The Honest Folk of Guadeloupe (6 page)

“Nothing was left in the car.” Lafitte shook his head. “I’ve sent a couple of men to take prints but the Hertz people hired the car out yesterday afternoon.”

Parise sat down at her desk beside Lafitte. He coughed. “
Madame le juge
, we’ve had a few phone calls to the incident room in Saint-François. People saying they saw the white girl.”

“And?”

“She’s not the only young female tourist in the Saint-François area. Several callers saw a Fiat Uno. Every call’s recorded, but at the moment, we don’t have any leads, beyond a couple of people who say they saw a topless white girl at the Pointe des Châteaux before ten o’clock on Sunday morning. A woman who was by herself, sitting on the beach.” Parise’s intelligent eyes looked at Anne Marie. “In Saint-François, the hotels and the restaurants don’t want anything happening to the flow of satisfied tourists.”

“Anything happening to the flow of cash,” Lafitte remarked.

Anne Marie tapped the desk like an irritable teacher calling for order. “The
préfet
told the
procureur
yesterday in no uncertain terms that he wants results. Which can only mean one thing.”

“Political interference.”

“Precisely, Monsieur Lafitte.” Anne Marie nodded grimly. “And
when you get politicians interfering into an enquiry, nobody’s backside is safe.”

Lafitte grinned sideways at the
gendarme
. “How do you fancy Wallis and Futuna?”

“No South Pacific, Monsieur Lafitte,” Anne Marie said. “Don’t count on retiring to some tropical paradise.”

“Guadeloupe’s a tropical paradise.”

“Not for the Vaton girl. And not for us.”

“Gwada—pa ni pwoblèm.”

“No.” Anne Marie shook her head vehemently. “There are a lot of problems in Guadeloupe.”

Again Parise coughed and lowered his hands onto the creased trousers of his uniform.

“Until we have the murderer behind bars, the three of us’ll be seeing a lot of one another.” She gave a taut smile. “I know the
gendarmerie
in Saint-François is taking this seriously.” She looked at Parise before turning her glance to include Lafitte. “You know the snares of the press, and so both police forces will observe complete silence when in contact with the outside world. By the outside world, I mean the written and spoken press. In particular RFO.”

Parise nodded.

“Let the
gendarmerie
get on with their enquiry—Saint-François’s their territory, but I’ll also need all the expertise of the SRPJ.” This time a brief nod toward Lafitte. “Collaboration’s the keyword,
messieurs
. However”—she held up her hand and tapped her chest—“it’s me who’s in charge of this enquiry.”

They looked at her in silence.

“Our respective standpoints don’t always coincide and it’s only normal we shouldn’t always see eye to eye. But our ultimate goal—yours, gentlemen, and mine—is a common goal. Therefore we collaborate.” She paused. “Do I make myself clear? For now, all other enquiries go onto the back burner.”

“Including the Dugain dossier,
madame le juge
?” Lafitte grinned.

She said, “The
procureur
’s under pressure from the local assemblies. And the local assemblies are under pressure from the
préfet
.”

“And the
préfet
no doubt is under pressure from Paris.”

“Nobody wants embarrassing questions in the United Nations about French colonialism. Even if things’ve changed these last ten
years and with decentralization, France prefers to let the two local assemblies get on with their business.” She paused. “Whoever calls the tune, it’s us who must dance.”

“The polka?”

“
Zouk
—hot, fast and sweaty. A relentless Caribbean rhythm.” She smiled. “I’ll need to be kept posted. I’d like you to report here at seven thirty in the morning. In person, on a daily basis.” Again Anne Marie paused. “Capitaine Parise will be working out of Saint-François—the
procureur
’s no objection to my entrusting this enquiry to the
gendarmerie
.” She looked at Parise. “But I repeat I am coordinating and it’s back to me here in Pointe-à-Pitre that you’ll report.”

Parise nodded.

“I’ll be needing all the support of both the
gendarmerie
and the SRPJ so we’ll be seeing a lot of each other—perhaps too much. I trust we can put aside professional rivalries, petty animosities and everything else to get this murder cleared up before it goes cold on us. For everybody’s sake.”

Again Parise and Lafitte nodded. Two schoolboys, Anne Marie thought, wincing inwardly.

“I’ll be standing in on the autopsy.” She lowered her voice. “Not something I relish, but I’ve informed the
procureur
. Perhaps you could accompany me, Monsieur Lafitte.”

“A pleasure,
madame
.”

Anne Marie wondered if she detected sarcasm in his voice.

“Capitaine Parise, please get this photograph distributed and a search put out for Richard. Richard works in a bank, but it might also be a good idea to put pressure on your informers in the ghetto.”

“The SRPJ has informers in Boissard. We don’t go in for that sort of thing.”

“Perhaps you should.” She clicked her tongue sharply, in the West Indian manner. Turning back to Lafitte, Anne Marie went on, “Boissard, Pointe-à-Pitre—see if you can find anything there, Lafitte. Anybody mysteriously scratched, grazed or covered in blood, any external bruising that could be the result of the victim putting up a fight.”

“In the ghetto?” Lafitte asked in mild surprise.

“Use stick and carrot.”

“A reward?”

“Whatever gets results.” She coughed. “Then, gentlemen, I think—”

Lafitte said, “I’ve brought Desterres’s dossier, just as you asked.”

“If he’s got a history of sexual violence, it’ll be useful to know how he operates. For the moment, let’s do nothing more provocative than keeping a tab on him. A man like Desterres can always afford lawyers—and it’s best to keep lawyers at arm’s length as long as possible.”

Parise said, “A man who’s got money can always buy women—he doesn’t need to rape them.”

“But he has in the past. Go to Tarare. He gave me his address in town—but Desterres said he often sleeps at Tarare rather than driving back home to Pointe-à-Pitre. Check his car.”

“I’ll need a warrant.”

“You’ll have your warrant,” Anne Marie said.

He did not wait for Anne Marie to be served, but sliced the
boudin
and began to eat.

“
Bon appétit
, Eric.”

He nodded. The air was very chilly in the dining room and the table Eric André had reserved was just beneath the air conditioner. Anne Marie shivered.

The waitress set down plates of salad and for the next half hour, Anne Marie and Eric ate in silence, apart from an occasional remark concerning the food. Eric had ordered a court-bouillon of fish with lentils and rice. From time to time he rubbed the fish with sliced pepper.

Anne Marie took the
plat du jour
of octopus, which she found too salty. The white wine was palatable.

“Not the best food in the world,” Eric admitted as he stirred his coffee. “This place has the advantage of doing real Creole cooking rather than the bland compromise you get in a lot of the hotels.”

“You hope to get the tourists down from America and Canada?”

“It’s precisely the bland, Coca-Cola variety of food they prefer.”

Anne Marie’s coffee was served in a cracked cup. “Why did you want to see me, Eric?”

“Always nice to see my sister-in-law, Anne Marie.”

“Eric, I used to be your wife’s sister-in-law but that was before the divorce.”

He seemed surprised. “I’m not divorced.”

“Before my divorce, Eric.”

He wiped his lips with the stiff white napkin. He had a high forehead and he had started to go bald. He had the brown eyes that Anne Marie liked in West Indians. Yet despite the firm jaw and the brown eyes, Eric irritated her. Perhaps, she told herself, she knew too much about him.

He had nice, long hands.

“You still see your husband, Anne Marie?”

“You invited me here to talk about my husband?”

He lowered his shoulders in apology. “I want to talk about you.”

“About me, Eric? Or about the Office of Tourism?”

“Office of Tourism?” He wrinkled the skin of his nose—a strangely boyish gesture.

“That’s what you’re in charge of, isn’t it? Americans and Canadians are no longer going to visit this island now a tourist has been found raped and murdered on the beach.”

“Anne Marie, the majority of non-French tourists are from the EEC. More Italians and Germans than Americans. The Americans prefer Hawaii.”

“Why the lunch?” Anne Marie sighed. “Somehow the entire island knows I’ve been given the enquiry. And what’s worse, the entire island knew long before I ever did.”

“Why are you French women so aggressive?”

“Thanks, Eric, for the lunch. It was very good, I enjoyed the octopus, thank you, and I enjoyed the wine. Now if you think you can influence me, I’m afraid—”

“I’m not trying to influence anybody.” He held out a silver case. “A cigarette?”

“I must be going, Eric.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“We’ve already talked.”

“Anne Marie, you’re not making this easy for me.”

She looked at her watch. A Kelton, nearly twelve years old, but with the new strap, it was now quite fashionable. Very retro, very
tendance
.

“Why so aggressive? We may no longer be family, Anne Marie, in the strict sense of the word …”

She bit her lip. “I’m not sure men know the strict sense of the word family.”

“We’re friends.” His hand touched hers.

“I’m never friends with a married man.”

His laughter surprised her. It also surprised several other diners who turned their heads. “You think I’m trying to seduce you?”

“Where’s your wife?”

“In Paris.” He lit the cigarette. The flame of the lighter flickered. “She’s in Paris with the children.”

“And you’re getting divorced?”

Eric made a gesture, lowering his hand. “Keep your voice down.” He glanced at the other diners before shaking his head. “We’ve decided on a short separation to get things into perspective.”

“You want perspective? Go to the art gallery.” She made a sound of irritation. “Perspective’s what you wanted to see me about?”

“Of course not.”

“Eric, I must be going—there are things I’ve got to do.”

His eyes carefully scrutinizing her face. “You know I’m going into politics?”

“That surprise you?”

“Politics? And the Office of Tourism, Eric?”

“I’m hoping to get onto the Conseil Général. For way too long it’s been a fief of the Socialists and the Communists. What the
département
needs is a modern, capitalist approach to our problems.”

“You want to give up your job?”

Eric ignored the question. “The left’s held sway for too long; they’ve stifled any enterprise. If this island’s to get anywhere, it must stop turning to France for handouts. Since Hurricane Hugo, things’ve only gotten worse. We’re like whores, always asking for more money—but at least whores work. They put in the mileage even if they are lying on their backs. They earn their keep while we overseas French, we do nothing other than fret over our mixed identity. Are we blacks or are we French? We’re spoilt children, always asking for pocket money for our champagne habit and trips to Paris. Except we’re no longer children and it’s up to us to produce our own pocket money. Thirteen percent, Anne Marie—that’s how much our exports cover our imports. Thirteen percent—and the Socialists begging for more money. It’s time we assumed responsibility.”

“You know of a politician who doesn’t want greater local responsibility?”

He shook his head. “You don’t have much respect for politicians?”

“I’ve worked with them.”

“We must run our own island.”

“You mean independence?”

“I never said that,” he retorted. “Without France, Guadeloupe’s not going to achieve anything. Certainly not yet. We haven’t got the know-how, we haven’t got the managerial experience.” He ran the point of his tongue along his lips. “I’m a Gaullist; there’s no alternative to being French. But at the same time …”

Anne Marie shook her head. “You really did invite me here to talk politics.”

Realizing his mouth was still open, he put his hand to his face and rubbed his chin before asking, “Why are you so aggressive?” Eric André had difficulty in concealing his irritation. “I wanted to see you, Anne Marie, because perhaps there are some things you don’t fully appreciate …”

“About de Gaulle, Eric? I grew up in Algeria, remember.”

“Things you don’t completely understand. That you could …”

Anne Marie was smiling. “Yes?”

“You could put yourself in a situation that would be far from satisfactory.”

“You’re talking in riddles, Eric.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“When I needed help, it was not forthcoming. Not from you, nor from the rest of my in-laws.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I’ve managed to get on famously without your help.”

“Stop being so stubborn, Anne Marie. You white women are all the same. I thought you were different—you’ve been in Guadeloupe now for ten years and you’ve done useful work. You’re stubborn, Anne Marie—too stubborn.”

“I get by.”

“You must be careful.”

“You want me off the Pointe des Châteaux affair—is that it? The Tourist Office wants me to keep the lid down?”

He laughed, but there was no humor in his eyes. What Anne Marie saw was male pity and chose not to hide her anger. “I mustn’t frighten off the Italian and the German tourists, Eric? They might head off to Hawaii and eat all that bland American food. That would throw discredit on your Tourist office.”

She dropped her napkin onto the table and pushed her chair back, ready to leave.

He caught her wrist. “As a relative, I want to help you.”

“Eric, we’re no longer relatives.”