The Honest Folk of Guadeloupe by Timothy Williams Read Free Book Online Page A

informers in the ghetto.”
    “The SRPJ has informers in Boissard. We don’t go in for that sort of thing.”
    “Perhaps you should.” She clicked her tongue sharply, in the West Indian manner. Turning back to Lafitte, Anne Marie went on, “Boissard, Pointe-à-Pitre—see if you can find anything there, Lafitte. Anybody mysteriously scratched, grazed or covered in blood, any external bruising that could be the result of the victim putting up a fight.”
    “In the ghetto?” Lafitte asked in mild surprise.
    “Use stick and carrot.”
    “A reward?”
    “Whatever gets results.” She coughed. “Then, gentlemen, I think—”
    Lafitte said, “I’ve brought Desterres’s dossier, just as you asked.”
    “If he’s got a history of sexual violence, it’ll be useful to know how he operates. For the moment, let’s do nothing more provocative than keeping a tab on him. A man like Desterres can always afford lawyers—and it’s best to keep lawyers at arm’s length as long as possible.”
    Parise said, “A man who’s got money can always buy women—he doesn’t need to rape them.”
    “But he has in the past. Go to Tarare. He gave me his address in town—but Desterres said he often sleeps at Tarare rather than driving back home to Pointe-à-Pitre. Check his car.”
    “I’ll need a warrant.”
    “You’ll have your warrant,” Anne Marie said.

14
Court Bouillon
    He did not wait for Anne Marie to be served, but sliced the
boudin
and began to eat.
    “
Bon appétit
, Eric.”
    He nodded. The air was very chilly in the dining room and the table Eric André had reserved was just beneath the air conditioner. Anne Marie shivered.
    The waitress set down plates of salad and for the next half hour, Anne Marie and Eric ate in silence, apart from an occasional remark concerning the food. Eric had ordered a court-bouillon of fish with lentils and rice. From time to time he rubbed the fish with sliced pepper.
    Anne Marie took the
plat du jour
of octopus, which she found too salty. The white wine was palatable.
    “Not the best food in the world,” Eric admitted as he stirred his coffee. “This place has the advantage of doing real Creole cooking rather than the bland compromise you get in a lot of the hotels.”
    “You hope to get the tourists down from America and Canada?”
    “It’s precisely the bland, Coca-Cola variety of food they prefer.”
    Anne Marie’s coffee was served in a cracked cup. “Why did you want to see me, Eric?”
    “Always nice to see my sister-in-law, Anne Marie.”
    “Eric, I used to be your wife’s sister-in-law but that was before the divorce.”
    He seemed surprised. “I’m not divorced.”
    “Before my divorce, Eric.”
    He wiped his lips with the stiff white napkin. He had a high forehead and he had started to go bald. He had the brown eyes that Anne Marie liked in West Indians. Yet despite the firm jaw and the brown eyes, Eric irritated her. Perhaps, she told herself, she knew too much about him.
    He had nice, long hands.
    “You still see your husband, Anne Marie?”
    “You invited me here to talk about my husband?”
    He lowered his shoulders in apology. “I want to talk about you.”
    “About me, Eric? Or about the Office of Tourism?”
    “Office of Tourism?” He wrinkled the skin of his nose—a strangely boyish gesture.
    “That’s what you’re in charge of, isn’t it? Americans and Canadians are no longer going to visit this island now a tourist has been found raped and murdered on the beach.”
    “Anne Marie, the majority of non-French tourists are from the EEC. More Italians and Germans than Americans. The Americans prefer Hawaii.”
    “Why the lunch?” Anne Marie sighed. “Somehow the entire island knows I’ve been given the enquiry. And what’s worse, the entire island knew long before I ever did.”
    “Why are you French women so aggressive?”
    “Thanks, Eric, for the lunch. It was very good, I enjoyed the octopus, thank you, and I enjoyed the wine. Now