The Final Bet

by Abdelilah Hamdouchi

  The lawyer found himself wondering about the same questions Othman had asked Alwaar. Why would he kill his wife and then call an ambulance and the police? Why wouldn’t he wipe his prints off instead of leaving them on the knife? He knew every suspicion would be cast on him because of the will, so why wouldn’t he plan the crime with complete precision? It’d be crazy to get himself caught up like this intentionally to make the crime seem like some plot against him.

  Hulumi kept turning ideas over in his mind. Since he didn’t have all the facts about the case, he decided to start directly from the police saying that goes: ‘Look for the one who benefits from the crime.’ Besides Othman, who else could profit from Sofia’s death?

  He looked at the addresses and phone numbers Othman left him. He thought he should begin with Michel Bernard, the victim’s dear friend. But if he introduced himself as Othman’s lawyer, Bernard would be on guard against him and wouldn’t tell him anything. An idea hit him, and he picked up the phone and dialed a number.

  “Hello? Monsieur Bernard?”

  “Yes,” replied a slow, dignified voice. “With whom am I speaking?”

  “Let me express my sincerest condolences for what happened to Madame Sofia Beaumarché. I’m Monsieur Ahmed Hulumi, a lawyer and, at the same time, I assist on the legal page of the newspaper al-Hawadith, which wants to publish news on the case. We’d like to confirm some information if possible. You know very well there are those who want to exploit this horrible crime and give it another dimension that could harm our good relations with France.”

  Bernard was silent on the other end of the line.

  “Do you prefer that I come visit you at the cultural center?” the lawyer continued. “Let’s say in a half hour?”

  “An hour’s better.”

  “That’s fine. Thank you.”

  Tharya Bouchama, the lawyer who worked in the other office, came back after a light lunch at the restaurant next door. She saw that her colleague’s door was open, so she walked down the hallway and popped her head in.

  “Tharya!” yelled out Hulumi. “Come here for a second.”

  She went into his office and sat down in front of him in a relaxed way. She glanced at what was left of his sandwich.

  “Did you eat lunch here?”

  “Yes. Listen, someone I used to study with hired me. He has a strange case.”

  “I saw him when he came in. He was hesitating and almost went back down the stairs.”

  Hulumi then told her about Othman’s situation step by step. Tharya wasn’t interested in cases like this. After her divorce, she took up cases dealing with women’s rights and joined a number of women’s organizations. Like her colleague, she published articles in the press. She defended women’s rights and called for the modernization of the personal status laws.

  “I want to investigate this case like a cop,” continued Hulumi. “If I can prove Othman’s innocent, I’ll have enough evidence to show the law has to be changed so a lawyer can be present when the judicial police question a suspect. I can do that by writing a series of articles about this in the press. Democracy in Morocco has to begin from the police stations. Human rights don’t mean a thing if people can’t have a lawyer there to defend themselves against the police. Lawyers don’t even know what their client said at the police station. He could’ve been tortured or asked for a bribe or forced to sign a forged police report. And what if he’s illiterate like half the population of Morocco? The police can write whatever they want and make him sign a confession without even knowing what’s on the paper. If we can’t ensure the rights of the criminal, how can we ever guarantee the rights of the innocent?”

  Tharya smiled.

  “But from what I heard, you don’t have enough information about the case. . . .”

  “I won’t focus my investigation on the events themselves,” interrupted Hulumi. “Only the police have all the details. I’ll go on the theory that the real criminal wanted to trap Othman so they could profit from Sofia’s murder.”

  “Who inherits if Othman’s found guilty?” she asked.

  “The victim’s son, Jacques Beaumarché. He’s the legal heir if Othman’s convicted of killing his wife.”

  Tharya nodded along with Hulumi.

  “You know the accountant Shafiq Sahili?” he added.

  “Yes, I’ve worked with him on a few cases.”

  Hulumi suddenly became interested. He leaned forward with his elbows on the desk.

  “Then I have to ask for your help.”

  “What kind of help?” asked Tharya slowly as her eyes narrowed in annoyance.

  “Like I told you, the police visited the accountant and got from him all the information about the will. I don’t think Sahili knows his secretary revealed the contents of the will to Naeema, Othman’s girlfriend. This secretary couldn’t have done that only to gossip. What I want from you is to go to the accountant, confirm everything that’s in the will, and find out when it was written.”

  “And what are you doing?” she asked, lowering her eyes.

  “I have an appointment in less than half an hour with Michel Bernard, the victim’s close friend,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I called him and told him I was a lawyer helping on the legal page of al-Hawadith.”

  “Why’d you do that?” asked Tharya, surprised.

  “A lawyer’s got to act like an investigator if he wants to be successful in these kinds of cases,” he said with a smile, getting up and rubbing his eyes.

  Bernard met Hulumi at the door of his wide office, which was decorated with pictures of the great writers of France. He closed the door and indicated to Hulumi to sit down on a leather couch.

  “Let me introduce you to Monsieur Jacques Beaumarché, Sofia’s son.”

  Hulumi tried to hide his shock at this surprise. He shook Jacques’s hand warmly and expressed his condolences. Bernard walked behind his desk and sat down on his large, comfortable chair. He took a sheet of paper in French out of one of his drawers and presented it to the lawyer.

  “I did my best to edit the news for you. You’re welcome to retouch it.”

  Hulumi scanned the lines on the sheet. The information was concise, siding with the police and wishing them luck in arresting the criminal as soon as possible. The lawyer sensed Bernard wanted to end the meeting quickly.

  “No doubt, monsieur, the news of your mother’s murder stunned you,” said Hulumi, looking at Jacques with a great show of sympathy.

  “Certainly,” he replied, annoyed.

  “You got the news when you were in France?”

  “Yes,” he said sharply.

  The lawyer had to think quickly. If he asked another question, it’d be obvious he was fishing for information and that’d make them both suspicious. But if he acted like he knew some new facts, that might get them interested.

  “Do you know the police arrested Othman?” he said naively.

  The two men exchanged glances and the lawyer saw what looked like a faint smile on Jacques’s face.

  “When did they arrest him?” asked Jacques quickly.

  “This morning,” said the lawyer, blinking.

  “Impossible, impossible!” said Bernard, hitting his hands on the desk, struck by the news. “Why Othman?”

  “I heard from my friends at the police that he confessed to the crime,” said the lawyer.

  “But why did he kill her?” asked Bernard. “She loved him and was happy with him.”

  The lawyer feigned innocence.

  “Between you and me,” he said, as if revealing a secret,“he killed her together with his girlfriend, Naeema Lamalih.”

  Bernard got up and paced around the office.

  “The bastard!” he said furiously. “What will he get from killing his benefactor?”

  The lawyer looked over at Jacques and saw that his pupils were dilated. His desire for answers was enticing him.

  “Don’t you know Sofia left her entire estate to Othman?”

  Bernard fr
oze in shock, while Jacques remained calm, as if that didn’t mean he was cut out of his mother’s will. Bernard put his hand gently on Jacques’s shoulder, trying to help him digest the news.

  “But did he know about the will?” asked Jacques suddenly. It was the question Hulumi was hoping for.

  “If he didn’t, why’d he commit the crime?”

  Hulumi got up suddenly.

  “I beg your forgiveness for disturbing you. Thank you for the information and your time.”

  He left quickly, not bothering to shake hands with either man. At the door of the cultural center, he took out his cell phone and dialed Tharya’s number.

  “Hello, Tharya? Where are you?”

  “In the car. I left the accountant’s office two minutes ago.”

  “Wait for me where you are,” he said hurriedly. “I’ll be right there.”

  He took a taxi and got out ten minutes later at Abd al-Mumin Boulevard, a few steps from the building where the accountant’s office was located. He saw Tharya’s car parked at a distance and rushed over to it. She opened the door for him and he got in next to her.

  “You’re all worked up. Did you get something?” she asked.

  “I found Jacques with Bernard. I’ve got a strong feeling he’s involved in his mother’s murder. What do you have?”

  “Sahili told me about the police’s visit this morning. He doesn’t think there’s any connection between Sofia’s will and the crime. As far as he’s concerned, only Sofia and God knew what was in that will.”

  “How naive!” said the lawyer. “And the date of the will, did you get that?”

  “At first, he thought the matter was still secret but when I told him the contents of the will, the hair on his head stood on end!”

  “You told him about Othman coming to visit me?” he asked anxiously.

  “Of course not. I hinted at Alwaar and he thought I got my information from him so he read me the text of the will. It was written on April seventh of this year.”

  Hulumi counted the months to himself.

  “Less than eight months ago,” he said. “This confirms what Othman told me. Sofia wrote her will after she returned from her last visit to France. Selwa signed up at Yasmina Club around the same time.”

  “And what do you conclude from that?”

  “That Selwa signed up at the club after Sofia wrote her will and not before.”

  Tharya bit her lips in confusion.

  “Good,” said the lawyer with his eyes on the entrance of the building. “What about this secretary, Selwa?”

  “She’s the one who greeted me. She’s about twenty-four, but she’s more elegant than someone her age. I noticed she was worried about something and got all quiet.”

  “That’s because she knows the police questioned the accountant. She’s afraid her name will get mixed up in the investigation.”

  “I think Sahili trusts her more than he should. He doesn’t bother to close his office door when he meets with clients.”

  “So she heard everything that went on between you two?”

  “That’s for sure. I was annoyed at first but it’s not my business to give orders in an office that’s not mine.”

  “I want to watch this girl,” said Hulumi, gently pressing on his colleague’s shoulder and looking at his watch. “I don’t think she’ll leave the office before six thirty or seven.”

  “There she is, there she is!” Tharya yelled out, pointing at the door of the building.

  “Put your head down!” said Hulumi, excited.

  Selwa stood in the middle of the street. Hulumi looked closely at her and thought she was elegant and beautiful. She was wearing a dress that made her look like a majorette. She had the face of a doll and her short hair was dyed blonde. While she was looking for a taxi, she opened her purse and took out her cell phone. She dialed a number and a heated conversation ensued.

  “You want to take the car?” asked Tharya.

  “No, it’s not necessary. I’ll make sure she doesn’t see you. Turn on the engine and get ready to trail the taxi. She wouldn’t leave work at a time like this unless there’s something really important. Maybe it’s got to do with you visiting the accountant.”

  Selwa got into a taxi. There was heavy traffic, so she didn’t notice she was being followed.

  “With you making a big deal about lawyers being present at the police station during the preliminary investigation,” said Tharya, driving close behind the taxi, “you’ll make problems for us we don’t need.”

  “Lawyers work like this in the U. S. and Europe, not only using their assistants, but also resorting to private detectives.”

  “But there aren’t any private detectives in Morocco,” said Tharya with a laugh.

  “We’ll make them legal too,” said Hulumi confidently, “and that way we’ll limit the current omnipotence of the judicial police.”

  The taxi emerged from the congestion and passed Zerktouni Boulevard before stopping at a light at an intersection. It turned finally onto a wide street running parallel to the Atlantic Ocean and sped up. Hulumi told his colleague to keep pace.

  “They’re doing about fifty in a thirty zone,” she protested.

  “Are you afraid of getting a ticket?” asked the lawyer, laughing. “Don’t. Speed up, speed up. If we lose her, we’ll lose everything.”

  It was obvious Selwa was heading for Ain Diab. The taxi slowed down when the traffic picked up around McDonald’s.

  It finally stopped in front of the Shore Hotel, one of the best hotels in Ain Diab. Selwa got out of the taxi and hurried inside. Tharya stopped the car some feet away.

  “Why’d she leave work in the middle of the day to come here?” asked Hulumi in surprise.

  His colleague didn’t pay any attention. He asked her to wait for him, got out of the car, and walked over to the hotel. From the front door, he saw Selwa standing at the reception desk. He then saw her head toward the elevator. At that point, he went in, wandered around the magnificent lobby, and then walked over to the reception. The man working the desk was young and chic. He had an attractive smile and his hair was combed with great care.

  “Oui, monsieur,” he said gently in a welcoming tone.

  The lawyer wasn’t sure how to proceed.

  “Please,” he stammered, “who’s the girl who was here just a minute ago and took the elevator?”

  The smile disappeared from the man’s face.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked sharply.

  “I want to know who she’s visiting,” the lawyer said, almost whispering.

  The deskman took a step back.

  “Why are you asking?” he said nonchalantly.

  Hulumi thought about saying he was a cop but was afraid the man would ask for ID. He then slowly took out a hundred dirham bill, looked to the left and right, and put it down in front of him.

  “This is yours,” said the lawyer. “Take it quickly.”

  A look of fear appeared in the deskman’s eyes. He was about to protest but he took the bill with striking speed and slipped it under the register in front of him, pretending to be flipping through it. A wide smile appeared on his lips.

  “She went up to the fourth floor.”

  “Whose room?”

  “A French guy named Jacques Beaumarché.”

  The lawyer almost let out a gasp.

  “Jacques Beaumarché? When did he check in?”

  “Yesterday.”

  The deskman shook his head as if telling Hulumi to leave. The lawyer took a few steps back and stayed still for a moment, shocked by what he’d discovered. He took a long look around the lobby, which was completely empty. He then went quickly back to Tharya’s car, opened the door, and threw himself down on the seat next to her, almost out of breath.

  “What happened?” she asked, scared.

  “She came to see Jacques, Sofia’s son. She went up to his room.”

  Her jaw dropped and she slapped herself on the cheek.

  �
�I need a camera. If only I could’ve taken a picture of the two of them together,” groaned Hulumi.

  “What’s she doing now?” asked Tharya excitedly.

  “I don’t know. I admit I wasn’t prepared for a shock like this.”

  “Did one of the hotel workers see her going up?”

  “I asked the guy at the reception and he told me she went up to Jacques’s room. That cost me a hundred dirhams.”

  “Then you’ve got a witness,” said Tharya, satisfied.

  Hulumi was still stunned by what he’d found out.

  “This is like something out of a police novel,” said Tharya. “Make sure that you don’t start thinking you’re Columbo,” she added.

  “What I want to know about this girl,” he said, ignoring her jibes, “is whether she told Jacques what was in the will. I’ll bet she’s had a relationship with him for a while. Then this sudden visit now. She came right after I met with Jacques at the cultural center and after you went to see the accountant.”

  “If she’s working for Jacques, why’d she leak the contents of the will to Othman?”

  After a moment the lawyer started in his seat and turned toward Tharya.

  “It’s Jacques. I’m guessing he knew his mother set her will with the accountant, watched Selwa, and then got close to her. He might have started a relationship with her or seduced her by saying he’d take her to France or something. I don’t know. After their relationship was solidified, he made her look at the will and when he found out his mother left everything to Othman, he set his scheme in motion. He told Selwa to join Yasmina Club and get close to Naeema. He then told her to leak the contents of the will, knowing Naeema would tell Othman. Maybe Jacques was hoping that’d give Othman a good enough incentive to kill his wife.”

  “But wasn’t Jacques in France when the crime happened?” asked Tharya, digesting her colleague’s theory.

  “It’s easy to hire a killer.”

  “I don’t think he’d go that far. He probably figured the police would question Selwa and she might confess she told the contents of the will to Naeema and Othman.”