimly into focus. Behind the...