6

THE FIAT REACHED TETOUAN, ABOUT ten kilometers from Martil, in less than an hour. Fouad sat in the back next to Inspector Abdellah, the forensics agent, while Laafrit sat in the front next to Inspector Allal, who was at the wheel. At first they talked about the case, but Laafrit was tired from the night before and wanted to take advantage of the drive to doze.

Abdellah coughed a number of times, as if he were hesitating before doing something. Then he started humming, pretending that he was trying to hum just to himself, but the refrain “there is no God but God” filled his voice with such religious fervor it soon slipped through his lips audibly. But really, he was testing if Laafrit was in as deep a sleep as he appeared to be. Allal too started repeating the refrain, but the burning thirst reached its limit with Abdellah. He couldn’t restrain himself and gave free rein to his voice:

The glance became clear, hadra became sublime,

The good news came to the people of God.

Those intoxicated by good tidings arose

And made a great party, thanks be to God.

The words mixed pleasingly in Laafrit’s head. What surprised him most was Abdellah’s touching voice, full of vibrato. He was reciting with an inner strength, savoring the words and pronouncing them loaded with emotion, revealing their essence as if he was bringing to them the vastness of life. His face was radiant with joy and when he turned to Fouad, who was sitting next to him, he urged him to repeat the refrain. That’s how the police car came into Tetouan, shaking with praises of the Prophet until it stopped in front of the main police station.

In Tetouan, the case took a different direction. When Laafrit entered the station, he found the commissioner waiting for him. Despite his high rank, the commissioner pulled his tall frame out of his chair, greeted Laafrit, and told him he had requested permission from the DA to search the suspect’s apartment. He also said he had given instructions to the Martil police to offer assistance. The commissioner suggested he accompany them to Issa’s apartment, but Laafrit convinced him it was only a routine search as part of an investigation that was still in the initial stages.

Before they took off for Martil, Laafrit spoke alone with Inspector Firqash, who he’d known for years. He gave him the name of Mohamed Benhammad—Nadia’s ex-husband, the deadbeat dad—and asked the inspector to arrest him and transfer him to Tangier.

Martil was a small coastal city and most of its buildings were empty during the off-season, since the majority of them were owned by Moroccans working abroad. There was only one police station with ten men at the most and a single police van that needed repairs and probably didn’t even run.

When the Fiat reached the station and the cops exchanged greetings, Laafrit asked the Martil detective about Issa Karami. He didn’t have the slightest idea who he was. The cops then all went together down to the Corniche. When they arrived at the start of the road, Fouad asked them to pull over so he could look for the building. Before they got out of the car, Abdellah took out his handcuffs and, in a voice that had no connection whatsoever to his gentle chanting on the way to Tetouan, told Fouad to spread his hands.

From the description Fouad had given him, Laafrit recognized the building even before Fouad pointed it out. It had three stories with wide balconies overlooking the sea. Only a neglected sand-covered road separated it from the shore. The area was deserted except for a grocer and a small storefront full of phone booths. Surprised to see a crowd of cops, the two storeowners came out and stood in their doorways.

“Call them over as witnesses for the search,” Laafrit told the Martil detective, eyeing the two men.

Like the nearby buildings, this one was unoccupied. Sand lay on the stairs. There were double doors: a beautiful inner wooden door matching the modern facade of the building, and another door added to the outside. It was like a gate for a cage of ferocious animals: iron bars intersected with thick locks.

“The residents only come here in the summer,” one of the Martil cops said, explaining the thick locks. “Otherwise the buildings are empty, and people worry about their things.”

They took turns examining the locks. Laafrit thought they’d have to bring a welder and a carpenter to get through the front door. Leaving the group, he circled the building. Behind it was an abandoned square, which the building’s back windows overlooked. It seemed to Laafrit breaking a window would be easier than getting through the front door.

They asked some construction workers at a nearby site for help, and in less than half an hour, Laafrit was leading the way up the stairs. He jumped into the kitchen and Allal, Abdellah, and Fouad, without the handcuffs, soon followed. The Martil cop and the two witnesses came in last.

Laafrit was surprised when he flipped the light switch and the place lit up. The Martil cop understood Laafrit’s confusion.

“The owner must’ve given his bank number to the electric company so they deduct the bill directly from his account,” the cop explained.

Laafrit had trouble opening the kitchen door. He had to push hard until he finally got the latch open. When he turned on the rest of the lights, he saw the living room was decked out in the latest trends: fancy antiques, expensive wooden cupboards filled with china and crystal, and couches draped in white covers. Gold-framed pictures adorned the walls.

The apartment was spacious. It had four bedrooms and Laafrit noticed while looking around that the whole place was furnished luxuriously, almost entirely with foreign things. His general impression was that nothing was out of place. He decided it was pointless to look for the gun anywhere else besides the bedroom.

In the bedroom, Laafrit opened the wardrobe and found it full of summer clothes: button-down shorts, T-shirts, towels, sports shoes, and hats. There were also boxes full of gifts. Laafrit figured Issa must have forgotten to give them out. There wasn’t much else in the room worth searching through, just a big bed, a dressing mirror, and two small bedside tables, each with a lamp on top.

Should he start looking inside everything? Laafrit usually left the places he searched clean, and he didn’t want the others getting involved. He had a plan in his head. If Issa hadn’t taken any precautions with Faouzia and he left the gun out so she could play with it, that meant he was acting as if it was no big deal to have a gun in the house.

After searching the drawers, Laafrit went back to the wardrobe and began looking through the clothes. All of a sudden the gun appeared, like a timid mouse. Laafrit looked over at the others and smiled. He took a white tissue out of his pocket, lifted the revolver by its barrel, and looked at it closely. Abdellah rushed over, surprised.

“We got it, Laafrit,” he said in rapturous tones, gripping it. “Beretta nine-millimeter, same as the murder weapon.”

*

Back in Tangier, there was a huge uproar in the commissioner’s office. Laafrit got so many pats on his shoulder that his jacket hung down loosely. Everyone congratulated him with firm handshakes. Trying not to sound self-serving, Laafrit gave the commissioner a report on the steps he took to recover the gun. The commissioner let out a boisterous laugh and then lifted up a fax.

“We got this right after you left for Martil,” he said exuberantly. “They identified one of the victims at Central. His name’s Driss el-Yamani, from Beni Mellal. We contacted the police down there and the victim’s brother’s on his way here to ID the body.”

Laafrit sat up in his chair.

“Which one is he?”

“Number three. One of the drowned men, not the shooting victim.”

Laafrit looked closely at the picture of el-Yamani’s body the commissioner handed him.

“And Issa Karami?” the detective asked.

“We gave his name to Central and the border police. We’re still waiting on word from them.”

Laafrit stole a glance at his watch. It was a bit after three o’clock. He yawned and stretched his arms.

“Commissioner, I wanted to let you know that I have not eaten lunch yet,” the detective said in an official tone. “And I only slept a little last night.”

The commissioner saw the obvious exhaustion on Laafrit’s face.

“Go home immediately and don’t come back until tomorrow morning,” he said, as if giving a direct order.

Just as Laafrit was about to leave the station, he heard the clicking of high heels, and all of a sudden he saw his neighbor, the teacher, coming from the end of the corridor with her husband dawdling behind her.

“Shit! Shit!” Laafrit repeated to himself, wanting to escape. He had completely forgotten about his three o’clock appointment.