Lafitte shrugged and fell reluctantly into step beside her. He carried a leather case. He was peeved and Anne Marie smiled to herself.
“It’s the bikini that baffles me.” They went past the church, past the newly renovated flower market and onto the boulevard. The morning rush hour—parents taking their children to school—was over, but there were still a lot of cars.
“Why, madame le juge?”
“A bikini top—the one thing she’s not wearing in the photograph. And it’s the only piece of evidence we have.”
A buxom woman, in the blue uniform of a traffic warden and with an umbrella under her arm, showed Anne Marie a golden-toothed smile.
Lafitte chose to dawdle as they went past a dark bar giving off the heady emanations of rum, molasses and freshly ground coffee. He took a cigarette from the packet in his shirt and stopped to light it.
Anne Marie, waiting for him, said, “On the other hand, I really can’t see much point in bringing Desterres in.”
Lafitte inhaled, then quickened his pace. “Desterres’s not telling everything he knows.”
“Unless he killed the girl, what else can he know?”
“He came to see you, don’t forget. And he had the bikini top he’d carefully washed.”
“Bouton’s evidence goes against it being a sex killing.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t a sex murder.”
“The only reason we’re interested in Desterres is precisely because he has a record of sexual aggression. If he didn’t rape her, what could possibly be Desterres’s motive?”
“The fact she wasn’t raped doesn’t mean the murderer didn’t want to rape her, madame le juge.”
“Trousseau thinks Desterres could have lost his head over a sexy girl?”
“Desterres or any other West Indian male.” He pulled the cigarette from his mouth. “Though Vaton doesn’t appear particularly sexy.”
“A nice body, Monsieur Lafitte.”
“More important, she’s white.”
“She wasn’t white.” Anne Marie resumed her walking.
“Nobody’d notice the difference. Light-skinned enough to pass for white—and that’s all that matters. Let’s hang onto Desterres, madame le juge, until we’ve got other leads. Desterres’s alibi for Sunday evening is far from watertight—he claims he was at his restaurant, but it’d already closed and there’s nobody to corroborate his whereabouts. We don’t know where Richard is so let’s make do with the lead we’ve got. At least we can be seen to be doing something.”
“Not the prime goal of my job,” Anne Marie remarked tartly.
Lafitte snorted tobacco smoke. “You know what Trousseau’s like.”
“Trousseau?”
“He’s got a thing about white women.”
“Everybody on this island has a thing about white women.”
“Trousseau’s an Indian, and Indians don’t like blacks. There’s always been rivalry between the two races, ever since the landowners brought coolies in from India after slavery was abolished. Indians tend to marry among themselves—or with a white, if they get the chance. That’s why Trousseau married his French woman.”
“Not because he loved her?”
Lafitte smiled mirthlessly. “That’s why he’s now divorced.”
“Divorced? Monsieur Trousseau never told me that.”
Lafitte took a long, deep breath on the Bastos cigarette before throwing the stub away. “Trousseau keeps his cards close to his chest.”
“Most men do.”
Lafitte raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth simultaneously. “You don’t have many illusions, madame le juge.”
“I was married for twelve years.”
“Judging from the photo, Vaton wasn’t sexy—despite what Trousseau might say. White, black or brown—Desterres can pick and choose. He’s got money. He can find better than Vaton any day.”
“You can’t know what she was like in bed.”
“Once you put the lights out, madame le juge, all women are the same in bed.”
“You don’t have many illusions either.”
“When you get to my age …”
They crossed the road. A Polo coupé went past and hooted. Beside the middle aged driver sat a black girl, straightened hair blowing in the wind. Bright lipstick, bright teeth. Lafitte put one hand to his shield his eyes and with the other, he waved. “The sly old bastard.”
“Who?”
“Jean Claude Pichon gets them all,” Lafitte said admiringly. “Pichon used to be with Renseignements.”
“You don’t think Desterres’s guilty?”
“He’s got enough money and enough power to get what he wants.”
Anne Marie glanced at him. “You don’t have a great deal of esteem for women.”
“Because I say women are attracted by money and power?” They had come to the rue Vatable and had to step past a couple of women who were selling bananas and mangoes from their curbside stall. Their huge chests battled with stretching, grubby T-shirts. The women shared an ancient weighing machine and jabbered in a falling English patois. “Nice Dominica lime, darlin’.”
“I am a realist and I have unlimited esteem for the power of money.”
Anne Marie said, “Desterres’s twice been accused of rape.”
For a fleeting moment, Lafitte looked her in the eye. “I wouldn’t take those rape things too seriously. Could’ve been a girl trying to get even, trying to get her own back for promises Desterres had reneged on. To get a girl into your bed, you’ve got to promise her a white wedding—even if she’s already got a kid.”
“A misogynist.”
“Misogynist? Desterres is a fornicator. He can afford to be—he’s got money and he’s not married. I’d love to be a misogynist like him.”
“You really do sound like a misogynist, Monsieur Lafitte. You don’t much like women, do you?”
“Why do you say that? I’ve always respected you. I’ve always admired you, madame le juge.”
“You don’t like women, you don’t like blacks, you don’t like Indians. It’s hard to see just who does meet with the Lafitte seal of approval.” He did not reply as he walked along beside her. With his hands in his pockets, the case tucked beneath his arm, he stared at the sidewalk that had begun to give off steam in the morning heat.
“Is there anybody you actually like, Monsieur Lafitte?”
Silence.
“Well?”
“Are you interrogating me, madame le juge?”
“Anybody who meets with your approval?”
“I admire you.”
“Apart from me.”
“My wife is West Indian.”
“Your wife?”
He nodded, still not looking at her.
Anne Marie smiled, visibly softening. “We’ve worked together on and off for nearly ten years, Monsieur Lafitte—and I always thought you were a bachelor. You’ve not once mentioned your wife.”
“I keep my private life and my job separate.”
“You must introduce us.”
“A girl from Sainte-Anne.”
“Black?”
He grinned. “After a while, you don’t notice.”
“Even if you don’t turn out the lights?” She touched his arm. “You must have beautiful children.”
“No children, madame le juge.”
They had reached the end of the Chemin des Petites Abymes and were within sight of the hospital.
“If Desterres was motivated by sexual desires, why do you want me to hang on to him?”
“Desterres’s a politician. Politicians are all congenital liars—otherwise they wouldn’t be politicians. When somebody like Desterres comes to see you at seven in the morning and volunteers information, you know he’s protecting himself.”
They laughed. As Anne Marie stepped from the sidewalk, Lafitte held out his arm to give her support. The policeman’s gentleness surprised her.
24
Sunkist
“I see no re
ason for the SRPJ to be hostile.” She screwed the top back onto the spray and slipped it into her bag.
“I like your perfume, madame le juge.”
They were sitting on a bench outside the hospital. The concrete slab was cold beneath her Cacharel skirt. Lafitte had placed the attaché case between his feet. One hand was in his pocket, the other held a packet of cigarettes.
They watched the arrival of taxis in front of the main entrance. Although it was still too early for visiting hours, several people, well-dressed and unsmiling, arrived carrying flowers.
“Anything’s better than Vicks vapor rub.” She clicked her tongue in irritation. “Why the hostility?”
Lafitte had taken out a cigarette. “Madame le juge, I don’t know anybody at the SRPJ who’s hostile. I don’t know anybody, either, who sees the need for your enquiry.”
“Dugain committed suicide at a time that three SRPJ officers were searching his offices.”
“So what?”
“No witness to his death. There are people who question the truth of the police allegations.”
Lafitte squinted, his head to one side as the cigarette smoke rose. “People believe what they want to believe. That’s something that you learn about Guadeloupe.”
“My job’s to get to the truth.”
“You question the honesty of the SRPJ?”
She allowed herself a smile. “I’ve never questioned your honesty, Monsieur Lafitte, if that’s what you mean.”
“Once you’ve got the Vaton killing cleared up …”
“Cleared up?”
“Once you’ve got it sorted out to your satisfaction, you intend to resume your enquiries into Dugain’s death?”
“Not a question of resuming—it’s a question of priorities.” She looked at him quizzically. “Why d’you ask?”
Here, on the top of the hill, the wind was stronger; the palm trees creaked in the humid morning breeze. Pleasant weather at a pleasant time of the day. She dreaded returning to the hospital basement. Her sensible shoes felt damp although they were quite dry.
“Why do you ask, Monsieur Lafitte? Are you worried?”
He played nervously with the packet of cigarettes in his hand. “Dugain was a bastard. Better that he’s dead.”
“There’s something bothering you?”
He threw the stub away and ground it out against the tarmac with the heel of his shoe. “You.”
“I bother you?”
Lafitte grinned, but the squinting eyes remained small and cold. “Worried for you, madame le juge, because over and above the professional relationship between us, I’ve always considered you a friend.”
“You’re very kind.”
“A friend with whom I’ve been able to work over many years.”
“You worry about me?”
“You’re not aware who Dugain was.”
“You knew him, Monsieur Lafitte?”
“You can only make enemies here. Enemies and a lot of trouble for yourself.”
“I think you’re trying to frighten me.”
“Dugain was a shit of the first order.”
“Answer my question—did you know him?”
“Never met him.”
“Then what’s the problem? I really don’t understand.”
“Lose a lot of friends by making unnecessary enquiries into his death.” Lafitte set the crumpled cigarette packet on the bench. “Madame le juge …”
“My friends are of my own choosing.” Anne Marie stood up and took a couple of steps forward. She could feel herself trembling. She stopped just short of the flowerbeds and a row of bedraggled poinsettia. A couple of empty cans of Sunkist lay on the fissured earth.
“I’m trying to give my advice, madame le juge.”
“Everybody’s merely trying to give me advice.” She turned to face him. “I take my own counsel. I know where my duty lies.”
Lafitte stood up. “Not as an officer of the SRPJ but as a friend …”
“A friend?”
“Madame le juge …”
She could feel his warm alcohol breath and cigarette smoke on her skin. For a moment she thought he was going to touch her and she shivered.
Anne Marie was relieved to catch sight of her greffier coming up the hill in the Peugeot.
“Here comes Trousseau.” She tried to make her voice cheerful. “Perhaps, then, Monsieur Lafitte, we can at least get the formal recognition of the corpse out of the way.”
25
Chamonix
“Always was an inquisitive child, our Evelyne. Never could mind her own business.” A proud smile. “Curious and inquisitive—just like her father. Always asking questions, always getting into trouble.”
“Her father’s still alive?” Anne Marie asked as together the two women went down the stairs.
“Never knows how to keep her mouth shut. Just like her father.” She added, “He’s dead now.”
“West Indian?”
“What?”
“Your husband was West Indian, Madame Vaton?”
“His family was from Basse-Terre.” The woman nodded. “Gérard grew up in Marseilles.”
“When did you last see your daughter?”
She frowned. “How d’you say she got herself killed?”
“She was murdered.”
“Yes, I know that.” No attempt to hide her irritation. “But how was she murdered?”
“We think it was cardiac arrest. Perhaps suffocation.”
“Nothing ever wrong with her heart.” Madame Vaton was indignant. “Who’d want to murder my daughter? A lovely girl like Evelyne.”
“Precisely what we’re trying to find out. That’s why I am personally so very grateful to you.”
The older woman stopped walking, her head tilted to one side. She smiled. “Only too pleased to be of help. You’re a kind person.”
Despite the oppressive eau de cologne that Madame Vaton was wearing, Anne Marie took her by the arm. The two men followed Anne Marie and Madame Vaton into the building. They slowly went down the stairs to the hospital morgue. “When did you last see your daughter, madame?”
“Some time ago.”
“Can you remember when?”
“My little girl no longer lives with me. I still keep her room ready—just in case.”
“In Paris?”
“I live in the fourteenth arrondissement but Evelyne never stays. Not now that she has a place of her own near the hospital.”
“Your daughter visited you?”
“She used to.” A hesitation, a hint of regret. “She was always closer to her father than me. And since Gérard died … But she rings. At least once a week, she makes a point of phoning. She’s a good daughter at heart, our Evelyne.”
“At heart?”
“We all have our faults, don’t we?”
“You’ve seen your daughter recently?”
“At Christmas.” Madame Vaton nodded like a thoughtful bird. “And she came again in February. That’s right, it was in February, because she said she was going for a week to Chamonix.”
“Alone?”
“With a friend.” Madame Vaton hesitated an instant. “My daughter said she was going skiing with a friend.”
“A friend—or her boyfriend?”
“I’ve never met him.” Madame Vaton shook her head vigorously. “A lovely girl—but she keeps her secrets. I suppose she gets that from me. I like to talk and I like being with people—that’s why I became a hairdresser. I like the contact with people but I always feel some things are best kept to yourself. What do other people need to know about me? About my life? It’s not that important, after all. You understand that, don’t you?”
“You have the name of the boyfriend, Madame Vaton?”
Again she shook her head. “You know, I don’t like to interfere. She’s a big girl now—a grown woman.”
“What—if anything—did your daughter tell you about him?”
“Jean Philippe or Jean Marc or Jean Michel—she m
ust’ve mentioned his name, but it wasn’t very serious between them. She said he was a nice boy. A young girl, she’d just qualified as a nurse, our Evelyne, she didn’t have time for men. Just like me—I didn’t get married until I was thirty-five.” The woman shrugged. “I probably never would have if I hadn’t met Vaton. We were working on the same ship, you know. He was near retirement, we met and then we went to live in Paris.”
“Evelyne was your only daughter?”
“I come from a big family and I spent most of my childhood looking after my brothers and sisters. Just the one daughter—that was enough.”
“Why did you become a hairdresser?”
“It’s important to look your best, isn’t it?”
“You never wanted to have other children?”
“Having children?” she said, as if it were the first time the idea entered her head. “There are so many other things in life that are just as important for a woman, I’m sure you’ll agree.” A pause as she reflected on her own past. “I was thirty-five when I had Evelyne.” A nod of the head. “I can’t complain. Evelyne’s a good child. Headstrong and inquisitive—but a good child who loves to help people. That’s why she became a nurse. I left home and went out to work because it was a way to escape. But Evelyne …” She shook her head. “Always wanting to help people. So unselfish.” A reflective pause. “My daughter’s dream was to become a doctor. But that costs a lot of money and we couldn’t keep her at school for ever, could we?”
“This man—Jean Pierre or Jean Marc—did he work at the hospital with her?”
“No idea.” Madame Vaton shrugged again. “My daughter doesn’t talk about that sort of thing.”
“Her private life?”
“Sex, sex, sex.”
Anne Marie smiled politely. “I beg your pardon.”
“There really are more important things in life than sex. Everybody seems to be obsessed with sex nowadays. You look at the television, you see the young people, you’d think sex’s all that mattered in life. There are other things.”
“Very true.” Trousseau smiled.
The woman beamed at him happily.
“What other things, madame?”
“Jesus.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Jesus,” she said. “Our Redeemer.”
The Honest Folk of Guadeloupe Page 9
