Outside, beyond the blue-tinted window, beyond the hum of the air conditioner, there was a lull in the midday traffic along the Boulevard Légitimus.
“I will have to make out a warrant for your arrest.”
“Arrest?” Madame Calais lifted the cup to her lips.
“For the murder of Raymond Calais, your husband.”
Madame Calais shook her head. Then she drank.
“I have no choice.”
“I know you have no choice, but I shan’t be arrested.”
“You are mistaken.”
“It’s you who are mistaken.” Madame Calais set the cup down and poured more tea. Her eyes remained on Anne Marie. “You’re mistaken because you don’t understand Guadeloupe. You believe you’re still in France. This isn’t France, madame le juge, and I can tell you we don’t behave in the same way here.”
“Murder is murder.”
“What would happen to your husband?”
“My husband?”
Her shoulders no longer sagged. “This is a small island and information travels fast. Very fast—particularly when you belong to a powerful minority. Do you really understand the Békés?”
“My husband has no effect upon the way I do my job.”
“You won’t be able to do your job—it’s as simple as that. It is not you and it’s not France that controls Guadeloupe. Guadeloupe is ours. France sends the money, but it’s my people who decide how it’s spent. Do you really believe that the Calais family and all the other families—you think they’ll allow me to go to prison like a common criminal?”
“You’ve committed a crime.” Anne Marie’s voice was forced and unnatural.
“I’ve perhaps committed a crime according to your law—the law of France. Here in Guadeloupe, I’m in my own country and among my own people. Trust me—even if there were no solidarity among us whites, there’d still be no chance of my ever going to jail. Because the government—your government—needs us. Monsieur Giscard d’Estaing and Paul Dijoud and all the others—they need us because they need our vote. Without our active support, they know Guadeloupe will go to the Socialists. And that’s the last thing they want in Paris.”
“Party politics are not the concern of the judiciary.”
“You’re young and naive. Are you sure you wouldn’t care for another cup of tea?”
Anne Marie stood up. She picked up her bag.
“Perhaps my husband was not educated—but he was cunning and he knew how to protect himself. And he always knew something could happen to him. That’s why he told me all about the SODECA affair. I have most of the documents. Very compromising documents. Of course, the Chamber of Commerce and the bankers and even my dear friend the procureur—such a nice man—of course they’re a little bit worried. The SODECA business could be most embarrassing for them. But they know that as long as Giscard’s in power, there’s nothing for them to be afraid of. A debt of fifty-three million francs?” She made an amused, dismissive gesture. “A mere bagatelle. The taxpayer can foot the bill, and within a year, it’ll all be forgotten. Perhaps one or two discreet resignations—but nothing a quick whitewash can’t cover up. But if you.…” Madame Calais smiled. “But if you decide to put me in jail—the wife of Raymond Calais—all my good friends know I possess a lot of information. Let the cat out of the bag—and in the process ruin several powerful families? You see, they’re going to be annoyed. Not just annoyed … they’re going to get angry. Very angry indeed.” She paused and again she laughed, as if recalling an old joke. “Perhaps I’ve underestimated you, madame le juge. Perhaps you really do believe in justice. And perhaps you aren’t afraid. But be warned.”
“It’s not for you to warn me.”
The woman held up her hand. “Fifty-three million francs is a lot of money. And for a lot of people in Guadeloupe, your life—and the life of your son—aren’t worth fifty-three million francs.”
“You’re threatening me?”
“Advising you, madame le juge. And my advice to you is to be very careful as you cross the road. There are a lot of bad drivers in Guadeloupe.”