4

Moussa Guino was young, thirty at the most. He was wearing an impeccably tailored Western suit. With his arms crossed over his already bulging belly, he assessed me from behind a pair of designer shades whose real purpose, I suspected, was giving him the confidence that he lacked. He most likely belonged to one of those rich Bamako families that had no problem paying for high-level favors or buying their way into cushy government jobs. I was sure he already dreamed of being district attorney, or even the attorney general.

“So just like that, you’re representing Bahia Tebessi,” he said somewhat distrustfully.

“Exactly, Your Honor. And I have to say I’m impressed,” I replied, flashing my most radiant grin.

“How so?”

Now was the time to butter him up. “I have a confession to make. Before our meeting, I asked around about you.”

“Oh yeah? And what did you learn?” he asked.

I leaned toward him. “You graduated from Assas University in Paris with an excellent academic record.”

Actually, Kansaye had told me that Guino was a mediocre student who had passed only with the help of a diplomatic request from the chancellery.

“People speak of you with great respect,” I continued. “There are some who even think you’ll be working as a top government official in a few years.”

He straightened his shoulders and waved off the compliment.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Mr. Camara.”

I pretended to look puzzled. “At any rate, I was wondering…”

“Yes?”

“Why would such a gifted student choose a humble, although honorable career as a judge when he could have put his immeasurable talents to good use in a corporate position offering loads of money?”

I thought I might be laying it on too thick. But my flattery didn’t seem to arouse any suspicions. Just the opposite. Moussa Guino settled more comfortably in his chair. He placed his elbows on his desk and clasped his hands.

“You see, Mr. Camara…”

He paused, searching, I figured, for the perfect words.

“Serving our country requires sacrifices. But I love Mali, and I want to return what it has given me. It’s like a son honoring his mother for giving him life-sustaining milk.”

I was speechless for several seconds. When it came to laying it on, Guino was using mudbrick plaster, compared with my thinned-out paint.

“That’s beautiful and so true,” I said, wishing I could shed a tear for effect.

“Thanks. Now getting back to our case, I won’t pretend that it hasn’t gotten off to a rough start.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I agreed.

“The evidence is irrefutable. I’d even say it’s conclusive.”

“Indeed, indeed. But I imagine that a man of your importance doesn’t usually waste his precious time on investigations involving insignificant drug mules.”

“I intend to follow this case all the way to the brains behind the sordid affair,” he said, raising his voice.

“Your Honor, we both know that the bosses of these drug-smuggling networks keep all the players isolated from each other. I doubt that Bahia Tebessi could tell you any more than what she’s already said to the police. If you rely too heavily on her story, you’ll get nowhere, and you’ll risk disappointing your superiors.”

Guino looked worried. As I expected, he hadn’t thought much about the problem. He was too busy licking the boots of those higher up in his chain of command.

“What do you suggest then?”

I pointed to the ancient computer loafing on his desk.

“Bahia Tebessi’s family is prepared to donate a substantial sum to this country’s judicial system if it agrees to act benevolently toward this case. You’d be able to replace your device from the Middle Ages, for example.”

I held my breath.

“How much would this donation amount to?”

The fish had taken the bait. Now for a bit of skillful maneuvering…

“Two million. The family has humble origins.”

He raised his eyes to the ceiling.

“What do you expect me to do with such a measly sum? You can see our miserable working conditions. Tell your client that this matter would cost the family much more in legal fees.”

I pretended to think things over and tried to look vexed. “We’d be willing to go up to three million, but no more than that.”

Moussa Guino paused. “Four million. That’s the least I’ll accept. Don’t forget, I’ll have to justify dismissing the case. It won’t be easy, considering all the attention her arrest has gotten.”

I gave him a sympathetic smile. Getting his superiors to swallow this bitter pill would mean that he’d have to fork over some money too. I stood up and pulled my cell out of my pocket. I couldn’t cede too quickly.

“I’ll call my clients and try to persuade them.”

He nodded and I left his office. Once in the courtyard of the Commune III district courthouse, I put the phone to my ear and continued the farce while I smoked a cigarillo, quite pleased with myself. Once it was finished, I returned to Moussa Guino’s office.

“It’s a go. They’ve accepted the deal.”

We shook hands and finalized the logistics of handing over the money, which would take place before noon the next day.

“I congratulate you, Your Honor, for your self-sacrifice and sense of public service,” I told him as I left his office.