by Rachel Green
It took her a moment to realise it but someone was looking back at her. Outside one of the shops a heavyset man stood staring. He was partially hidden behind a rack of clothing meaning she couldn’t see him so clearly, but Margot was certain she was the object of his attention. She stiffened, an uncomfortable feeling beginning to take hold. She was all set to go over and confront him, but then a presence at her side made her turn sharply. Raul sat down beside her on the wall.
“Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Margot turned quickly back to the shops but the man had gone. Perhaps he’d just been staring out to sea. She hoped she wasn’t becoming paranoid.
“Well, go on then,” Raul said, looking very pleased with himself. “Ask me what I found out.”
Margot recalibrated. “What did you find out?”
“The police said they were looking for an Oceanus RIB boat, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I asked around the fishermen and several names came up, but only one of them matched the description you gave me – Etienne Hamidi.”
“Who is he?”
“He works as a motorboat mechanic. He’s got a hut in the boatyard. But wait, there’s more. One of the fishermen I spoke to was angry with him. He said he’d arranged for Etienne to transport some cargo, but when he got to the boatyard Etienne claimed his boat had gone missing.”
“When was this?”
“The day after the migrants were found.”
“Did he tell the police?”
“I didn’t ask, but he sounds like your man, don’t you think?”
Raul sat waiting for her response. Margot took a few moments to think it over. It was too much of a coincidence not to be him.
“All right,” she said at last. “Let’s go and find him.”
***
They took a taxi to the boatyard. Margot had the driver drop them at the entrance and he pulled up next to a big metal arch set into a high chain-link fence. They went in on foot, moving through a landscape that was littered with cranes and industrial ironworks. A concrete footway took them around an L-shaped basin to an inlet that was lined with featureless buildings. Several boats were up on ramps, and the air was thick with the smell of diesel and seawater. Apart from the muted clang and smash of metal being worked, the place resembled a ghost town.
On the opposite side of the inlet lay a row of sheds and tatty metal huts. They were too far away to read the writing on the signs, but one of them stood out – the green and white logo Margot had seen on the pickup truck. They crossed the water via a metal footbridge and then halted outside the motorboat mechanic’s hut. The door was locked with a chain and padlock.
“Our luck had to run out some time,” Raul said, rattling the chain.
Margot turned around. Flashes of bright white light revealed some welding was going on, and looking more closely she spotted a small group of men gathered at the rear of one of the factories. She nodded to Raul and they re-crossed the footbridge, then kept their distance as they neared the factory, shielding their eyes from the intense light. After a few moments, the welder turned off his torch and flicked up his visor, looking at them with unfriendly eyes.
“We’re looking for Etienne, the motorboat mechanic,” Raul said. “Has he been in today?”
“No idea.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
The man shrugged.
“Do you know where he lives?”
“Rue du Port. One of the tenements, I think.”
“Do you know the number?”
The man shook his head.
They thanked him and went on their way.
Rue du Port was only a kilometre away so they went there on foot, following the directions on Margot’s phone. It was a rundown neighbourhood with graffiti-strewn fences and a dog running loose. Some hard-faced kids sneered at them as they walked by on the footpath, prompting Raul to quicken his pace.
“Perhaps we should let the police handle it from here,” he said, but Margot pushed on. In Paris, she’d walked alone through far worse neighbourhoods.
A pair of three-storey tenements lay at the end of the street. A flight of concrete steps led up to a lobby, but the doors were shut. None of the names on the buzzers resembled ‘Hamidi’. As they were crossing to the second block, however, Margot spotted a truck with the green and white logo parked across the street. She pointed it out to Raul and they hastened up the steps to building number 2.
The door to the lobby opened as they approached. An elderly man emerged, and Margot reached for the door before it had time to close behind him.
“Merci, Madame.” He tipped his head.
She slid a foot into the gap.
“One moment, Monsieur.” The man turned and Margot smiled politely. “Do you know if Etienne is at home?”
“Etienne Hamidi?”
“Yes.”
“Have you come about the noise?”
“Noise?”
He screwed up his face. “Blasted woman never stops wailing.”
Margot looked blank. “They’re in nine, aren’t they?”
“Twelve.”
Margot palmed her forehead. “Of course. I’m an idiot. Thank you.”
They waited for him to leave and then stepped inside.
Number twelve was on the second floor and the corridor leading to it would have looked more at home in a prison. Raul slowed as they approached, and halfway there he reached for Margot’s arm.
“Are you sure this is a good idea? What will you say if he is in there?”
Margot shrugged. “I’ll think of something.” They’d come too far to back down now.
She paused when they reached number twelve. Cocking an ear, Margot got impression several people were inside. Two seconds after she’d knocked a young woman in a hijab came to the door.
“Mrs Hamidi?”
A look of alarm appeared in her eyes. She started to close the door but Margot gently held it back.
“We just want to speak to Etienne. We’re not here to cause trouble.”
Margot moved her head to try and see past. There were several people inside, and the sense of alarm appeared to be spreading. A door slammed shut, a man cried out. An elderly woman in an armchair began wailing. When a baby started crying, the young woman pushed the door more forcefully. The cacophony set Margot’s nerves on edge but she pushed back, knowing the sound of grieving when she heard it. She would have gone in, but a man suddenly appeared in the gap, brusquely pushed past her, and ran off down the corridor. In the confusion that followed, the door shut in their faces.
“Margot!”
She’d already set off in pursuit. The man had taken the stairs and he was quick – by the time they got to the lobby he’d already crossed the street and was climbing into his truck. Raul held her back as the vehicle sped away.
“Come on, Margot,” he said, still clutching her arm. “It’s time we called the police.”
Chapter 20
Enzo was on his way out of the office when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He left Mutt to go fetch the car while he stepped onto the quay.
“Paolo, what’s up?”
“The police called.”
“And?”
A forklift was going by so if there was a response Enzo didn’t hear it. He turned his back on the noise.
“What was that?”
“They want me to go in.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
His mind ran ahead. From the tone of his brother’s voice he could tell he’d already been drinking. “Listen. Stay where you are. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”
Mutt had brought the Mercedes round to the front and was stood waiting, but Enzo went to the driver’s side and took the keys from him.
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Don’t wait up.”
It was seven-thirty p.m. and the light was fading when Enzo swung the car up onto the forecourt of garage de Paolo. He
parked next to the tow truck and went in through the open roller door. The mechanic was on his way out of the wash room, drying his hands on a filthy towel, and it took no words to establish what was going on: they both looked over to the office where Paolo sat with his feet up on the desk. Enzo could smell the whisky from ten metres. He peeled off a fifty and cocked his chin at the mechanic.
“Close the door on your way out.”
Paolo’s eyes lazily took him in as Enzo stepped into the office, but he uttered no words and kept his feet up on the desk. It was wise to tread carefully when he was in a mood like this, when the darkness had him. From past experience Enzo knew it could go either way. He lit a cigar while he waited for the roller door to finish lowering, and when the clatter gave way to silence he pulled out a chair and sat down. When the workshop lights went out, all that remained was the glow of the desk lamp. He looked into the shadows of his brother’s face and tried to catch his eye.
“You okay?”
Paolo drained his whisky glass. “Never been better.”
“If they had anything on you we’d know by now.”
It looked like the words had gone straight through him but Paolo nodded.
“Has Etienne got rid of the boat?”
“As far as I know.”
“In that case you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Paolo snorted and stared into the bottom of his empty tumbler. Enzo hated dealing with him when he was like this but it had to be done. He shuffled his chair as far forward as he could.
“Listen to me, Paolo. I’ll take care of this. They had no right to carry out a search. My lawyer’s already got them tied up in knots. By the time he’s finished they’ll be wishing they’d never set foot in this place.”
Paolo reached for the whisky bottle but Enzo got to it first. “Just tell me what happened and I’ll make this all go away.”
Finally, his brother looked him in the eye, a connection made. He let out a long sad sigh and then tossed the empty glass onto the table. “You want to know what happened?”
“Talk to me.”
Paolo held his gaze for a very long time. There was no anger there, just resignation. Like he’d given in to the fact this was all too much. Enzo remembered that time years ago when Dad told him he couldn’t go to art school and he’d raged for weeks. But there was nothing he could do about it and over the years it had eaten away at him. It wasn’t how Enzo wanted things to be but c’est la vie. He nudged the chair. “Come on. Tell me how they died, that kid and his old man.”
Paolo blinked. He pulled his feet off the desk and leaned forward, face in his hands.
“How many were on the boat?” Enzo prompted.
“Fifteen.”
“Who were they?”
“The guy was Etienne’s cousin.”
“And the kid?”
“A nephew. His family wanted to bring them over.”
Enzo nodded, pleased with the progress. Just keep him talking, that was the key. “So what happened?”
He spoke with lots of pauses. Enzo listened patiently, careful not to push too quickly. “When we got to Algiers Etienne met up with some friends. They all got hammered on the beach. Then on the way back the GPS died. We’d meant to haul out in one of the old dropping zones but we came up too far. It was getting light so we told everyone to get back in the boat, but they wouldn’t listen. They started heading off into town.”
“And the kid?”
“He’d got seasick. His dad was all in my face, saying they weren’t getting back on the boat.”
“And?”
“I lost my temper.”
“You hit him?”
Paolo nodded.
“What with?”
“There was a wrench, in Etienne’s toolbox.”
“Did anyone see?”
Paolo rubbed his forehead. “Etienne, the kid … maybe a couple of the others.”
“What did the kid do then?”
“He got scared and ran off. Etienne tried to grab him but he got away. The last we saw he was running towards the water.”
“So it was an accident.”
Paolo met his eye. “It was still my fault.”
“You were defending yourself from his dad. How were you to know the kid would run off?”
Paolo shook his head. Enzo went on,
“Then what?”
“We put the body on the boat and then dumped it by the fort. We searched for the kid but couldn’t find him.”
Enzo leaned back and mulled it over. It was worse than he’d expected but there was a way out. A draught was coming in from the dark open space of the workshop so he got up out of his chair and closed the door. He went back to the desk and perched on the edge, facing his brother squarely.
“Where’s the wrench now?”
“Hidden in a drain out back.”
“I’ll take it. See it ends up somewhere more useful.”
Paolo gave him a closer look. “Like where?”
“In Etienne’s hut.”
Now his brother came to life. “You’re such a bastard.”
“It’s dog eat dog, brother, you know that. And I’m not having my own flesh and blood go down for this, especially as it wasn’t your fault.”
“What if Etienne tells them the truth?”
“He’s got family here, hasn’t he? He won’t take much persuading.”
Paolo screwed up his face. “You really are a piece of something.”
He got up out of his seat and made a move for the door, but Enzo blocked him. Eyeball to eyeball, Enzo was determined to finish this now.
“Look, I know he’s your friend but he screwed up. He was the one driving the boat. It was his fault you ended up in the wrong cove. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t got stoned.”
The light in Paolo’s eyes dimmed a fraction. He was nearly there now. Just one more push.
“It’s time to forget about Etienne and think of the future. When all this is over things will be different, I promise you. I want you to come down to the new house. Spend some time with me and Marielle. She’d love to see you again. And you’d like that, too, wouldn’t you? And hey—” He grinned, and dug his brother in the ribs. “I’ve got this new PA. Crystal. Tits out here, you’re going to love her.”
Paolo said nothing but the acknowledgement was there in his eyes. Enzo gave him a few more moments, just to be sure, then opened his arms for a hug. Enzo slapped his back with pride.
***
To Margot’s surprise, Captain Bouchard phoned her straight back. He’d spoken to the judge to arrange for a warrant to be issued and expected to search Etienne’s hut first thing in the morning. They returned to the yacht in buoyant mood.
At nine a.m. the following day Margot and Raul were waiting at the boatyard’s entrance. Five minutes passed before two police cars raced towards them along the street and then pulled up sharply beside the arch. Captain Bouchard emerged from the rear of one, quickly followed by three others.
“Where?”
Margot pointed; the captain directed his men.
The arrival of the police brought people out of the nooks and crannies and the boatyard swiftly came to life. Suspicious eyes tracked them every step of the way as Margot, Raul and two of the police officers worked their way along the concrete walkway. They marched across the footbridge in single file and then regrouped in front of the motorboat mechanic’s hut
“Stand back.”
Margot did as he said, though when she looked at the chain was surprised to see that the padlock had changed. This one was one silver, whereas yesterday it had been brass. Before she had time to voice her concern, however, one of the policemen snapped the chain with a pair of bolt croppers. A cat sneaked out as they opened the door, and sensing unfriendliness scampered away. The men filed in and quickly set to work.
It would have been nice to find a boat hidden away inside but the shed was largely empty. Workbenches lined three of the walls, and the floor was an oily d
ark expanse. Margot wandered in, her eyes travelling curiously around the space before the captain instructed them to wait by the door.
To their credit, the gendarmes conducted a thorough search. They went through all the tool cabinets, searched every cupboard, meticulously inspected the floor. And within half an hour their efforts had paid off.
“Captain.”
The voice came from the back of the shed where Margot could see a gendarme gingerly holding up an object. The captain strode into the gloom and carefully took it from him. When they came back into the light it became clear he was holding a monkey wrench, the jaws of which were smeared with what appeared to be blood.
***
All six pairs of eyes were still focused on the wrench when a shout rang out nearby. Heads turned, the policemen moved out into the light. A fellow officer was sprinting along the road on the other side of the perimeter fence, heading towards a pickup truck stationary on the far end. It was some distance away, but Margot could see the green and white logo. As the officer closed in, the truck promptly reversed at speed.
A moment later hurrying figures were moving in all directions. Raul stayed close to Margot’s side and they watched the action unfold from a distance. Barely had the truck sped out of sight than there was a loud bang, a crunch of metal on metal. A fleeing figure appeared, the policeman in hot pursuit.
“Is that him?” Raul asked.
They were fifty metres away but Margot had no doubt. “That’s Etienne.”
He was a fast sprinter but he was hopelessly outnumbered. Captain Bouchard himself had run through the main gate with an alacrity that belied his size and he made it to the street just in time to block that particular route of escape.
Etienne skidded to a halt. He spun to face his rearward pursuers, and then, realising he was trapped, launched himself at the fence. He made it up three hand-lifts; struggled on one more even as hands grabbed at him from below. But with two of them on him he didn’t stand a chance. The three men collapsed into an ugly heap on the concrete.
Under Captain Bouchard’s supervision, they frogmarched him back to the hut where everyone regrouped. There was a pause while they all stood regaining their breaths. When he was ready, the captain grasped Etienne’s arm and marched him inside.
