Whitefly

by Abdelilah Hamdouchi

  The engineer concluded his commentary and the director thanked him. The crew then turned their attention to someone from the exporters’ association, who was getting ready to give his commentary on the situation.

  Laafrit went over to the car with the engineer. They took off and didn’t exchange a word until they got back to the café. During the ride, Laafrit thought about the vials he’d found at Bensallam’s house. Should he give them to the engineer so he could analyze their contents? How embarrassed would he be if it turned out they contained some kind of folk Viagra, just like Detective Said said.

  When they got out of the car, Laafrit gave his phone number to the engineer, who wrote it down in a small notebook. Si Lahsan then gave his number to the detective.

  “Listen,” said Laafrit, “there are some vials I found at Bensallam’s house yesterday and I don’t know what’s in them.”

  He opened his car trunk and gave the box to the engineer.

  “A detective from Beni Mellal said he’d seen these kinds of vials sold at the markets by herbalists, especially as a kind of folk aphrodisiac,” he added, laughing.

  The engineer smiled and looked at one of the vials.

  “I’d be surprised if Bensallam didn’t know about Viagra,” he said.

  The two laughed and shook hands.

  “We’ll stay in touch, right?” said Laafrit.

  “Of course. Whatever the results are on the vials, I’ll let you know.”

  “And I’ll let you know what we find out in the case,” said the detective.

  Laafrit embraced the engineer warmly before finally heading back to Tangier.

  12

  AFTER HE GOT BACK FROM Beni Mellal, Laafrit tried several times to get in touch with Luis but was repeatedly thwarted by Luis’s voicemail. Laafrit had to leave a short message telling him to call as soon as possible but Luis didn’t get back to him for four days.

  It was six o’clock on Saturday night. Laafrit had spent the entire day lying in bed reading the papers. He was surprised to find so many articles about the tomatoes. Some of them were terrifying and went so far as to say the price of tomatoes would increase many times over, even suggesting tomatoes might just gradually disappear from the markets. Another article declared: “May God have mercy on harira,” and said Moroccans would have to come up with a different soup to break the fast for the upcoming Ramadan, one that didn’t contain tomatoes. Laafrit was shocked as he read in another article that more than three million Moroccans lived on tomatoes as their main food source, and that only ten percent of Moroccans consumed the same grade of tomatoes that was exported to Europe. The other ninety percent were stuck with tomatoes of much lower quality. The same article mentioned Moroccan tomatoes had a place of honor on European tables, making them a point of competition and envy for growers in Israel and Spain, the two other major exporters of tomatoes. The reason for this was that Moroccan tomatoes were richer in nutrients and vitamins, thanks to the country’s excellent geography, soil, and daily sun.

  As he turned the pages, Laafrit paused for a while at a headline that read: “Has a Sabotage War Erupted against Moroccan Goods in Spain?” The paper reported that the police in Almería had opened a criminal investigation into a fire that broke out at dawn on Thursday at an agricultural factory used to pack fruits and vegetables coming from Morocco. The Spanish News Agency EFE quoted police sources saying that the investigation into the incident had begun because of suspicions that the fire was arson. Relying on a source from the fire department, it mentioned that the wooden pallets holding the crates of fruits and vegetables helped spread the flames, causing massive losses that hadn’t been calculated yet. A source from the Association of Fruits and Vegetables stated that the incident had stirred up widespread anger among Almería produce dealers because of the strong possibility that the importation of agricultural products from Morocco would now be disrupted. The article also mentioned that about two weeks ago, groups of international truck drivers had blocked traffic to and from Morocco, causing heavy financial losses.

  After reading the papers, Laafrit understood why he couldn’t get hold of his friend Luis. Maybe he was in charge of the arson case.

  When the phone rang suddenly, Laafrit was watching the news on the Spanish channel TVE. He didn’t expect it to be Luis.

  “My man, where are you?” asked Laafrit excitedly, turning down the TV.

  “Stewing in tomatoes,” said Luis, laughing.

  “Anything new?” he asked, sitting up and pressing the receiver to his ear.

  “How about we meet in fifteen minutes?”

  “Where? In international waters?” asked Laafrit, laughing again.

  “No, in Tangier. You’ll find me waiting for you in the lobby of Hotel Shams.”

  “Even if you rent a private plane, you couldn’t make it to Tangier in fifteen minutes,” said Laafrit, annoyed.

  “I’m already here,” said Luis.

  “Are you serious?” Laafrit asked in disbelief.

  “Come on over to Hotel Shams and you’ll see for yourself.”

  Laafrit still thought Luis was pulling his leg.

  “If you’re really in Tangier, why didn’t you come to my house? You know where I live.”

  “Just meet me here at the hotel, okay?”

  “I’ll be right there,” said Laafrit despite his suspicions.

  He found Luis sitting in the hotel lobby with a pot of mint tea in front of him. Laafrit beamed as he embraced his friend warmly. They stood there for several moments, each holding the other’s arm, smiling happily.

  “It’s great to see you!” Laafrit said in Spanish.

  “How do I look after all this time?” asked Luis in Arabic.

  “Looks like you’ve put on a pound or two, my friend. Been drinking a few extra cervezas, eh?”

  Luis laughed and invited Laafrit to sit down.

  “You’ve put on a bit too,” said Luis. “But let’s not talk about us. How are your wife and daughter?”

  “Great. And you? You still haven’t decided to get married?”

  “You sound like my father!” asked Luis, smiling. “But if you can suggest a beautiful Moroccan girl, then why not?”

  The waiter arrived, preventing Laafrit from responding. He ordered a pot of mint tea too. Laafrit scrutinized Luis’s face and could see he was anxious to cut straight to the point.

  “I read in a newspaper about a fire that broke out at a packing factory in Almería,” said Laafrit.

  Luis’s green eyes widened.

  “That’s right,” he said. “But that was last Thursday.”

  “Are you the primary on the investigation?” asked Laafrit.

  “Yeah, because the case is connected somehow to Carlos. I’ve only slept a few hours in the past three days. Your dead men have taken me into a labyrinth I had no idea existed.”

  “Is that why you’re here?” Laafrit asked.

  “Yeah. And where’ve you gotten in your investigation?”

  “I went to Beni Mellal and questioned the wife of Bensallam, the shooting victim. From there, I went to Oualidia in the Doukkala region, which Bensallam visited the last time he was here.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “I’ve got some ideas,” said Laafrit after a moment. “But I’d rather listen to the guy who came to town from the other side of the sea.”

  Luis took a sip from his glass and kept silent until the waiter brought Laafrit’s tea.

  “I’ve . . . brought . . . you . . . a . . . bombshell,” said Luis, stressing each word and letting out a laugh. “So, let’s begin with what we know for sure. The first thing is that Bensallam had his last meal with Carlos at Al Hamra Restaurant before he disappeared in Almería. It was salad, paella, and chocolate flan. He also had lots of red wine.”

  “Same meal found in his stomach during the autopsy,” said Laafrit.

  “Good,” said Luis. “As for the three drowning victims, I confirmed with the guards at the Almería port that th
ey recently spent a whole day cleaning Carlos’s boat. Carlos’s three sons—Juan, Antonio, and Gabriel—were with them. That night, they all set out on a fishing trip. Afterward, no trace was seen of the three Moroccans.”

  Laafrit was about to say something but Luis indicated with his hand that he shouldn’t interrupt.

  “You want to ask what happened to Bensallam and the three illegals on Carlos’s boat. Good. The reason they went fishing that night was to take them out as close as possible to Moroccan waters opposite Tangier and toss them into the sea. That way, their bodies would wash up on your side and you’d think they were harraga.”

  “But why Tangier?” asked Laafrit. “The Melilla coast is closer to Almería.”

  “Melilla,” said Luis, “is considered Spanish territory, so very few harraga set out from there. The real harraga graveyard is between Gibraltar and Tangier. Carlos and his sons tossed them out near Tangier so their bodies wouldn’t wash up on Spanish shores. The reason for his precaution was that the shooting victim would have to be investigated. If Carlos hadn’t had to shoot Bensallam, he would’ve thrown all four into the middle of the sea and been done with it.”

  “Why’d he shoot Bensallam then?” asked Laafrit anxiously.

  “That guy was supposed to meet the same fate as his buddies, but after having dinner with Carlos he realized something was up and that he was being tricked. When they left the restaurant, Carlos told him they’d head down to the port to take a night fishing trip. But on the way, Bensallam figured out what Carlos had in store for him. He freaked out and told Carlos to pull over. Carlos did it, but before Bensallam could get out of the car, Carlos emptied four rounds into him. Carlos then put on Bensallam’s jacket, zipped it up, and sat him upright in the car to make it look like he was still alive. From there, he headed down to the port and told his sons what happened. He had one of them take the three illegals to the port café, while Carlos and his other two sons got Bensallam’s body out of the car and hid it in the boat. I think you know what happened next.”

  “What happened next,” said Laafrit quickly, “is that the four were thrown into the sea opposite Tangier. But what’s the motive?”

  “You haven’t even touched your tea yet!” said Luis, laughing.

  Laafrit calmly poured some mint tea into his cup and took a quick sip.

  “Before talking about the motive,” said Luis, “you should know that Carlos Gomez is the biggest tomato farmer in Andalusia. He also owns the biggest agricultural exporting company in the region. Like I told you, he’s an extreme racist. He thinks the ‘Moors’—sorry for the word, Laafrit—are just a bunch of animals lower than human beings. He just doesn’t get how a third-world African country can compete with him for the European markets. He sometimes says openly Spain should reoccupy the ‘land of the Moors.’ He thought it was a huge insult the fishing agreement between your country and mine wasn’t renewed, especially since he has investments in the industry. He owns twenty boats that are now dry-docked because of that unsigned treaty.”

  “So he must be the one behind the fire that broke out at the packing factory in Almería,” said Laafrit.

  “Of course he was behind it. But I don’t have anything I can convict him with. This case has put me in close contact with Carlos and his sons, and they’re big-time racists, just like him.”

  They both paused to take a sip of tea.

  “Why kill the four Moroccans?” asked Laafrit.

  Luis took a deep breath and looked slyly around the lobby.

  “After I confirmed Carlos’s connection to the victims, I went back to the illegal immigrant camps on the outskirts of Almería and looked for Jaouad Benmousa. Let me tell you, this guy deserves all the credit for piecing together the puzzle.”

  Luis took a deep breath and a long sip from his cup. He savored the eager look in Laafrit’s eyes.

  “When I found him,” he resumed, “I told Jaouad what had happened to his buddies. He asked me to take him to the nearest phone booth so he could call his family and the families of the other four to confirm the news. He was comfortable with me because I spoke to him in Arabic. After he talked to everyone, he told me he would’ve met the same fate if he’d gone along with his buddies. He said Carlos is the one who spread the rumor they went to Madrid. Jaouad was sure something terrible had happened to them but not something as bad as murder.

  “He told me Bensallam, after he got back to Almería from his last trip to Morocco, was suffering from a serious crisis. He drank a lot and broke down in tears for no apparent reason. Once he hit his head against a wall, threatening to kill himself. Eventually, he told the others he was bent on destroying what he could of Carlos’s tomatoes. The day before the murder took place, he confided in the other four from Beni Mellal what was tearing him apart. That secret, my friend, is the key to the case.”

  Luis scanned the lobby again as if he was afraid someone was watching them. He then leaned toward Laafrit.

  “Carlos,” he continued, “gave Bensallam a liquid chemical with a highly advanced and easily spreadable virus to wipe out the tomatoes in your country.”

  Laafrit stared at Luis in disbelief.

  “I don’t know how it was made,” added Luis, “but the important thing is that it could wipe out a field of tomatoes with only a small quantity put into the irrigation ducts.”

  Laafrit instantly remembered the strange vials he found in Bensallam’s house, the ones he had given to the agricultural engineer, Si Lahsan.

  “Carlos picked Mohamed Bensallam for the job,” said Luis. “That’s why Carlos got him legal papers and gave him a ton of cash. He supplied Bensallam with the chemical and made a deal with him to demolish all the tomato fields in your country. But Bensallam, according to what Jaouad told me, didn’t go through with it all the way. He stopped with Doukkala, brought what he had left of the chemical back to Almería, and hid it in his house.”

  “Because he regretted what he did?” asked Laafrit.

  “Yes. As I told you, Jaouad said Bensallam was suffering from serious depression after he came back from Morocco the last time. Bensallam was on the verge of suicide but he found a way out with a crazy idea. He got his buddies from his neighborhood together and revealed to them the crime he had committed against his country. He told them he hadn’t carried out the whole plan and that he kept most of the vials. He asked for their help in getting revenge against Carlos.”

  “So he wanted to destroy Carlos’s fields with what he had left?” asked Laafrit in disbelief, swallowing with difficulty.

  “Exactly,” said Luis. “He asked his friends to help him and promised to split the rest of the money with them. Bensallam said they’d all go to Madrid afterward.”

  “But how’d Carlos find out?” asked Laafrit impatiently.

  “The three sold Bensallam out to Carlos, wanting to get legal papers in exchange. As for Jaouad, he admitted to me he refused to go along with Bensallam’s plan. Jaouad told him to destroy the rest of the chemical and forget the whole thing. But when Carlos found out what Bensallam had in mind, he immediately got his sons together and decided then and there to get rid of them all. Luckily for Jaouad Benmousa, the others didn’t mention his name to Carlos, maybe because they thought it’d be easier to get papers for three instead of four. You know what happened next. They all wound up dead, washed up on your shores.”

  Laafrit kept quiet for a while.

  “The whole thing’s hard to believe, right?” said Luis, yanking Laafrit out of his silence.

  “Bensallam didn’t have any suspicions about his friends?” asked Laafrit. “He didn’t try to flee?”

  “Carlos didn’t give him the chance. As soon as he found out what was going on, he made the three Moroccans think he’d get them papers by saying he’d make them his official employees. And to make it seem like he was serious, he sent them with his sons to the port to work on the boat. Meanwhile, Carlos searched Bensallam’s house on the farm and found the rest of the vials. He then asked
Bensallam to come out with him, and I’ve got eyewitnesses who saw Carlos with Bensallam at a number of places that day. The idea was to prevent Bensallam from going back to the farm so he wouldn’t get suspicious his house had been searched. Later, Carlos took him to Al Hamra Restaurant, where they ate dinner together. On the way to the port, Bensallam realized something wasn’t right and told Carlos to pull over. The result was the four shots. And just so you know, the gun Carlos owns is the same kind you found at Issa Karami’s house.”

  “What are the odds!” said Laafrit, shaking his head. “How’d you find Carlos’s gun?”

  “After the fire broke out at the packing factory for fruits and vegetables from Morocco, I immediately thought of Carlos but I didn’t have a good excuse to take him down to the station for questioning. But when I was going home last night, I saw his car parked in front of a popular bar in Almería and decided to search it. I pulled up and saw the door was unlocked. I took a quick look inside and found the gun in the glove compartment. Keep in mind, Carlos has a permit to carry a gun. What was unusual as far as I was concerned was that it was the same kind used to kill Bensallam. A Beretta nine-millimeter.”