The Honest Folk of Guadeloupe Read Online Free PDF

bid her hosts goodbye for the last time at seven o’clock Sunday morning. They were never to see her again.”
    Trousseau ran a finger along the side of his nose before continuing.
    “The police are now reconstructing the events of the last day. It is believed that the young woman was murdered at about midnight, Sunday.”
    “That’s all?”
    Trousseau nodded. “The same photo as in the dossier.”
    “Show me the faxes, would you?”
    He handed her the two sheets of flimsy thermal paper.
    “The girl’s mother will be coming this evening on the early flight from Paris. She’s required for a formal identification of the corpse.”
    “Somebody’ll have to pick her up at the airport. Can you see to it, Monsieur Trousseau? And a room in a one of the better hotels in Gosier.”
    “Madame Vaton won’t make it in time for the autopsy this afternoon.”
    “Get hold of the Lecurieux people. I’ll have to see them.” She made a short note on the small Air France calendar.
    “Of course,
madame
.”
    Anne Marie coughed. “Monsieur Trousseau?”
    Trousseau glanced at her inquiringly. “Yes?”
    “I’m still waiting for you to tell me about the man.”
    “What man?”
    “What does he want?”
    Trousseau frowned.
    “The man sitting outside in the corridor. I’m not supposed to be seeing anybody this morning, am I?”
    Trousseau shook his head. “He was here when I arrived at half past six.”
    “Call him in. There’s work to do on this Pointe des Châteaux dossier.” Anne Marie added, “Damn it.”

11
Green
    The eyes were staring at her.
    The man 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. Grubby green canvas shoes. He entered the room walking slowly with a slight stoop of the shoulders.
    “Please be seated.”
    He did not smile. The eyes were close together and deep set; they looked at Anne Marie attentively, glinting slightly in the oblique light.
    “
Monsieur
?”
    He sat down and crossed his legs. He placed the case on the floor, then folded his hands on his lap.
    “You wished to see me,
monsieur
?”
    A small smile, revealing narrow teeth. “I met the girl.”
    “Which girl?”
    He had the pale, yellow skin of the
metis
: some black blood, a lot of white blood. “The murdered nurse.” He nodded toward the open newspaper on the desk.
    “You can help me?”
    “Why do you think I’ve been waiting here?”
    “That’s very good of you.” They stared at each other. The man hardly blinked.
    “With your approval, then, there are a few questions about yourself that I’ll need to ask.” Anne Marie took a note pad from the seconddrawer. She also took the recording machine. As she uncapped her pen—a Mother’s Day present from Fabrice—she raised her head. “How did you know I’m dealing with the case?”
    He raised his shoulders. “I asked downstairs.”
    “At seven in the morning?”
    “Last night.”
    “You should’ve gone directly to the police.”
    “I’d rather see you than the police.” He turned to look at Trousseau, who had closed the door and returned to his seat behind the Japy typewriter. “You want me to leave?” The man bent over to pick up the suitcase. Anne Marie noticed a hole in the green ankle sock.
    “You say you saw the nurse?”
    He sat back in the chair. A long, ringless finger started tapping nervously on his knee. “That is why I am here.”
    “When did you see her?”
    “You know who I am?” He nodded toward the notepaper beneath Anne Marie’s uncapped pen. “Name, address, date of birth, mother’s maiden name, social security number?”
    “I know how to do my job.” Anne Marie faced the unblinking eyes.
    “I have better things to with my time than sit waiting in the
palais
 …”
    She smiled. “I didn’t know you were waiting for me.”
    His lips tightened as if in recognition of an apology, but still the eyes did not blink.
    “Your