“I know nothing about any photocopies. Furthermore, I can assure you, madame le juge, that if I had access to the medical records of any patient, I would not be entitled to communicate them without the customary legal requirements. I am duty-bound to respect the professional oaths that I made upon taking up my career as a doctor and pediatrician. Can I see you this evening?”
“No, Luc.”
“I miss you.”
“I’m very grateful for all your help.”
“We could take the children for a pizza and I’ll get a divorce.”
“I don’t want you to get a divorce, Luc. Please don’t make me angry when there are people looking, I need support.”
“I give you my support.”
“You’re a good man.”
“I’d like to have children of my own.”
“I’m not going to embark upon motherhood again.”
“I love you, Anne Marie.”
“I’m forty-two.”
“I’d love to be part of your life, be with you. The joys of married life—the smell of your smile, the touch of your perfume.”
“A juge d’instruction can’t have a sense of humor. It’s no good trying to make me laugh. I’m afraid, Luc …”
“Afraid of what?”
“I don’t want to see you any more.”
“I love you, Anne Marie.”
“I love my children.”
“You don’t love me?”
“I have two children who don’t want to share me with another man.”
“I’m attached to Fabrice. He needs a masculine presence in the house.”
“You really don’t understand?”
“Understand?”
“The masculine presence in the house is Fabrice and that is enough for me and my daughter. Fabrice, Létitia and Anne Marie—it’s a winning team. We don’t need anybody else, Luc. We don’t need you.”
79
Terrapin
As she placed her hand on the banister Anne Marie heard the familiar plop of a tortoise falling back into the water of the pool.
“You’ve been crying, madame le juge?”
She spun round as the woman stepped out of the shade. If it had not been for the cigarette between her fingers, Anne Marie would not have recognized Madame Théodore. Out of her American uniform, she looked older and very tired. “Your makeup’s smudged.”
Anne Marie said nothing but turned toward the lavatories on the ground floor of the palais de justice.
“I told you to take a lot of vitamin C for that cold.”
It was Monday afternoon, which meant divorce; estranged couples—haggard, betrayed wives and weary husbands not wanting to look at each other. Anne Marie had to barge between groups of lawyers, chatting and sweating in their black gowns. She entered the staff lavatory and went to the mirror. She saw the reflection of Madame Théodore coming up behind her. Anne Marie turned on the tap and ran cold water onto her hands.
“Why have you been crying?”
“That’s nothing to do with you.” Anne Marie spoke into her cupped hands, pale beneath the water.
“I know what it’s like to love someone and know there can be no future.”
“I couldn’t care less.” Anne Marie washed her face, then wiped it with a Kleenex from her bag. She noticed, incongruously, a sheet of a Dalloz law book lying on the grubby tiling of the floor. “I suppose you’ve come looking for me and I don’t suppose it’s to give me marriage counseling. I certainly hope not.”
“To apologize,” Madame Théodore said simply.
“Because you lied to me?”
She leaned against the edge of a chipped sink. “Because I could’ve been more honest.”
“More honest and saved me a lot of trouble? Saved me from alienating myself from my colleagues?”
The other woman said nothing. She put a cigarette to her lips and inhaled without taking her eyes from Anne Marie.
“You knew Rodolphe Dugain was homosexual, didn’t you?”
“Probably.”
“You knew or you didn’t know?”
Madame Théodore said flatly, “Rodolphe liked me and I liked him. I liked being with a man who didn’t feel the need to touch me.”
Anne Marie said, “I hear your husband likes teenage girls,” and immediately regretted the remark.
The wrinkled face seemed to age. “You’ve met my husband?” Madame Théodore was wearing jeans and a yellow silk blouse, neither of which was flattering to her middle-aged body. “You’ve met my husband, madame le juge?”
“He teaches my son at the lycée.” Anne Marie picked up her bag, opened it and took out the lipstick case smudged with Létitia’s fingerprints. She quickly applied red to her lips, a red that matched her eyes. “You must excuse me. There’s somebody waiting for me.”
Madame Théodore stepped in front of Anne Marie, blocking her way. “I came to see you. I wanted to apologize—but I discover you’re not interested in the truth.”
“A time and a place for everything. You could’ve told me the truth last week. You could’ve told me Dugain was homosexual.”
“I told you there was no sex between us.”
“With good reason. You don’t like sex—and Rodolphe Dugain was gay. You could’ve told me Rodolphe Dugain was being blackmailed because of his tastes in young men.”
“I just knew he was depressed.”
Pointedly, Anne Marie looked at her watch, “You didn’t know he was being blackmailed to keep quiet over the Ilet Noir project?”
“I know nothing about Ilet Noir.” Madame Théodore shook her head. “Rodolphe didn’t talk about that. He never talked about politics, or even about his television programs.”
“Oh, really?” Anne Marie interjected sarcastically.
“You know what he talked about?”
“I don’t think I care.”
“Death.”
“Now he’s getting some practical experience.”
“He wasn’t afraid of dying, but he talked about death. And he talked about his children and his wife; he said he didn’t want them to suffer. He was trying to protect them because he loved them very much.”
“You knew he was ill, didn’t you?”
Madame Théodore put a hand to her face. The cigarette between her fingers glowed as she inhaled. The eyes held Anne Marie’s.
“He was sick with AIDS and if you’d told me he’d killed himself because of it, you’d’ve saved me a lot of time. Saved a lot of bother for a lot of people but instead you come to see me now, here in the palais de justice, because you’re afraid what might happen to you. You’re afraid that—”
“AIDS? Rodolphe had AIDS?”
Anne Marie brushed past her, out into the patio of the palais de justice, where the terrapin were basking beside their turquoise pond.
80
Zorro
“No lawyer, Monsieur Desterres?”
Desterres held a leather case under his arm. He was dressed in green. Green trousers, a safari shirt with epaulettes and short sleeves, a green foulard tied at the neck. Green canvas shoes. He was sitting forward on the chair, his narrow shoulders stooped. “I thought we could come to some kind of understanding.”
She laughed.
“I don’t see what’s funny.”
Again Anne Marie laughed. “The wonderful thing about you politicians is you have no understanding of the machinery of justice. I’m a functionary of the state—and unlike politicians, I’m afraid I can’t make the rules up as I go along.”
Desterres turned his head to look at Trousseau who was sitting behind the typewriter, engrossed in his illustrated Bible. “I can be of use to you.”
“I know that, Monsieur Desterres. Otherwise I wouldn’t have asked the police to bring you in.” She put her bag in the drawer and sat down. “More to the point, can I be of any use to you?”
He looked at her.
“You’re facing several indictments. Eight years, at least. Obstruction of justice, fraud,
attempted fraud, non-assistance to persons in danger.” She gave him a bland smile. “You might have to put your political career on to the back burner for a few years. More if I can prove you murdered her.”
“Can you ask your greffier to leave the room?”
“I can’t change the rules just to suit you, Monsieur Desterres.”
“Madame le juge,” he said flatly, “I thought you wanted to know the truth.”
“Why this sudden change of heart?”
His fingers pulled at the end of green foulard. “You understand the meaning of loyalty.”
“I understand you’re scared.”
“Please ask this gentleman to leave the room.” The eyes looked at Anne Marie attentively, glinting slightly in the oblique afternoon light.
Anne Marie glanced at the Kelton; it was nearly three o’clock. When she looked at Trousseau, he had raised his head and was smiling at her. In silence he ran his finger along the line of his thin moustache. “Would you mind, Monsieur Trousseau, leaving the room for a few moments? You realize it’s highly irregular, but I believe Monsieur Desterres here wishes to communicate some information of a highly personal and confidential nature.”
“My pleasure, madame le juge.”
“Don’t go far as Monsieur Desterres will be making a signed statement and I will need you here.”
“Can I get you something to drink, perhaps, Madame?”
She shook her head. “You are most kind, Monsieur Trousseau.” Trousseau grinned, hitched up the crocodile belt and left the room, closing the door silently behind him.
“Why, Monsieur Desterres?” Anne Marie rose from her seat and switched on the ceiling fan. Then returning to the desk, she sat down and folded her arms against her chest. She looked at the man.
“Why what?” His face was immobile, devoid of emotion.
“A respected member of the community, you’re a politician with convictions, you’re concerned about the future of the département. Not the sort of person to act rashly. Intelligent, informed, politically committed. Before breaking the laws of our Republic, you’re the sort of man to weigh the pros and cons most carefully. Why did you decide to get involved in a cheap attempt at fraud?”
“Fraud?”
“Wasn’t that the idea? The bikini and the Polaroid photograph? That’s what it was all about, isn’t it? Ready identification, proof of Vaton’s identity. The silly girl was going to disappear, drowned off the beach at the Pointe des Châteaux. But she needed to leave proof of her death so her child would get the insurance.”
Desterres said nothing.
“Well, Monsieur Desterres?”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Of what?”
“Insurance.”
“It never occurred to you? The whole point of the foolish exercise—Agnès Loisel pretending to be the Vaton girl and then pretending to be carried out to sea and drowned? That never occurred to you?”
“I was doing her a favor.”
“Vaton?” Anne Marie laughed harshly. “You don’t even know her.”
“Geneviève.”
Anne Marie’s smile vanished quickly. “Mademoiselle Lecurieux?”
Desterres’s unblinking eyes remained on Anne Marie as he slowly nodded. “An old friend.”
“That’s not what you told me last time. You called her a boy scout.”
“Geneviève’s a boy scout—always has been, but she’s a good person.”
“She’s your friend?”
A movement of acquiescence.
“As I recall you said you met her six years ago, that she went off to Africa to pound millet and get back to her African roots.”
“Precisely.” Desterres crossed his legs. He was wearing green socks. He had placed the case on the floor; his hands were folded on his lap. “A long time ago she was interested in the environment. That was before she got involved with Medecins sans Frontières, when she was still living here in Guadeloupe. She was interested in protecting the environment—and I got to know her.” The eyes blinked once. “I’d hoped in Africa she’d find a husband.”
“Instead you discovered she was a lesbian.”
“I don’t think Geneviève Lecurieux’s like that.”
“Everybody has sexual desires, Monsieur Desterres.”
“Including investigating judges?”
Anne Marie leaned forward on the desk, her elbows on the wood. Overhead, the fan swirled calmly. With her index finger she tapped the wood. “I really don’t think, Monsieur Desterres, that your present position allows you to indulge in light banter.”
“Geneviève Lecurieux phoned me from Paris a month ago.” Desterres spoke calmly.
Anne Marie reverted to the more comfortable position, sitting back in the chair with her arms folded. Her eyes felt hot and tired.
“She intended to visit Guadeloupe for two weeks. She said she’d be coming to Tarare. She’s always liked me—the last boy scout.” The face remained immobile. “Later she phoned to say she had to go to Réunion for a congress, but that her friend would be coming out. Coming out alone.”
“Evelyne Vaton?”
He nodded. “Geneviève asked me to take her under my wing. Evelyne was a young, working single mother and a holiday in the West Indies would do her a world of good. She told me Evelyne’s father was originally from Basse-Terre. She also said …”
“Single mother? That’s not what her mother told me.”
“It’s what Geneviève said. She asked me to be kind to her. Evelyne’d suffered at the hands of her boyfriend …”
“And that she was a lesbian?”
“You seem to have a thing about lesbians, madame le juge. Perhaps you’re one yourself.” He shrugged. “Geneviève Lecurieux, Agnès Loisel, Evelyne Vaton—I don’t know if they’re lesbians. I don’t know if you’re lesbian. Nothing would surprise me and really, it’s got nothing to do with me.”
“You’re just a loyal, disinterested friend? Zorro to the rescue of these poor, unhappy damsels?”
He looked at her coldly, then let out his breath. “You are a woman, madame le juge, and like most women, you’re profoundly misogynistic.”
“Really?”
“You have little time for the other women who fall by the wayside. You’re the perfect woman, the perfect professional, the perfect mother but unfortunately, some women don’t always have such an easy time of it. It’s not always easy to be a woman.”
“Is that why you’ve been accused of rape?”
“Most women want to be loved by a man and nearly all women are willing to make sacrifices because they feel it’s worth putting up with someone who is selfish, who snores and who spends all his money on Gauloises or his Renault Twelve, who has folds of skin coming over his belt top, who doesn’t wash, who is going bald, who has bad breath.”
“My word, you’re a feminist.”
A cold smile. “Most women shut their mouths and make do with what they get. But women like Geneviève—women who with their good looks should be able to take the pick of the bunch—something frightens them and they look for affection elsewhere.”
“You generalize.”
“Geneviève finds love by being a boy scout, by going out to Africa and by helping the starving children. Vaton has a child on which to shower affection. And Agnès looks for love between the legs of other women.” He held up his hand. “It’s not for me to judge them.”
“That’s why you helped Loisel—because Geneviève Lecurieux phoned you? I find that very noble.”
“I make no claim to being noble. I simply try to be loyal. There are people who’ve helped me—and there are people I try to help. I was expecting Evelyne Vaton to come out from Paris and instead it was Agnès who approached me.”
“You knew Agnès, didn’t you?”
A slight nod of the head. “I’d met her once, when Dugain sent me looking for the black girl.”
“Marie Pierre Augustin?”
“Dugain had gotten involved with h
er husband, an ex-paratrooper who was trying to set up a garage opposite the university. Dugain had a thing for young black men but unfortunately for him, young black men rarely had a thing for an aging Martinique mulatto like Dugain.” The eyes were turned toward Anne Marie. “The young man got Dugain to give his wife a job and Dugain sent me to find the wretched woman at Dupré and that’s where I met Agnès.” The eyes blinked. “A bitch.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Agnès used me. She knew I was expecting the Vaton girl—I’d even phoned Geneviève’s parents in Basse-Terre—and she came out with this complicated tale about Evelyne Vaton. Something to do with a bank manager in France who was making her life hell.”
“The father of Evelyne’s child?”
“I should’ve phoned Geneviève but she’d already gone off to the Indian Ocean. So I agreed to help Agnès set up the disappearance. She had Vaton’s credit card and …”
“Monsieur Desterres, you expect me to believe you when you say you helped this woman set up her disappearance but you had no idea that the motive was fraud?”
“Believe what you like.”
“No.” Anne Marie banged her hand against the desk. “I’m not interested in beliefs. I want the truth.”
Desterres suddenly and quite unexpectedly started to laugh.
“I don’t see what’s funny.”
“You, madame le juge. You think you can frighten me but I’m not scared. I don’t want to go to prison. You seem to think you can bully me into sharing your own petty values. You can’t understand, can you?”
“You are a noble person, Monsieur Desterres, genuinely interested in helping your friends.”
“If I wanted money, you honestly think I’d run a crummy, run-down restaurant on a nudist beach? You think I’d fight for the environment?”
“Dugain made money through the environment.”
“Believe what you choose to believe, Madame Laveaud. There’s no point in my telling you I was trying to help a friend of Geneviève’s. So I won’t bother.” He shrugged one shoulder. “However, you’ll believe me when I tell you I regret ever having met Agnès Loisel. The woman was supposed to spend the day at the Pointe des Châteaux, running into the sea from time to time, getting herself noticed. Instead, at about eleven o’clock, she turned up at my place at Tarare with that stupid Indian banker in tow and with her silly Polaroid camera.”
The Honest Folk of Guadeloupe Page 29
