Roadworks

by Gerard Readett

Stephane had been in the army until just about three years ago. For being too vicious and violent, he had been dishonourably discharged, but the army was used to being discreet about such events. Bad publicity was not something they relished. As Stephane had worked in telecommunications while there, he was perfectly qualified to take up a job at the transport authority, to become my colleague. The nature of the job we did gave us many weeks of spare time. Seven months after joining the transport authority, he had met an old army friend, who happened to work for Wellens. Stephane soon joined Wellens' company, and spent his off-days training or participating in small illicit jobs. With Stephane's access to information the OPA wanted, Wellens was ready to set up his complicated plan.

  The OPA paralysed the city, making an efficient diversion for the gridlocked law enforcement apparatus. Meanwhile, Wellens' men robbed the Americans of their prize possession.

  One important part of Wellens' plan was that the OPA had to be eliminated. Several of them had met Wellens personally and could identify him. That was the first double-cross.

  The second was eliminating Stephane. Unfortunately for Wellens, and forty-five of this city's inhabitants, he survived the attack. From that point on, Stephane became a loose cannon in the plan. He wanted the money, and set about finding the chips.

  All I knew was that the chips somehow were the clue as to where the money was hidden. It was frustrating to know that somewhere in this city, there was a vast amount of money waiting for me to pick up. Stephane had been the only person still alive to have all the chips together in one place. When he ate the evidence, he ruined any chance we might have had to gain access to the information they contained. For the space of a few seconds, he had had the location marked on the map in the electronic notebook of one of Wellens' men. When he had seen us, he had deleted the information, and written in his notebook. If only I could understand what Stephane had written here. The final clue in his notebook read simply: Bum of Bag.

  A great help obviously. Not much to go on. I tried every possible anagram, but none made sense. All the possible definitions of each word didn't get me any further. That's why I was still sitting in the awful courtroom, trying to garner some clues from Stephane himself.

  "Mr. Ryan?"

  The judge was staring at me patiently. Stephane was not the only one to be recalled to the stand. One or two of the main witnesses were called upon to refute each bit of testimony he gave, and that included me.

  "Mr. Ryan, the prosecution has called you. Do not keep us waiting again."

  The last time I hadn't heard them immediately, either; I had been lost in my thoughts. I quickly took my place to be questioned by the prosecutor.

  "Mr. Ryan, where were you at 14h30 on April the 4th?"

  Stephane shot me a dirty look as I answered.

  "That's about the time I started following the accused, your Honour." Several run-ins with the judge had taught me to use the formal address style. He'd already given me a fine for contempt of court when I had referred to Bourgmestre Gaultier as 'the political diatribe from City Hall.'

  That was another reason I didn't want to be here. The defence lawyer was well aware of my attitude towards City Hall, and he tried to use it as often as possible to show up inefficiencies or errors made by them.

  Later on, the prosecution asked me about the conversation I had overheard between Stephane and the fat man, Wellens. This was the tricky part, and I sensed that Stephane knew it, too. So far, the money hadn't been recovered, and that must have amused him, but the clues had been in their conversation.

  "What did they talk about?"

  "Stephane informed Wellens that he had got rid of the OPA because we had discovered where they were."

  "Why get rid of them?"

  "Objection, hearsay," screamed the defence lawyer.

  The judge nodded. "Sustained."

  "Did Stephane say why he killed them?"

  "No."

  "Did they, Mr. Bens and Mr. Wellens, then go on to talk about the money?"

  "Yes."

  "What did they say?"

  "Stephane said Wellens was the only one who knew where it was."

  "Did either of them say where the money was hidden?"

  I wanted to see Stephane's face, to see his reaction to my next few answers.

  "No."

  "Did they give any clues?"

  "Objection, hearsay."

  "Sustained."

  The prosecutor glanced at his notes briefly. "Then Mr. Bens trained a gun on Mr. Wellens. What did he say?"

  "If you remember, I was not present then. I was on my way to the backup TMC."

  "Ah, yes. Quite right. Mr. Bens shot Mr. Wellens. Correct?"

  "I trust what I was told by Mr. Hamlyn."

  "And Wellens didn't tell him where the money was?"

  "Not as far as Mr. Hamlyn told me."

  "Then how was Mr. Bens going to find it?"

  I paused to try to see a way out of answering the question without perjuring myself. I might have no compunctions about running off with the money, but I draw the line at lying openly in court.

  Stephane's eyes were riveted on me, and sweat had formed on his forehead. By the line of questioning, he must have already come to the conclusion that I had omitted to tell the prosecution about the chips.

  His own defence lawyer saved me with his next words.

  "Objection, calls for an opinion."

  "Sustained."

  "No more questions". The prosecuting lawyer walked back calmly to his seat, confident that all had been revealed. I was having a hard time keeping my nervousness off my face, especially as Stephane was glaring at me viciously. His eyes had turned black just a minute ago, when he finally understood what I was after and why I had kept part of the conversation to myself.

  His own lawyer stood up to start the cross-examination. My troubles were still not over. If Stephane had told his lawyer about the chips, then I would probably get more than a fine for withholding information. In a complicated case like this, any type of association could immediately put me under suspicion of complicity.

  "Mr. Ryan, didn't you hear Mr. Bens talk about Wellens and his organisation trying to kill him?"

  "Yes. Stephane said that once he had eliminated the OPA, a sniper had tried to kill him. Also, earlier in the day, he had nearly been run off the road by an employee of Mr Wellens."

  "From Mr Wellens' reactions, did you get the idea that they were trying to kill him?"

  "Objection, calls for an opinion."

  "Sustained."

  "Let me rephrase. Did Mr. Wellens react when Mr. Bens informed him he had been shot at by his own employee?"

  "Yes. Wellens began sweating profusely and lost all colour in his face. I certainly got the impression they had tried to kill--"

  "Objection, the witness is giving an opinion."

  "Sustained. The jury will disregard the last remark, and it shall be stricken from the record."

  Stephane's lawyer smiled and said, "No more questions, your Honour."

  As I walked across the courtroom floor, Stephane jumped up and tried to punch me. The two, armed bailiffs behind caught him by the shoulders, and dragged him back down.

  He started shouting. The bailiffs were quick, reaching their hands towards him. He swung his head back out of reach, and started saying something that was cut off by a bailiff's hand. It sounded like 'ba-ta', whatever that might be.

  As I resumed my seat, I began to wonder just what he might have been trying to say. By the look on his face it was nothing pleasant, more something like a swear word. 'Bastard' most likely.

  During the afternoon, several other witnesses were called up to give evidence. As the interminable questions started, I phased out. I had some thinking to do. There was still something nagging me about Stephane's outburst this morning. I couldn't quite place it, but there was something I had missed.

  Repeatedly I went over the scene in my head. The word I had heard him say, or thought I heard him say was 'Basta
rd', but, somehow, even that wasn't it. Some inner voice was telling me it wasn't. However, no other word in the English language would fit what he had said.

  That's it. No other word in the English language would fit. However, in another language I could find words that fit what he said, and the intonations he used.

  Of course, I should have remembered that Stephane spoke fluent French. Teaching me the rudiments of that language had been his hobby when we worked together.

  I finally had the solution to the puzzle, which had forced me to endure these last few months of Stephane's trial.

  Return to Contents

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I woke at just past eleven, feeling fresh and healthy. The cold shower I took cleared away the remaining drowsiness from my body. I towelled off and felt ready for another wonderful day.

  When I opened the shutters, the bright sunlight invaded the room. I breathed deeply, tasting the salty tang of the sea breeze, which was much more invigorating than the cigarette smoke I used to enjoy. With little or no stress, all the reasons I had for keeping up the filthy habit had vanished.

  I left the house and wandered down to the beach. The hot sand scorched my bare feet, but the cool seawater soothed the mild pain away. The blue sea was calm. No surfers were visible today, but one or two glass- bottomed sightseeing boats were out there, floating over the reef.

  Joe's Beachside Bar & Restaurant was still fairly empty; it usually filled up by twelve-thirty, and stayed that way until late at night. It was a popular place. The pirate decor saw to that, as did the competitive prices.

  I seated myself at the bar. Joe served me breakfast with a double iced tea, my usual. He was a strange guy; no one really knew where he was from. As the story goes, one day he just appeared here, spent about a week sizing up several different places, then bought one, with cash. In the space of two months, he turned a small rusted shack into one of the finest restaurants on the island.

  His uncertain past seemed to make Joe the perfect repository for gossip and minor indiscretions. On top of that, he got wind of things ages before anyone else, and still we didn't know how he did it. In the time I've been here, we're getting close to becoming friends. I suppose that for someone so secretive about his own past, he can sense someone hiding their own. As far as he knows, we're the only two 'mysterious' guys on the island, and we both look out for each other.

  That's why, when he handed me my second iced tea, he said, "Someone's been asking questions about you, Hugh. Up at the police station."

  "Who?"

  "A woman."

  "A woman?" I repeated, thinking aloud. Sooner or later I was expecting someone's visit, maybe not so soon, but in the end I suppose it was inevitable. I had hoped that I would have been forgotten in the fuss surrounding Stephane's trial, but apparently not.

  Why would they send a policewoman, though? And on her own, by the sound of it? If she had been accompanied, Joe would surely have known about it and told me.

  "Joe, do you have any idea where she is?"

  "Yep. She's sitting two tables behind you." As he said this, he leaned over the bar to grab my arm. "But don't worry, she hasn't recognised you." He smiled wanly "I told you a good tan was a great disguise."

  "Why didn't you tell me before?"

  "She's only just wandered in."

  I looked him straight in the eyes. "Joe, could you find out what she wants?"

  "Probably a drink, she looks mighty thirsty."

  He took her a Pina Colada, and chatted to her for about ten minutes, then came back with her empty glass.

  "She says she knows you well. She's not here in any official capacity; she's on holiday. She asked me if I knew you, and I don't think she believed me when I told her I didn't. She asked me to tell you that you've nothing to worry about."

  "What's her name?"

  "Maria."

  Maria, of the beautiful black mane and the sparkling blue eyes. They really had chosen the right person to come after me. There was no escaping it; I had to talk to her, in person. I joined her at her table.

  "Hello, Maria."

  Her head snapped up. "Hugh. It's good to see you again."

  "I wish I could repay that compliment."

  A sadness settled in her eyes. She hadn't changed much; she still wore her joviality on her face. The rounded cheeks and the dimples were still there. However, now there was a weariness to her expression that I couldn't quite explain.

  She said, "You think I'm here to arrest you or something?"

  "What would you have me think?"

  "I'm here on holiday. Nobody knows where I am, and certainly not who I'm with."

  "Who are you with?"

  "You, dummy." She reached out to hold my hand, but I withdrew it. It was like a slap to her. Her eyes lost their sparkle as she leaned back and appraised me. "Okay. A lot has changed since we last met."

  "Yeah, I'm sure."

  "Look, Hugh. No one's coming to arrest you. The money was never found, and it's been given up for lost. The insurance companies paid up every last penny."

  "Then what are you doing here?"

  "It doesn't look like you'll believe the short answer, so I'll explain everything. But right now, I'm thirsty."

  I called Joe over, and ordered a Tequila Sunrise. Maria asked for another Pina Colada. He must have been eavesdropping on us, and wanted to calm things down. He made a great show of preparing our order. A red miniature parasol and a Mexican flag topped my drink. Maria had a straw shaped like a coconut tree. A monkey on top of the straw swayed back and forth as Joe placed the drinks on the table. Maria laughed at the monkey and sipped gently at her drink before continuing.

  "Although you ran off after Stephane tried to assault you, they ended up putting him away for a total of two hundred and fifty nine years. In the heat of the moment, everyone forgot about you."

  I sighed. "Still doesn't explain why you're here."

  "No, I know. I said it was a long explanation. Give me a second, will you?"

  The sparkle in her eyes had started anew, and I could feel my resolve slipping away. It was an effort to keep my suspicions alive. The simple fact that I found it easy to believe she was here for a good, honest motive made me more wary. A year ago, on the day we first worked together, the only time we worked together, in fact, I had trusted her from the moment she had walked in the door. The last time I saw her had been three months ago, but people can change in that kind of time.

  "Once Stephane's sentence had been rendered, the Bourgmestre continued on her warpath. She was furious that the money had never been recovered. It made City Hall look bad. She found a sure-fire way of fielding all criticisms directed at her and her aides. An official investigation into the events of that day lead to some outrageous conclusions."

  "Look, Maria, none of that is new to me."

  "Yes, it is. Listen, the conclusions were that Michaux and his men used too much force to stop the OPA because none of them survived. Except the guy on the laser disc, the one who gave the OPA demands. No one ever saw him, and no one has any idea where he could be."

  That was news. Michaux's men had only defended themselves; they hadn't even fired the first shot. "That wasn't his fault. What about the sniper?"

  "They never found the sniper, and they said that if Michaux had been more effective, Stephane would never have got a shot in."

  "What did they expect? They think Michaux had a crystal ball to tell him where Stephane was?"

  "Something like that. Whatever he replied was lost in the media hype. 'Special squads efficient killing machine too effective', that kind of thing.

  "The investigation recommended he be fired, together with several other people involved in the debacle.

  "The Bourgmestre followed all the recommendations to the letter. Michaux was fired, but he didn't leave alone. Every single man from his squads followed him out of the door. Last I heard, they set up their own security firm, and are doing a roaring business. On t
his continent somewhere, in Africa."

  I laughed at that last bit.

  "The head of your depar�sorry, ex-department at the traffic authority was fired, as well. Allegedly for responding too slowly to a crisis situation. And finally, Ron and myself were chucked off the force without any right to a pension. We were blamed for setting off the first explosion. If we hadn't tried to trace them, the OPA wouldn't have blown up the Castell building."

  She paused momentarily to sigh. "Hugh, if you had still been there, you would have been fired, as well."

  "Why do you think I left, eh? I could see it coming."

  "If that's true, you were the only one."

  She turned her hands over, so that the palms were showing. A gesture to honesty, I suppose. "So that leaves me unemployed and with little chance of rejoining a police force of any kind. I didn't ask Bourgmestre Gaultier for a recommendation letter."

  That removed any suspicions I had left. Also, I had come to a decision, which simplified things enormously. Maria could make me believe anything she wanted. If she was being honest, then she had come out here just to join me. This was wonderful, if it was true.

  On the other hand, if she were being deceitful and ready to call in the police to have me hauled back to face Bourgmestre Gaultier, I wouldn't resist. The decision I had come to was, if that were the way of things, I would accept it.

  Half an hour was all it had taken to make me realise that my life without Maria would be dreadful, whether I was on a beach in or in a dingy little cell. If she were lying, my life wouldn't be worth living, anyway. So I decided to take her at face value.

  I called Joe over and made the presentations. He still seemed a bit wary, but after a while he warmed to Maria, too. A few customers arrived for lunch, and he tended to them, leaving us alone. We chatted awhile about what she was going to do, but she was just waiting for me to invite her to stay with me.

  "Maria, I want to show you my house." I led her down to the beach. We walked in the surf in silence. The sun on our faces added to the feeling of well-being.

  She broke the silence. "Hugh, there's something that bothers me. You live here, in your own house, right?"