A Dead Man in Tangier

by Michael Pearce

  ‘No one, you see, has ever mentioned that as a possibility.'

  ‘That, in a place like Tangier, is telling. But if you have doubts, why don’t you ask Renaud? This, at least, is one part of the investigation which he will have researched thoroughly.'

  She went away for a moment to refill their glasses and Seymour sat thinking.

  ‘All right, then,’ he said, when she came back. ‘Let me try another thing on you. It is about Bossu himself. You told me, when I talked to you before, about Casablanca, and I realize now how important that was in the recent history of Morocco. And how important it was to Bossu.

  But there was another person to whom it was important too: Chantale’s father, Captain de Lissac. And between the two there was considerable animosity.'

  ‘No,’ said Monique.

  ‘No?'

  ‘On Bossu’s part, yes, perhaps. But on de Lissac’s part, no. I think initially he might not even have been aware of Bossu’s existence.'

  ‘You surprise me.'

  ‘Bossu always stayed in the background. He was active, yes, but behind the scenes. I think it quite likely that it was only afterwards that the Captain realized who he had been up against. Remember, he had never been to Casablanca before. He knew nothing about Casablanca people or politics, and probably didn’t want to. He was a soldier, and he saw things in clear-cut terms, right or wrong. To him it was a moral issue and not a political one. It was never as complicated as politics.'

  ‘And so he went straight ahead?'

  ‘That’s right.'

  ‘And crossed Bossu. And didn’t even know he had done it. Is that what you are telling me?'

  ‘Yes. I think so.'

  ‘Why, then, the animosity? Because from what I have been told there was animosity, and a lot of it.'

  ‘Yes, there was animosity. Bossu hated him. I don’t know why. It surprised me at the time. Why all this venom, I asked him? Because I quite liked de Lissac. He seemed a decent man. But Bossu nearly bit my head off. He shouted at me – something he did very rarely – and told me I didn’t understand these things, that I didn’t know anything about it. So after that I shut up. But I was surprised, yes, at the intensity of his feelings. I thought it was perhaps because he had slipped up and was angry with himself. But, yes, it was more than that.'

  ‘I wondered, you see, if there was some past history.'

  ‘Not that I know of. But there could have been. Look, why don’t you ask old Ricard. You know Ricard? He’s a –’

  ‘Yes, I know him.'

  ‘Well, he’s an old gossip but he’s been around a long time and there’s little about Tangier that he doesn’t know. Why don’t you have a word with him?'

  But first there was something else he had to do. He tried the barracks but they told him that de Grassac, along with most of the officers, was out training. Seymour was impressed by this but then learned that what the training was was for the pig-sticking that Saturday. So he went over to the Tent.

  The soldiers had just got back from their training and were seeing to their horses. Most of them were watching a long line of horses that were going past the Tent, escorted by some of Musa’s white-gowned riders and by Musa himself.

  ‘Beautiful, aren’t they?’ said Millet, who was standing beside Seymour. ‘I will say this for Musa, he breeds some of the best.'

  ‘They’re mounts for the army, are they?'

  ‘I wish they were. But I don’t think so.'

  Instead of entering the roped-off enclosure at the back of the Tent, the horses went on past and stopped at a point some distance away.

  ‘They’re for someone else,’ said Millet. He laughed. ‘Who is probably paying more.'

  Several of the officers had left their horses to study them. One of the officers strode across to Musa.

  ‘Who are those for, Sheikh Musa? I don’t suppose we could persuade you to think of the army?'

  ‘I’m delivering some to you tomorrow.'

  ‘They won’t be as good as these, though, will they?'

  Musa looked the horses over.

  ‘These are good,’ he said with pride.

  ‘A special price, too, I’ll bet!’ said someone.

  ‘Sheikh Musa, I’d pay a special price. I’d be prepared to go over the odds for one of these. Privately, never mind the army.'

  Sheikh Musa patted him on the arm.

  ‘I’ll look one out for you. Next week, when I’m over. But these are all bespoke.'

  He patted the officer again.

  ‘You’ve got an eye for a horse, Vibert, I know that,’ he said. ‘I’ll look one out for you.'

  ‘Where are they going?’ asked Seymour.

  ‘Down south, probably,’ said Millet. ‘Moulay would give his right arm for some of these.'

  Sheikh Musa overheard and turned on him fiercely.

  ‘They’re not going to Moulay!’ he said furiously.

  ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry, Sheikh Musa!’ said Millet hastily.

  ‘You only give a good horse to a good man!’ said Musa severely.

  ‘Right!’ said Millet. ‘I’m with you all the way on that. You know that.'

  ‘Well, I suppose I do,’ said Musa. ‘I just don’t like it to be thought –’

  ‘We don’t!’ said Millet quickly. ‘We really don’t. When I said south, I wasn’t thinking of Moulay.’ He turned to Seymour, anxious to deflect Musa’s wrath. ‘You’ve heard about Moulay, have you?'

  ‘The Sultan’s half-brother?'

  ‘By a slave girl!’ grunted Musa. ‘Not by a wife. And it shows.'

  ‘Causing trouble, I hear.'

  ‘It’s not the trouble he’s causing now,’ said Millet. ‘The army can contain that. It’s the trouble he might cause in the future. Isn’t that right, Sheikh Musa?'

  ‘If the French have their way.'

  ‘Oh, come, Sheikh Musa! I don’t think they like him any more than we do.'

  ‘Then why are they cosying up to him?'

  ‘But are they?'

  ‘Yes,’ said Musa shortly. ‘They are.'

  ‘Ah, well,’ said Millet, backing off hastily. ‘I wouldn’t know about that.'

  ‘The mistake they’re making,’ said Musa, ‘is changing the man they’re backing. They ought to stick with the one they’ve got. He’s no good, I agree, but you can’t be changing all the time. There’s got to be some consistency somewhere.'

  ‘You don’t supply mounts to caravans going down south, Sheikh Musa, do you?’ asked Seymour.

  ‘I used to. But not since Moulay got down there. Why do you ask?'

  Seymour decided to risk it.

  ‘I’m still on Bossu,’ he said. ‘And I think Bossu made several trips to the south. Taking money. For which he would need mounts.'

  ‘Camels,’ said Sheikh Musa. ‘Not horses.'

  ‘He would have needed a bodyguard, too.'

  He found Sheikh Musa studying him.

  ‘Taking money,’ said Sheikh Musa, ‘to Moulay. Is that right?'

  ‘I suspect so.'

  ‘Well, not on my horses.’ He was quiet for a moment or two. Then he said: ‘You’ve found that out, have you?'

  ‘I think so. I’m trying to confirm it.'

  ‘You don’t need to confirm it,’ said Sheikh Musa. ‘I’m telling you.'

  ‘If you say so, Sheikh Musa,’ said Seymour, ‘that has weight for me.'

  Musa continued to study him, then grunted.

  ‘I would have tried to see he didn’t get horses,’ he said. ‘Or camels, for that matter. But there are too many people in the game. Everyone’s running things down south. He would have got them somehow or other. The only way to stop someone like Bossu is the way someone did stop him.'

  He laughed.

  ‘You’re still looking for the person who did it, are you? Well, don’t look too hard. Whoever did it, did a good job.'

  Among Musa’s white-gowned men was the tall Arab, Ahmet, whom he had seen convoying horses through the middle of Tangier with Millet.
He went across to him.

  ‘Are you going to be busy again on Saturday, Ahmet?'

  There was a flash of white teeth.

  ‘As always when there is a pig-sticking.'

  ‘First, the pigs, and then the hunt. Is that right?'

  ‘That’s right,’ Ahmet agreed.

  ‘When you ride beside the hunt, keeping an eye open for those who fall, is there somebody doing the same on the other side of the hunt?'

  ‘Oh, yes. For sometimes a horse or a pig can run off in that direction.'

  ‘When the Frenchman came off, you were riding on the north side of the hunt, is that not so?'

  ‘That is so.'

  ‘Do you remember who were the outriders on the south side on that occasion?'

  ‘I do. Ibrahim and Riyad.'

  ‘Are they here?'

  Ahmet looked around.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘Will they be here at the pig-sticking on Saturday?'

  ‘Oh, yes. They are good men. I like to use them.'

  ‘I will speak to them then.'

  De Grassac came out of the Tent.

  ‘Good practice?'

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ De Grassac looked around. ‘Just the day for it,’ he said. ‘Fresh. Not much wind.'

  ‘That makes a difference, does it?'

  ‘Blows the sand up into your eyes. That doesn’t matter much. But sometimes it affects the horses.'

  ‘Do you think I could have a look at your lance?'

  De Grassac looked surprised but passed it to him.

  ‘Can you tell one lance from another?'

  ‘They’re all pretty much the same. Some are heavier.'

  ‘I remember you said that you’d got the lance that was used to kill Bossu?'

  ‘Yes,’ said de Grassac. ‘That’s right.'

  ‘Have you still got it?'

  ‘Yes. Of course. I’m keeping it in case anyone wants to look at it. Renaud, for instance, although so far he hasn’t bothered. But I don’t think it will help the investigation much. One lance is very like another. But if you would like to see it, why don’t you come up to the barracks? Tomorrow morning, say?'

  ‘Monsieur Seymour!'

  ‘Cher coll`egue!’

  ‘Again you find me here!'

  ‘And what better place to find you?’ said Seymour. ‘A Pernod, perhaps?'

  Several Pernods later:

  ‘And so, Monsieur Renaud, I come to you. Puzzled.'

  ‘Puzzled?'

  ‘If this had happened in England, that would have been the first thing I thought. A pretty woman, admirers, a husband in the way. The husband gets removed. Wrong, no doubt. But surprising? Not at all. What could be more natural?'

  ‘Ah, yes, Monsieur, but –’

  ‘A pretty woman, yes?'

  ‘Oh, yes!’ said Renaud fervently.

  ‘Admirers?'

  ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘I have heard them, you have heard them. Young men, men of action, soldiers used to violence. Would it be surprising if –?'

  ‘Well, no. But –’

  ‘That is the first thing I would have thought. If I had been in England. And are things so different in Tangier?’

  ‘Well, no, of course.'

  ‘That is what a man of experience would have thought straightaway, surely? And Monsieur Renaud is a man of experience, I said to myself. Surely he has thought that? Of course he has, I said to myself! This will be the first thing he looked into. And what has he seen? That is the question I asked myself. What has Monsieur Renaud seen? And what is he not saying!'

  ‘Well. Well . . .'

  ‘Come, Monsieur Renaud. We are colleagues. We understand each other, yes? You have looked into this and found something, and now you are not saying! Isn’t that true? Come, Monsieur Renaud!'

  ‘Well . . .'

  ‘Between ourselves.'

  ‘Well . . .'

  Renaud shifted uneasily.

  ‘The fact is, Monsieur, I have found nothing.'

  ‘Ah! You say that, but –’

  ‘No, it is true. I did wonder when I first heard – heard that Bossu was dead. I didn’t know the circumstances then, of course. It is true I did ask myself – but then I thought: no, it could not be, Juliette is spotless –’

  ‘Spotless, Monsieur?'

  ‘Yes, yes. It is true that she has her admirers –’

  ‘Ah!'

  ‘But she keeps them at a distance.'

  ‘On a string?'

  ‘Perhaps you could say that.'

  ‘And perhaps one of them was not content with that?’

  ‘Well, I don’t think any of them liked it, but –’

  He pulled himself together.

  ‘It was just a game. For her, at any rate. She was perhaps a little bit of a flirt. Perhaps. No, definitely. But, then, she was a woman. And aren’t all women like that? All Frenchwomen, at any rate.'

  Monsieur Renaud hesitated.

  ‘But perhaps not all Englishwomen? I do not know. I lack experience, alas. Personally, I have always found Englishwomen rather flat-chested. So perhaps they . . . But Frenchwomen –’ gathering confidence now that he was on familiar ground – ‘love to play. And Juliette is like that. Playful. She spreads her wings like . . . like a great, gorgeous butterfly –’

  ‘Gosh, yes!’ said Seymour.

  ‘– and draws men to her.'

  ‘Well, yes!’ said Seymour. ‘Of course! I can see that.'

  ‘But it is just play. Innocent play. Deep down her heart was true.'

  ‘Really?'

  ‘Yes. True to Bossu. So there was never any question –’

  ‘But, Monsieur Renaud, Bossu was often away. And in his absence –’

  ‘It is true,’ conceded Renaud, ‘that in his absence Juliette may have spread her wings a little wider than usual.'

  ‘And the officers came running.'

  ‘Well, Monsieur, you have to understand how it is in Tangier. For young men. Young Frenchmen, that is. They are far from home. And there are a lot of them. Perhaps you have not sufficiently appreciated that, Monsieur Seymour. There are soldiers everywhere in Morocco. It is not like that in England, no?'

  ‘No,’ said Seymour.

  There were soldiers in London, of course, and occasionally you saw them being thrown out of the public houses at closing time. But you didn’t actually see them much otherwise.

  ‘And perhaps not in France,’ said Renaud. ‘But here, in Morocco, it is different. There are soldiers everywhere. There have to be. This is not like France or England. It is a wild country, a frontier country. So there are soldiers everywhere. It is like one big garrison town. Lots of soldiers, but no women.

  ‘No women, Monsieur Seymour! Can you appreciate that? I can, I was a young man myself once. So when a beautiful butterfly spreads its wings –’

  ‘But, Monsieur Renaud, aren’t you supporting everything I said?'

  ‘No! No. For Juliette is not like that. She spreads her wings, but that is all. Giving her favours? No. If only,’ he said sadly.

  Behind him, as he walked back to the hotel, Mustapha and Idris were chatting.

  ‘You’ll see about the truck, then?'

  ‘I will. When will we need it for?'

  There was a pause.

  ‘In about a week’s time? I reckon it will all be over by then. Our friend here is increasingly looking like a dog that’s found its bone. Give it ten days to be on the safe side.'

  ‘Better not make it too long, Mustapha. I’m skint.'

  ‘Me, too. The old woman keeps saying, “When are you getting back to work, Mustapha?” “When this job’s done,” I say. “This is a question of honour.” “Honour doesn’t buy the bread,” she says. “And the children are beginning to complain.” “They’ve got to learn,” I say. “They’ve got to learn that honour comes first. You tell them that.” “I do, Mustapha, I do,” she says. “And that one day you’ll be proud of them.”’

  ‘Quite right!’ said Idris ap
provingly. ‘Tell the little buggers!'

  ‘“But,” she says –’

  ‘With women there’s always a “but”,’ growled Idris.

  ‘“But,” she says, “there’s another one on the way. And this is not a time to go short.”’

  ‘I hope it’s a boy,’ said Idris.

  ‘Oh, bound to be,’ Mustapha assured him. ‘I will say this for Fatima, she’s on a good run. Two boys already, and now probably a third. If she goes on like this, I could have a gang of my own. And then we’d be all right, wouldn’t we, Idris? We’d have a bit of muscle.'

  ‘We’d sort out bloody Ali Khadr,’ said Idris.

  ‘We would. And there’s another thing – you don’t mind if I say this, Idris? Isn’t it about time you settled down yourself? I mean, it’s all very well going to Mother Mina’s, but doesn’t there come a time when you’re wasting your seed?'

  ‘I have thought of that,’ acknowledged Idris. ‘The fact is, I’ve been waiting.'

  ‘You can wait too long, you know, Idris.'

  ‘Waiting to see if Khabradji’s got one on the way this time. And, of course, if she has, we’ll get married. Only I don’t want to marry her if she’s not – well, you need to be sure, don’t you? Sure she can have children.'

  ‘Well, there is that.'

  ‘I’ve wondered if I ought to wait a bit longer even then. Just to make sure it’s a boy.'

  ‘Well, Idris, these things are in the hand of God, and once you know she can bear one, I wouldn’t bother about the others. Even if the first is only a girl. I mean, she’ll be on the right lines, won’t she? And sooner or later it’s bound to come right and you’ll have a boy.'

  There was a silence.

  Then Idris said:

  ‘I think, as a matter of fact, Mustapha, that there could be one on the way right now.'

  ‘Well, that’s very good. That’s very good, Idris.'

  ‘But Khabradji is saying: now I’ve got to do my bit.'

  ‘But if one is on the way, haven’t you done –’

  ‘No, no, she means a house. And the things that go inside it. She’s already made a list. “That’s all very well,” I say, “but it’s all got to wait until I’ve made a hit.” “Go on and make a hit, then,” she says, “and don’t take too long about it.” So the fact is, the sooner we make a run, the better.'