The Honest Folk of Guadeloupe

by Timothy Williams

  “These girls all have a thing for bankers.”

  “What could I do? She didn’t want to go ahead with the plan. It was her plan all along. Hiring the car, using Evelyne Vaton’s credit card to buy the camera and the cheap bikini, even lying to Geneviève’s parents. Her plan—a plan she’d worked out with Vaton—and now she’d roped me in, she got cold feet. I told her to go back with the Indian to the Pointe des Châteaux.”

  “Did she?”

  “We took a few photographs and then she went off before midday, but within couple of hours later, she turned up again at Tarare.”

  “You lost your temper with her?”

  The eyes looked at Anne Marie. “Wouldn’t you? She’d left the car in the parking lot at the Pointe des Châteaux. The Indian had disappeared and I couldn’t run her back and she refused to walk the three kilometers again. Said she was tired. Tired and sun-sick.”

  “She stayed in your restaurant?”

  “Nobody saw her there. She lay down and she fell asleep immediately. Heaven only knows how because during the day it’s unbearably hot inside. That’s where she slept, at the back. And that’s where she killed herself.”

  “With an overdose?”

  Desterres shrugged.

  “You didn’t do anything?”

  “I thought she was asleep.”

  “The girl overdosed on cocaine and you thought she was asleep.”

  “A little less arrogance, madame le juge. Loisel’d pissed me off. She’d used me and when I agreed to help her and her lover friend, for heaven’s sake, she started acting up. Of course I thought she was asleep. I wanted her to be asleep so I could drive back to Pointe-à-Pitre.”

  “At what time?”

  A hesitation. “After dark—at about seven. I went home but I left a message for her—there was food in the refrigerator and I left the key.”

  “You forgot all about her?”

  “I didn’t give Mademoiselle Loisel a second thought until Tuesday morning, when I found her dead. Dead—beneath a swarm of flies. Dead for over a day.” He looked at Anne Marie. The eyes blinked a couple of times is succession. “What else could I do but dump her and her bikini on the beach?”

  “You didn’t have to go through with the Evelyne Vaton rigmarole.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  “Why did you come here, telling your lies?”

  He shook his head. “How was I to know you could see through my inventions?”

  “You panicked?”

  “I didn’t panic, madame le juge. I felt ashamed of myself. Agnès had pissed me off and I’d wanted to punish the bitch and I knew perfectly well what I was doing when I left her there alone on an isolated beach. I knew what I was doing—I was even proud of myself. I wanted to teach the wretched woman a lesson.”

  “She died?”

  “By her own hand.”

  “Your fault.”

  “She was a stupid, egotistical bitch but she wouldn’t have died if I’d stayed with her. If I’d looked after her, if I’d just looked in on her—a young woman in the bloom of her life. Agnès would still be alive and instead I allowed her to die alone and abandoned.” He picked up his attaché case. “You’d better call in your greffier, madame le juge. There are some things I don’t like to admit in front of other people. Like all West Indians, I’m proud—possibly because deep down I’m not so sure of myself after all. Agnès Loisel was a scheming, selfish bitch, no doubt, but she was a human being and she was alive. Like you and me, she was alive on this earth.” Desterres clicked his fingers. “Now she’s gone. Gone forever because of my male pride.”

  81

  Invitation

  A lie.

  “The masculine presence in the house is Fabrice and that’s 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.”

  A lie that she believed at the moment of speaking. In the smart restaurant that gave onto the harbor, she had been so sure of herself, convinced she could survive alone, convinced she did not need him. Him or indeed anybody else.

  A lie because there had always been a man in her life. Papa, Jean Michel and then for the last four years Luc.

  A winning team?

  Only once had Anne Marie been alone. It was when she was pregnant with Létitia. After the discovery of the trunk, Jean Michel disappeared. Almost overnight, the man who had sworn his everlasting love in the Jardins de Luxembourg had moved out of her life and Anne Marie was overcome by a grief worse than when Maman had died. Fabrice was staying with his grandmother and Anne Marie took to her bed and for two days, she stayed in her room and wept until there were no more tears. On the third day, after having slept for nearly fourteen hours, she was woken by Létitia moving in her belly. Lying on her back, Anne Marie stared at the ceiling and she knew then a moment of intense euphoria. She would never be alone again.

  “We don’t need you, Luc.”

  After the frugal yet expensive meal she had left the restaurant She was not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

  The winning team.

  The afternoon had been unbearably long and now, at last, she was home with her children and Béatrice was clearing the table. The television was turned on to the evening news from RFO and there were traces of pineapple yogurt on the tip of Létitia’s nose. Fabrice was reading a surfing magazine under the table.

  The telephone rang and Anne Marie felt relief flood through her. Relief and guilt.

  Létitia slipped out of her chair and ran to pick up the handset. Apart from Luc, very few people had her ex-directory number.

  Fabrice spoke softly, almost inaudibly, without looking up. “Maman, stay with us tonight.”

  “For your brilliant conversation, Fabrice?”

  He raised his eyes in hurt silence as his sister handed Anne Marie the telephone. “A man,” Létitia said.

  “Le juge Laveaud?”

  She held the receiver to her ear.

  “Anne Marie, I hear you’ve been upsetting some important people.”

  “Good evening, Arnaud. How are you? How’s your wife? How are the children?”

  “I thought you decided to let the Dugain dossier drop.”

  “Important people? What important people?”

  “Your brother-in-law.”

  “I didn’t know Eric André was important.”

  “You asked for his passport.”

  “Dugain committed suicide.”

  “Then you needn’t bother Eric André, need you?”

  “As you wish, Arnaud.” She looked at Fabrice. “Now, if you don’t mind, I should like to get back to my supper. Unless of course—”

  “Quite frankly, I don’t give a shit about André—an upstart with more ambition than brains.”

  “Then why the phone call, Arnaud?”

  “You know who killed her?”

  “Her?”

  “The Pointe des Châteaux girl? You know how she died?”

  Anne Marie stood up and took the telephone into the kitchen, closing the door behind her. Béatrice was stacking plates into the washer.

  “An overdose of cocaine—she was staying with Desterres. At least, that’s where she died—in his bed at Mère Nature.”

  She could hear the procureur light up a cigarette. A Peter Stuyvesant. She could almost smell the nicotine of his breath over the line.

  “You’re going to arrest him, Anne Marie?”

  “We’ll need the Vaton girl from Paris.” She added, “As I understand it, the murdered woman and Vaton were having an affair and they wanted to get out of Paris and were thinking of going to Canada to start a new life. They wanted to set up their little ménage à trois—Vaton, Loisel and Vaton’s little baby. But they needed money—insurance money, so Loisel accepted to impersonate Vaton and pretend to drown at the Pointe des Châteaux.”

  “Instead she killed herself with an overdose?”

  “Precisely, Arnaud.”

>   “Good work.” Again the sucking sound of his cigarette. “You’ve been quicker than I thought. A lot quicker than I feared. You have proof?”

  “Desterres’s made a statement.”

  “But no arrest?”

  “Desterres lied to me, he set us all up with the Vaton thing and he deliberately went ahead with the mysterious disappearance.”

  “Why?”

  “The idea cocaine was being used at his restaurant.” Anne Marie caught her breath. “He’s a strange person—a cold fish, but I believe he has a sense of honor. At least I’d like to think so. Something about him that makes my flesh creep, but at the same time …”

  “A lot of people make your flesh creep.”

  “You noticed?”

  “No arrest, Anne Marie?”

  “I can wait.”

  “Probably a good idea.”

  “Arnaud, I’d like to remind you that a few days ago you were pressing me to arrest Desterres.”

  “That was before the Collège Carnot thing and before the Dominican got himself killed. Fortunately we’ve come out of the Carnot siege fairly well.”

  “Sometimes I wonder who you work for, Arnaud.”

  “Guadeloupe was in a state of high anxiety following the girl’s death and in next to no time we identified the culprit—who also happened to be a foreigner.” He gave a brief, smoker’s laugh. “That can suit us all a lot.”

  “Can suit you, Arnaud.”

  “The préfet’ll be only too happy to impose more stringent rules on immigrants. The mayor of Pointe-à-Pitre can count on central funding for the renovation of the ghetto at Boissard—and kicking out the Dominican rastas and dealers. Not a bad thing. Even you will agree that can’t be bad. And …”

  “You want me to forget about Desterres? Arnaud, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Bastia, Parise and the gendarmerie have come out of all of this like Vestal Virgins rising from the dog shit. Good for their public image—because nobody really likes the gendarmes but now everybody—black and white alike—is glad our gallant gendarmerie can restore peace and security to the département. Security so that we can get on with our lives. Security for the tourist industry.”

  “And Desterres?”

  “You’ve done a good job.”

  “Desterres, Arnaud?”

  “Do as your conscience dictates. We all have complete faith in your professionalism and your common sense.”

  “Thank you, Arnaud.”

  “Of course, you’ll be destroying Desterres’s career as a politician.”

  “I’d thought of that.”

  “You’ll be making a lot of enemies among the forces of order. Parise’s very fond of you—you’ve done some good work in coordinating our police forces. Good to see you getting on so well with the gendarmerie.”

  “I like Parise.”

  “It’d be a shame to squander the good rapport you’ve built up. Quite honestly I don’t think the préfet would necessarily be upset if Desterres got on with his life.”

  “There’s the problem of bruising, Arnaud.”

  “What bruising?”

  “Desterres doesn’t have an alibi for the evening. According to Bouton, the cuts to the lower part of her body and the bruising occurred after death—and Desterres was the only person to see her.”

  It was as if she had not spoken. “Anne Marie, the ball’s in your court. Desterres can be useful for the future wellbeing of this island. Our present préfet is not too keen on the way the shoreline is being transformed into hotel beaches and the département needs some kind of ecology movement now that Rodolphe Dugain is dead …”

  Anne Marie laughed.

  “You’re going to be reasonable,” Arnaud said cheerfully.

  “Reasonable?”

  “Act as you think best. As the investigating judge, you have complete freedom.”

  “Of course, of course.”

  “I’m glad you agree with me.”

  A long silence over the line.

  “Well?”

  “Well what, Arnaud?”

  “Do you agree with me, Anne Marie?”

  “A favor I need to ask you.”

  She heard him breathe on the cigarette. “I’m listening,” he said tentatively.

  “I need a holiday.”

  “A holiday? At this time of the year?”

  “I would like to get away, take the children to France, take them to see their aunt in Brittany.”

  “Something we could discuss over a meal, perhaps.”

  “I need to bring forward my administrative vacation.”

  “You want to leave Guadeloupe for six months, Anne Marie? You’re joking, of course.”

  82

  Les Bonnes Gens de la Guadeloupe

  Tuesday, May 22, 1990

  “You’re looking for me?” Her face appeared tired, the eyelids dark. There were wrinkles about the soft brown eyes. She had placed a pile of dossiers on the table.

  Anne Marie moved toward the large desk. “How are you, Madame Dugain?” The plastic cube containing various pictures of Lucette Salondy’s relatives had not been removed, but had been placed next to the green telephone.

  For a moment the expression was blank, devoid of emotion, while the eyes searched Anne Marie’s face. “The juge d’instruction?”

  Anne Marie held out her hand. “I’m Madame Laveaud. We met last week.”

  Madame Dugain took the proffered hand coolly, keeping her distance. Then Anne Marie sat down on the other side of the table.

  A photograph of Mitterrand hung on the wall between a framed poster of the Declaration of Human Rights and a calendar from a local garage. The cables leading into the light switches were unconcealed and had been tacked into the wall with staples. “I have just been to see Lucette Salondy.”

  “Lucette Salondy’s my cousin.”

  “Then we are related, Madame Dugain.” Anne Marie tried to smile. “Lucette is my sister-in-law—or rather the sister of an ex-husband.”

  “How is she?”

  “I didn’t get to see her.” Through the open shutters, Anne Marie could see the blossoming flame tree. “She’s gone into a coma, I’m afraid.”

  Madame Dugain leaned her head wearily against the headrest. “Oh.”

  “The doctor said it’s the sugar in her blood.” Anne Marie nodded slowly. “I think she is going to die.”

  The two women were alone. There was silence in the headmistress’s office. Somewhere children were singing. In another building a class burst into muffled laughter.

  “I don’t think your cousin wants to live anymore.”

  “There are times when I think Lucette loved Rodolphe as much as I did—as much as I do.” Madame Dugain looked at Anne Marie. “And now she’s going to leave me. She’s going to die, too.”

  “When I came to see you last week, I spoke to her. She was talking about her retirement and she sounded very cheerful. Excited about her plans for the apartment on the beach. Excited about being more involved with my children. But she was acting out a rôle—that’s the impression I got.”

  “Lucette’s too old to act.” Liliane Dugain folded her arms against her chest. She was wearing a white blouse. A necklace, matching gold earrings. Her black hair had been pulled back into a tight bun. “She should’ve married and had children.”

  “The pupils here were her children.”

  “She loved them with all her heart. I feel like an impostor, sitting here in her office. But what else can I do? The rectorat sent me a telegram telling me to fill in. My God. I do hope she comes back.” Her lipstick was a matte red. White, regular teeth.

  “Why did your cousin never marry, Madame Dugain?”

  “There was a man. A long, long time ago. When I was her pupil here, Lucette was a beautiful woman and there was more than one boy in my class who had a crush on her—and a girl I could mention, too—with her almond eyes and her beautiful skin.”

  “Why didn’t she marry?”

  “
I don’t know who it was. Somebody from Martinique, I think, somebody who was already married.”

  “She could have married an honest man from Guadeloupe.”

  In a small glass jar, there was a solitary anthurium.

  Madame Dugain smiled. “Lucette would have made an excellent mother.”

  “Children need to know they’re loved. Love is time, Anne Marie.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  Anne Marie said, “Lucette felt I wasn’t spending enough time with my own children.” She leaned forward and tapped the side of the plastic cube. “My daughter.” Children in white dresses, holding flowers and squinting into the sun. Létitia stood at the edge of the group. She looked at the camera with her head to one side. She was holding a bouquet of tropical flowers. Inquisitive, self-assured eyes. “The apple of her aunt’s eye.”

  Coldly, Madame Dugain asked, “And my husband?”

  Anne Marie did not speak, her eyes still on Létitia.

  “My husband was not a criminal.”

  “I never said he was, Madame Dugain.”

  The eyes flared with brief anger. “He was hounded to death.”

  “You knew he was ill.”

  “Ill?”

  “He took his life.” Anne Marie touched Madame Dugain’s arm. “The dossier will be allowed to drop because I don’t think any good can be achieved by continuing. Your husband was under great stress.”

  “Ill?” Her eyes were damp, the corners of her mouth twitched. “My husband and I were happy. He wasn’t ill. There was nothing wrong with Rodolphe. He was hounded to death by people who were jealous of his success.” She looked at Anne Marie defiantly. “We’d been married for seventeen years.”

  “Yes.”

  “He loved me—and he doted on his children. He doted on all the children, those he had with me and the children from his first marriage in Martinique.”

  “He didn’t want to upset you,” Anne Marie said. “Some sort of cancer—or at least, that’s what the doctor told me.”

  “Rodolphe loved me and he loved the girls.” A shrug. “Two lovely children. I married someone who was many years older than me, madame le juge. That kind of age difference isn’t so very common but I was lucky. I wanted a companion, a friend and I married a wonderful man. Somebody who could have been my father. You see, between Rodolphe and me there was total equality. My husband was a kind, good, highly educated man, someone who respected women, who not only gave me two lovely daughters but also gave me the best years of my life.”