18

I was on my third coffee when a guy who looked like a condemned man on his way to the gallows walked in. He was a slender African with black skin and the aquiline features of someone from the North, probably a Songhai. He quickly scoped out the room, pausing on me. Once he realized that I was staring at him, he stepped back, as if he were going to leave. I stood up and waved him over. He looked surprised.

“Me?” he asked.

That was the voice I had heard on the phone half an hour earlier.

“Have a seat,” I said in an unequivocal tone.

The man hesitated and then complied, pulling out the metal chair across from me. It made a loud scraping noise, causing everyone to turn around. He gave them an apologetic look and sat down. There was a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.

“What the fuck do you want?”

The people around us had resumed their conversations.

I gave him a kind smile and punched him in the solar plexus. The jab was quick and undetectable to anyone not paying attention. The guy’s eyes widened with surprise and filled with tears. He opened his mouth like a fish thrown onto the barge, but no sound came out. His diaphragm was blocked. He gasped for air.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s uncomfortable, but you’ll be back to normal in a few seconds.”

I glanced around us. No one seemed to be noticing my pal’s distress. I took advantage of the fact that he was preoccupied to search his pockets. I quickly found a wallet from which I pulled out a Malian driver’s license. On it was the name Sinaly Maïga. Sinaly: the guy who had welcomed Bahia at the airport and served as chaperon during her trip.

“Nice to meet you, Sinaly. My name is Souleymane, but you can call me Solo.”

“You’re crazy,” he said between coughing fits.

“Without a doubt. Talk to me about Farah Tebessi.”

“I don’t know—”

“Tsk, tsk… You’re about to say something you’ll regret.”

He looked like he was about to get up. “I’m going to tell the police that you assaulted me.”

“All right, let’s do that. Let’s go straight to police headquarters and talk about Bahia Tebessi’s murder. I forgot to mention that you’re implicated in a drug-trafficking ring.”

“That’s bullshit. You can’t prove anything. Did she give you my last name?”

I remained silent while he celebrated.

“I knew it! Do you realize how many Sinalys there are in this city?”

“The investigators will really be interested in the conversations you had with Bahia. You were one of the last people she spoke to.”

“You can’t do anything to me. You don’t know who’s behind all of this. You’ve got no idea.”

His voice was getting louder, and people were turning around to stare.

“Calm down and use your brain—if you’ve got one,” I said. “Who’s going to take the blame? You think your friends will show you unswerving loyalty? I don’t. I think they’ve got the perfect fall guy. You’re the one who’ll be taking the hit for everyone else. And they’ll have no trouble finding your replacement while you’re rotting away in Bamako’s big house.”

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “They can’t do that,” he finally responded. “I know things. If I talk—”

“If you snitch to the police, you won’t be around for long. You’ll end up in the river ripped open, like poor Bahia. No, it’s better that you don’t go to the cops. As for me, I won’t say shit. This stays between us, like a confessional. Lips are sealed, mum’s the word, all that jazz.”

He looked at me, wringing his hands.

“Yes, I’m the one who picked her up at the airport. I slipped her the money—”

“I know all that,” I interrupted. “Just tell me who had her killed and why.”

“I have no idea. I’m a nobody. Me and some other guys fly coke into France. It goes to the projects around Paris. Penny-ante stuff. If you want my opinion, the people who did this are some kingpins.”

“Why would these guys want to kill an ordinary mule?”

“No idea. They don’t show me the big picture. All I do is take care of the girls and give them the stash before they board the plane.”

He looked tormented. Even if I hounded him for hours, I wouldn’t get anything else out of him. I’d have to tackle the problem from another angle.”

“Okay, then tell me about the day she got out of jail. She called you. What did she want?”

“She wanted me to pick her up, but I didn’t want to. It would’ve put me on the cops’ radar. So I suggested that she call her boyfriend.”

“Her boyfriend?”

He nodded. “While she was at the Hotel Olympe, I introduced her to a friend of mine. They hit it off.”

“So why didn’t she call him first?”

“When he found out that she was involved in a drug deal, he stopped taking her calls. He didn’t want any complications in his life. But I wasn’t the one fucking her, so it was on him to do what had to be done.”

“What had to be done?”

“Don’t get any ideas. I mean pick her up from the police station. He’s a good guy. He’s not into the drug scene. He doesn’t have to be. He’s got a sweet job…”

“Where can I find him?”