The Final Bet

by Abdelilah Hamdouchi

  After he revealed everything about his wife’s wealth, he talked about his life with her and their first three years together before he met Naeema. He confessed that after he met Naeema, he was so miserable he lived on the hope that Sofia would die. He said his feelings were in turmoil, and he finally realized that his youth had been ripped away from him.

  The lawyer nodded and asked him to go on.

  “Six or seven months ago,” added Othman, “Naeema met a girl named Selwa, who signed up at Yasmina Club, where my girlfriend is an aerobics instructor and Sofia worked out. This girl, Selwa, is the secretary of the accountant Shafiq Sahili. The important thing is that Naeema became friends with Selwa. Selwa saw us together once and Naeema was forced to tell her about our relationship. At that point, Selwa told Naeema that Sofia went to Sahili and deposited a will with him. A week later, she revealed to Naeema the contents of the will and Naeema then told me everything.”

  “And what does this will stipulate?” asked the lawyer with great interest.

  Othman sighed with grief.

  “Sofia left me her entire estate.”

  The lawyer shuddered in his seat and looked at Othman suspiciously. He then asked him to continue.

  “I won’t hide from you,” said Othman, “that after I found out the will stipulates I get everything, I got excited and the idea of killing her enticed me. But I’d kill her every day in my imagination only. Sometimes Naeema would tell me Sofia won’t die until after we both got old. I got what she meant by that. But I also knew that whatever happened, I wouldn’t ever be able to kill someone.”

  “I’m with you up to this point,” said the lawyer. “When was your wife murdered?”

  “The day before yesterday, in the middle of the night.”

  “Where?”

  “At the villa, in the bedroom.”

  “What was the murder weapon?”

  “A knife.”

  “And where were you when she was killed?”

  “I was out taking the dog for a walk, as I did every night after I got back from the restaurant, around eleven o’clock. Naeema was waiting for me in her car near a square not far from the villa. While the dog ran around, we sat talking. Sofia was always sick with jealousy. She’d keep an eye on everything I did just to make sure I wasn’t cheating. In fact, I suspect she sent people to spy on me, especially Abdelkader, the cook at the restaurant. The one way I could meet Naeema was when I took the dog out.”

  “You didn’t meet her anywhere else?”

  “I’d do everything I could to go to her apartment, but it’d always be a lot of work to pull off.”

  “Fine, let’s go back to the crime. What happened exactly that night?”

  “I left Naeema not as well as I could have. Time after time, she’d tell me how frustrated she was with our situation. She left furious that night, saying she was fed up, and I went back to the villa with the dog. When I went up to the bedroom, I found Sofia lying on the bed, covered in blood with a knife stuck in her stomach. She hadn’t died yet. I ran over to her terrified and asked her what happened. She couldn’t say anything but begged me with her eyes to pull the knife out. Trust me, that night, I forgot how much I hated her. All I wanted was that she’d stay alive, so I pulled the knife out and ran to the phone to call the ambulance. I also called the police. I told myself I had to be quick since she was about to die. At that moment, my first thought was that thieves did it. But nothing was stolen. All her jewels were still there.”

  “Okay. Go on.”

  “That’s everything. She took her last breath a few seconds before the ambulance got there and after that, things get all mixed up for me. The house was full of cops.”

  “Who’s the detective in charge of the case?”

  “Someone they call Alwaar.”

  “Of course. He interrogated you?” the lawyer asked, annoyed.

  “Yes, that night until dawn. They told me to go to the station the next morning but as soon as I got there, they accused me of trying to flee simply because I was late.”

  “Did they use any kind of violence to get a confession?”

  “No, but I think they’re convinced I’m the killer. I was surprised they let me go and told me to wait for them to call.”

  “Because they don’t have any proof yet,” said the lawyer. “It’s in their interest for you to be free and to place you under surveillance. Go on.”

  “That’s what happened,” said Othman, clearly uncomfortable. “I spent last night with Naeema in her apartment and this morning, the phone rang and she was talking with Selwa who told Naeema the police went to the accountant’s office. . . .”

  “Do they know Selwa told you about the contents of the will?” interrupted the lawyer.

  “No, I don’t think so. Selwa warned Naeema on the phone not to mention her name, even if things get rough. Maybe the police visited the accountant as part of their investigation and when they found out I’m the sole beneficiary, it proved to them that I have a strong motive for killing my wife. They then came to Naeema’s apartment to arrest me.”

  “This proves they were keeping you under surveillance,” said the lawyer. “But you got away from them.”

  “Naeema was about to go to the station because Alwaar went to her work yesterday and told her to come by today. After she got Selwa’s call, she broke down and started crying. I knew how serious the situation was and warned her not to mention Selwa’s name. I left but before I went down the stairs, I heard footsteps coming up and I knew immediately it was the cops. Instead of heading down, I went up to the roof of the building, jumped to the next one, went down the stairs, and then left through the garage. I was wandering around and then sat down at a café to collect myself and read the papers. That’s when I saw your picture and the article you wrote. And that’s how I got the idea of coming here.”

  The room became silent.

  “The real problem, in my opinion,” said Othman all of a sudden in a terrified voice, “is the fingerprints.”

  “Do you mean your prints are on the knife?” asked the lawyer, surprised, looking closely at him.

  “Maybe I wiped them off. Maybe not. That’s what worries me. I never saw someone dying before and I was in shock. I couldn’t refuse Sofia when she was begging me with her eyes to pull the knife out of her stomach. I didn’t think she’d die. I also didn’t think things would turn against me. That’s why I didn’t notice if I wiped my fingerprints off the handle. Maybe I did. I just can’t remember.”

  “Honestly, I don’t get you,” said the lawyer, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You know you’re the prime suspect in your wife’s murder, but you spend the night at your lover’s apartment. You remind me of Marcel in Camus’s The Stranger. You’ve read it, right?”

  “Yes,” said Othman with a faint smile. “But Sofia’s not my mother.”

  The lawyer liked the response.

  “Let’s cut to the chase,” he said, as if giving a presentation in court. “You want me to help you and not treat you like the others. In this profession of mine, I don’t always wait to hear the truth from my clients. But your problem’s very serious. You’ve got to tell me the whole truth, complete and unedited. Did you kill your wife?”

  “No, I didn’t. You’ve got to trust me.”

  The lawyer went back to his chair and sat down. He stayed silent for longer than seemed necessary.

  “When the cops have a prime suspect like you,” he said finally, “there’s no way they’ll bother looking anywhere else. There’s a police saying that goes: ‘Look for the one who benefits from the crime.’ So for the sake of argument, if you’re convicted of the crime, who’s next in line for Sofia’s estate?”

  Othman mumbled some cryptic words and shook his head a number of times as if he didn’t hear him clearly.

  “Her son, Jacques,” he said absentmindedly. “But Jacques couldn’t be involved, first because he loves his mother and second because he was in Paris at the time of the murder.”


  “When was he here last?”

  “A week ago. He spent a few days with us and left.”

  “Does he usually visit his mother this time of year?”

  “No,” replied Othman after thinking a little. “He usually spends August here. In the past few months, he started talking more and more with his mother on the phone, about once a week, and she’d call him sometimes too.”

  “When’d they start calling each other more?”

  “Since she came back from France,” said Othman, confused. “Seven or eight months ago.”

  “Do you think that has any connection with his visiting outside the month of August?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “She ever talk with her son when you were in the room?”

  “Yeah. She’d pass on his greetings.”

  “You ever hear anything indicating a problem between them?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Why’d your wife go to France? Was there something pressing?”

  “Actually,” said Othman, “it wasn’t normal for her to go at a time like that. We usually go together once a year and spend a week in Paris during New Year’s.”

  The lawyer took a deep breath and paused for a moment to think.

  “When’d you learn about the will from this Selwa?” he asked.

  “Five or six months ago.”

  “You said your wife was in France seven or eight months ago, and you found out about the will after five or six. So it was after your wife got back?”

  Othman swallowed several times nervously. He took out a cigarette, fiddled with it between his fingers, and didn’t bother to light it. He was deeply immersed in thought.

  “I think so. Yeah, afterward.”

  The lawyer hit his hand on the edge of the desk and got up.

  “How well did you get to know this Selwa?” he asked, engrossed, pacing around the office.

  “Not at all. I’ve never even seen her. Everything I know about her is from Naeema.”

  “And when did Naeema meet her?”

  “After she joined the sports club.”

  “Hadn’t she met her before?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  The lawyer kept pacing around the office.

  “Did this girl ask for anything in return for telling Naeema the contents of the will?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “That’s strange.”

  The lawyer kept circling the room, absorbed in thought.

  “This girl’s a mystery,” added the lawyer. “If it’s true she only joined the sports club after Sofia set her will with the accountant, this means she got close to Naeema so she could tell her what was in the will. And Jacques, who told him in France what happened to his mother?”

  “Michel Bernard, one of Sofia’s dear friends. He’s an advisor at the French Cultural Center.”

  The lawyer sat back down behind his desk.

  “Tell me the addresses and phone numbers of all her close friends. And give me the accountant’s too,” he said, picking up a pen and piece of paper.

  Othman gave him all the information.

  “You’ve got to go and get a good meal,” Hulumi said in a strict tone. “Then go to the police station and turn yourself in. Don’t tell them anything about coming here. And watch out for Alwaar. He’s part of the old school and thinks any deception’s fair game.”

  “And if they find my fingerprints on the knife?” asked Othman anxiously.

  “I won’t discuss that with you now.”

  Othman got up after a moment’s hesitation, as if he didn’t want to leave. He threw himself suddenly across the desk and hugged Hulumi warmly.

  “Trust me,” he said in an affectionate tone. “I didn’t kill my wife.”

  He left the office without waiting for the lawyer to reply.

  10

  It was quarter past two when Othman got to the police station, which was almost empty since people don’t get back from lunch until two thirty. Nonetheless, a uniformed policeman quickly called out to Othman, led him down the hallway, and told him to sit on a chair next to Alwaar’s office. The cop went away for a moment and then came back, standing there as if pinned to the ground at the end of the hallway. It seemed he suspected Othman might change his mind and take off. Less than ten minutes had passed when Othman heard some noise and footsteps approaching. Alwaar and Boukrisha appeared with a group of about five men behind them.

  Alwaar opened his office door, smiling at Othman and moving his head menacingly. He motioned with his hand for Othman to enter, and Boukrisha shut the door behind them. He took off his jacket and sat down in front of his typewriter.

  “Let’s wait a bit to ask where our friend was,” Alwaar said to Boukrisha with his well-known heaviness.

  Othman stayed on his feet since no one had asked him to sit down. Alwaar scrutinized him and noticed how different his demeanor was from the previous time. Othman was calm and displayed no visible fear, as if he wasn’t feeling the terrible danger encircling him.

  “Sit down, sit down,” said Alwaar in a cautious voice.

  Othman sat down in a relaxed way. The detective and inspector exchanged a glance.

  “God gave you a chicken that lays golden eggs but you ruined it and you ruined yourself,” said Boukrisha harshly. “Were you so afraid of everyone running from the sight of you with your wife? You’re not even thirty-three and she was seventy-three.”

  “I’m innocent,” said Othman confidently, “and I maintain my innocence.”

  Boukrisha let out a ringing laugh.

  “Before you continue your lies,” said Alwaar, “you should know the lab confirmed that your fingerprints are on the knife used to kill Sofia.”

  Othman was struck and his face went pale.

  “Whatever the evidence against me,” said Othman as soon as he regained his composure, “I’ll maintain my innocence.”

  “In your case,” said Alwaar, “whether you’re innocent or guilty doesn’t matter. The evidence is against you. Your fingerprints are on the murder weapon and the motive is obvious: to speed up taking over the estate that the victim had willed to you. You were at the murder scene when the crime took place. What’s all this evidence lying about? You know the law and you know proof speaks for itself.”

  He stole a glance at his watch as if he had remembered something.

  “And in a minute,” he added, “I’ll have a special surprise for you.”

  Othman shuddered and thought about Naeema. Did she fall in their trap? He heard a knock on the door. It opened and an inspector appeared with another person. Othman was stunned and his eyes widened as he saw the cook, Abdelkader, come into the room. Alwaar asked him to sit down. He took a seat in front of Othman, looking at him with hatred and total disgust.

  “There is no power and no strength save in God,” he said mournfully.

  “When you called me,” said Alwaar to Abdelkader, “you said you have something important to tell us.”

  Abdelkader shook his head with grief and looked away from Othman.

  “You said Sofia was stabbed to death?” the cook asked.

  “Yes, that’s true,” said Boukrisha.

  “I discovered that the biggest knife we have at the restaurant is missing.”

  Without opening his mouth, Alwaar snapped his finger at Boukrisha, who got up, opened a drawer in an iron cabinet, and took out a file that he put in front of the detective. Alwaar flipped through a number of pages, pulled out a photo, and placed it in front of Abdelkader.

  “Is this the knife?”

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  Alwaar gave the picture to Othman.

  “Do you recognize this knife?” he asked.

  Othman took a quick look at it.

  “Yes, that’s the biggest knife at the restaurant.”

  “When’d you take it?” asked Alwaar.

  “I didn’t take it,” he said, his voice quivering.

  “I know when he took it
,” said Abdelkader, glaring at Othman. “It was the night he committed the crime. We all left the restaurant together and before we drove off, I saw Othman get into the car next to Madame and turn the engine on, but he turned it off and ran back into the restaurant.”

  Othman was stunned and his face went pale again.

  “Why’d you go back to the restaurant the night your wife was murdered?”

  Othman couldn’t open his mouth. He was frozen in his spot and his knees began shaking.

  “I didn’t go into the kitchen,” he said finally with a bitter smile on his lips. “I went back to the box to take some money I forgot there.”

  “I don’t know why you insist on lying,” said Alwaar in a chiding tone. “You’re a former student of the law and you know the legal code. All the evidence is against you and you’re still defiant. Why all this nonsense? Is it only to torture us instead of us torturing you?”

  Alwaar turned toward Abdelkader, thanked him, and told him to wait outside.

  “I’m innocent of Sofia’s murder,” said Othman, about to break into tears. “I’m begging you to listen to me. If I was the killer, why would I leave my fingerprints on the murder weapon? Why wouldn’t I wipe them off? Why’d I call the ambulance and the police as my wife was still dying in my arms? Why would I take the knife from the restaurant kitchen in front of a witness?”

  “What do you want us to say?” asked Alwaar, cutting him off in a mocking tone. “Since you’re asking these questions, you’ve got an answer for them. Whatever that may be, it won’t change what the witness said against you. And it won’t wipe your fingerprints off the knife. We’ve got all the evidence we need, whether you confess or not.”

  He turned away from Othman and ordered the inspector to start writing the arrest report.

  11

  The lawyer wolfed down a sandwich in his office and thought about the case for half an hour. He wasn’t a hundred percent convinced of Othman’s innocence but he wanted to proceed like any lawyer whose only job is to defend their client, regardless of whether they’re guilty or not. He thought he had to do everything he could to help Othman, because even if he was guilty and confessed to the police, he might be able to get a conviction of murder without intent or premeditation.