There is a Land (A Libète Limyè Mystery)

by Ted Oswald

  — And?

  — He denied everything. As he always has. I told him that we knew Lolo was from him, baiting you, trapping you, attempting to poison you after his first attempt did Didi in. ‘Lolo? Who is this Lolo?’ he said. He assured me he only has your best interest at heart, that he wishes you no ill, even after you tarnished his name. That he understands you’re a delusional girl who cooked up an impossible story and that he, though victimized, could still look past everything since the legal proceedings were thrown out.

  — The villain!

  — He said that if something happened to you, his enemies would bring it home to him, parroting our own belief. ‘Their well-being is my own,’ he said. He credited you with much intelligence for realizing this.

  — You believed this stuff?

  — I almost shot him. Then and there. I had a gun in my purse.

  — But you didn’t. Libète’s words rang with disappointment.

  — I left. She sighed. To the world, I continued pretending everything was all right. My phone, it was being monitored. The technology they use, you hear the clicks on the line. It’s almost like they want you to know they’re listening. I had to be exceedingly careful.

  — So you and Laurent used the birds?

  — We did.

  — Two nights ago. Laurent was drunk. You texted. He thought you might have died.

  Steffi pulled the car over. She rubbed her lips, and Libète saw her hands tremble on the steering wheel.

  — That night, just after meeting with Benoit, our home in Boutilier was firebombed. Father and I barely got out alive.

  — My God. Libète undid her belt and climbed to the front seat. She took Stephanie’s hand. Will it ever stop? She reached her arms around the woman, who now seemed very much like a girl herself.

  — I’m just so happy – tears began pouring out – so happy to see you both. It’s thanks to him, for sure.

  Libète was confused. Laurent?

  — No–yes, him too, but no. Inspector Dimanche. His story, ever since that night he first opposed Benoit, has remained your story.

  Libète walks intently, her machete at her side. The tin slope of Janel’s roof comes into view, spied over a hill’s subtle crest. She breathes deeply. The stakes of this conversation were as high as the mountain was tall.

  Magdala believed it would be better to have Libète speak with her alone. If others knew Magdala and the girl had been discussing the Sosyete’s inner workings, it would only create more trouble.

  Libète rounds the hill’s edge and takes in the house. The home sits in a hollow and is wedged into a natural indentation in the rock, looking out on an enclosed yard. It is modest, like the other homes in the area, and that is telling. With Janel’s relationships to outside groups, she could have benefitted personally over the years, but she still lived as the rest of Foche. Her lack of airs and commitment to solidarity made Libète’s admiration for the woman swell.

  Libète jumps. Prosper is in the yard, sharpening his own machete with a stone. He too is surprised to see her and lowers the stone and blade to his sides. Wha . . . why are you here?

  — Your mother. Is she in?

  He swallows. His eyes are saucers. He nods, like he’s expecting her to say something else. Her brow tenses. What’s the matter with you? she says, her words hushed and severe.

  — She’s inside. Excuse me. Prosper drops his things and leaves the enclosure, almost as if afraid.

  This was not the entrance she had expected to make. She stood straight, smoothing the pleats in her sweat-stiffened skirt, and refastened her demure mask to again become Sophia. She knocked twice on the worn, wood doorframe. Honor, Libète called.

  With a beat, the response came called back. Respect! You may enter!

  Libète pried the door open. Janel sat at a desk with a pen in her hand and a ledger laid out before her. The uneven slats let the west-slumping Sun illuminate her desk.

  — Ah, Sophia! She removed her oversize glasses, perched on the tip of her flat nose. One of the glasses’ temples was substituted with a pen. What brings you to my home? You’re welcome, of course.

  Libète lowered her head but couldn’t help taking in the space, searching its corners out of the sides of her eyes. Crucifix, pots, beds, table, a single framed picture, scattered books–

  — I have a request, she finally said.

  — A request?

  — A request.

  — Yes?

  — It’s a heavy thing.

  — Heavy, you say?

  — Very heavy. The heaviest.

  — Oh? The animatris shifted in her chair and leaned forward. Feel free to speak. This space, it’s safe. As safe as you’ll find.

  Libète felt the tension slip from her shoulders. I’ve run into – she whispered, her hand lifted to shield the words – the Sosyete.

  Janel tensed. Without hesitating, she stood to close the front door and curtain the windows. The room plunged into low light and shadow. She went to Libète and took her hands. Tell me, she said. What has happened.

  They sat on a bed. Libète couldn’t meet her intense stare. I was summoned. Last night. Called to one of their gatherings.

  — You . . . saw them, then? The membership?

  Libète nodded, but then shook her head. I saw them, but their faces were covered. I–I didn’t recognize them.

  Janel stared into open space. They are a force to be reckoned with, she said. I’ve had my dealings with them. And have my suspicions about its membership. They keep secrets well, and hurt those who violate those secrets. Janel’s words seemed a recitation. You must tell me why they called you. This is not ordinary.

  Libète crossed her feet, scratched her knee. The leader, Papa Legba, said that I must go.

  — Ordered you to leave?

  — In one week. Because I’m a risk. Because of what happened with those two guards.

  — A heavy thing, indeed. You’ll go?

  — I don’t want to.

  — But you must. The Sosyete stands on the edge of a blade, between good and evil. Those who cross them suffer. You’re fortunate they summoned you and didn’t steal you in the night. This, this is a blessing.

  — But I have nowhere to go. No one to go to. Foche, it’s become my home.

  Janel’s expression was steely yet compassionate. She gave the girl a bracing hand.

  — This is an injustice, to be sure. You’ve been accepted here. A risk, they said? What risk could you possibly pose, Sophia?

  Libète cringed at this particular use of the fake name, knowing very well the risks she posed. Madanm Janel, I come to you with hope. I was thinking about something else Legba said. Foche is theirs to control, I understand that, but he said the order to go came from one even higher.

  — What are you asking of me?

  — To intervene. To save my life here.

  Janel stood up and paced. Now this, this is a heavy thing. To make such a request . . . it can be dangerous! She looked at Libète, who looked emptied.

  — I’m sorry I came. The girl rose, looking downward. Of course I couldn’t ask this of you. Threatening your place here, when you do such good, to protect myself–it’s a selfish thing.

  Janel stopped Libète halfway toward the door. But an understandable one. And I will do what I can.

  Libète swelled with new hope. She took the woman’s hands. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

  — It’s all right. Sophia, I don’t know you well, but when I see you, I see strength buried down deep. You remind me of myself, just about to discover how much power you have.

  — Mèsi. Mèsi anpil.

  — If I can keep you here, I will. But prepare yourself for the worst, while hoping for the best.

  Libète nodded, wicking away tears.

  — And thank you for coming to me with this, Janel said. For trusting me with it. I want you to know–

  Three knocks on the door made her pause. Mother?

  — I’m still with Sophia,
Prosper.

  — I think you need to see this.

  They can hear the dull rumbling before feeling the ground shake with small tremors.

  The two walk toward the door together. Janel was restored to her regal bearing. What is it?

  Prosper looked at Libète warily. The guards – he signaled with a slant of his head to the large truck that was parked nearby – they have someone for you.

  — Someone? Not something?

  Janel stepped out toward Cinéus and Wilnor. They stood in the truck’s bed, hands on their weapons.

  — Madanm, Cinéus called out with a deferential nod. We’ve caught a thief on the road. He was trying to make off with a car, and it turned out to be the local houngan’s down the mountain. We took him at the mayor’s request for fear a group might rise up and kill him. We thought you’d protect him here.

  — How . . . helpful of you. Janel was genuinely surprised.

  — You can come close, but be careful. He has some sort of sickness. He’s in and out.

  — Out right now, Wilnor called. He’s all over the place.

  — Delusional, Cinéus said.

  — Right. Delusional.

  Janel walked up and inspected him. Well, what do you want me to do with him?

  — Lock him up. Foche has a shack for such people near the market, no? When the police come through in a few days you can hand him over.

  — That’s a big responsibility. Why don’t you keep him locked up at your camp?

  — The bosses wouldn’t have that, Cinéus said.

  — Not at all, Wilnor added.

  — Take pity on him, won’t you? He’s in a bad way, even if he’s a thief, Cinéus said.

  Janel looked askance at the ailing man and sighed. Her body shielded him from Libète’s view. Something in the man’s state seemed to prick Janel’s conscience. We can handle him for a few days. Prosper, go with them. Get the key from Jeune and unlock the shed. We haven’t had to use it for some time. She said this quietly, just loud enough for Libète and Prosper to hear.

  — Not since Félix, Prosper whispered.

  — Sophia, please go with them. Maybe your healing hands can do some good to keep this one alive for the next few days?

  Libète looked at the guards: Cinéus with his lascivious eyes and Wilnor with his dull ones. Libète gave a nod. Of course. I’ll do what I can.

  Prosper climbed over the lip of the truck bed and extended a hand to Libète. She took the help and joined him.

  She sat down and crossed her legs. She took in the accused’s gnarled form, his scarecrow limbs. His feet faced her, and she could not see his face. Whatever he has is a bad disease.

  The man mumbled something and shifted to his other side.

  She convulsed at the sight, her heart’s palpitations as loud in her ears as the truck’s revving engine.

  Before her, laid low by his illness, was Lolo.

  The End of Hope

  Se pa bon pou yon moun konnen twòp.

  It’s not good for a person to know too much.

  Dimanche hides his motorcycle under a ratty tarp while Stephanie parks nearby. He is already sitting on a crate and tending to a ripped net when the other three walk up.

  Libète takes in the surroundings. The stately palms and pebble-laden beach and lone, leaning shack set back from the water and a boat that was Dimanche’s own–it all smelled of dead fish. This is his exile?

  Dimanche threads nylon through nylon. He took a large knife and cut a new strand of filament.

  — Dimanche, we need to talk. Stephanie says. Alone.

  He grunts, finishes tying a knot, lays his work down. As you wish. He brushes his hands off and follows her into the shack.

  — Look, Libète! Jak says. One of the caged traps is propped up in the shadow of the shack, and within it are three pigeons. Libète nods and then paces, her arms crossed.

  She watches the water as it slides in and seeps out. A never-ending give and take. Jak prods, analyzing the stack of traps and equipment Dimanche had accumulated. Dimanche’s boat was all white, bland compared to others down shore awash in primary colors. A rope hangs from a cleat at its back, and paddles lean against the boat. Its only flourish is the name MARCEL printed on its side. It gives Jak pause.

  Shouting erupts from inside the hovel: ‘We have no choice!’ They are Stephanie’s words. Jak and Libète look at each other.

  Dimanche sweeps the curtain hanging in the entrance aside. His face says nothing, and he’s back to his nets without a glance or word. The children step toward the shack. There is sobbing within.

  — Don’t, Dimanche orders. He recommences his careful threading. She needs some time, he says.

  Libète’s eyes are slits. So you’re a fisherman? She realizes how little she knows about the man when his uniform is stripped away.

  — I wait. And I catch. Yes.

  — Your boat, Jak says. I’ve seen it. Libète looks at Jak in surprise.

  — Have you now?

  — You’re the one who sits out there on the water near the villa. Late in the day. The only boat, Jak says.

  Dimanche gives a tight smile. Keeping watch, he says. You’re still observant, Jak.

  — You have birds too?

  — Ms. Martinette brought them to me. We kept in touch that way, and with the Monsieurs Martinette. The ‘Pigeon Post.’ He chuckles.

  — Why are you messing with those stupid nets at a time like this? Libète blurts.

  Dimanche reflects for a moment, looks at her through tired, red-webbed eyes. I understand them.

  — Jak and I need protection. I get that. But from the truth? Not from the truth. What’s going on here?

  He searches the children’s eyes in turn. These troubles . . . He sighs, laying down the broken net and choosing his words with care. What we know: Benoit wants you dead. Indisputable fact. And he has tried numerous times to effectuate that will. Also fact: despite an initial belief to the contrary, this woman Maxine is not with Benoit. She remains an open question, as is who directs her. Whoever these people are, they want you alive. Very much so. So much that she and her people thwarted Benoit’s attempts to find you after you left Cité Soleil. I have seen them even go so far as to kill Benoit’s thugs.

  Libète cannot make sense of it. But if they’re helping us, then why–

  — They do nothing for your benefit. Whatever happened on that radio show, the call, the Numbers uttered by the murdered man on the other end of the line: this spurred them to action. Dimanche darkens. This information, these Numbers entrusted to you, are of great value to someone.

  Libète balks. This is all . . . just because of . . . they can have the damned things! If it will make it stop, the world can know! 2563–

  — Silence! he shouts. Not another soul can know! Not me! No one! Forget them if you can, any mention. Benoit is a monster, but he is forced to occupy a public spotlight. This limits him. But these others, I have observed them carefully. They are not constrained by light. Dimanche stares off toward the vast, vast sea. He winces. They are cruel, through and through. Shadows of men.

  — But we never saw you these past years. Not once!

  — The fatal car accident that missed you on the road to Jacmel? Two years ago? You remember?

  — Yes.

  — It was an attempt to collide with Ms. Martinette’s vehicle. To kill you all. And remember Jak’s spelling bee, at Hotel Karibe? How you were locked in a room and the door mysteriously opened?

  — Yes.

  — And the eviction protests at the Sylvio Cantor camp? When you were almost crushed by the bulldozer?

  — Yes.

  — And the night of the Numbers, at the radio station. The malfèktè’s knife that slipped through your window?

  — Of course.

  — I made sure it went no further. And then my card–

  — Your card?

  — ‘Enemies are at your door.’ I had it passed to that doorman.

  — That . . . was
you?

  He gave a short, sad nod. It’s the one time I wish I hadn’t stayed in the dark. I knew something foul was up. My informants in Cité Soleil told me as much. But I didn’t want to reveal myself to you or anyone else, not yet. I was too cryptic. Your little friend paid the price for that mistake.

  The memory of Didi writhing felt like a poke at a healing wound. How long did you know . . . he . . . was there? Plotting. She couldn’t say Lolo’s name.

  — I didn’t know, not then. I just knew someone was making a move. Like you, I had always believed he was innocent. Jak kept Lolo’s involvement in Claire and Gaspar’s deaths a secret from everyone. I didn’t pay attention to Lolo until it was too late and you’d tripped his trap. Those hours you were missing in Cité Soleil were . . . unsettling.

  Libète was seized by new disbelief. By God! We’re talking about years, Dimanche!

  — You didn’t have eyes for anything but the surface of things. Where everything seemed safe and under control. I kept that illusion up for you.

  — How did you survive, then? Libète said. Steffi knew you were there all along? Looking after us?

  — She did, after a time. I let her know. But you two children, we decided, should not live in fear if you didn’t have to.

  — But that means she didn’t bring you into this. Who would pay for you to ensure our safety if not Steffi?

  His lips stayed tight. It’s a condition of the job that I cannot reveal your benefactor.

  — Is that so? Her brow furrowed. Who. Else. Would. Pay . . . Ah! Ah ha! It’s Moïse! Moïse Martinette. Isn’t it? She laughed smugly. Of course it is. There’s no one else who could afford to do so. She looked at Jak, who shrugged. It sounds possible, he said.

  — He’s a good one, that Moïse, Libète said. Dimanche let her revel in her conclusion and the momentary bit of satisfaction it brought.

  Libète felt a set of eyes on her. She turned to see Stephanie waiting in the doorway to the shack. With her composure regained, Stephanie walked out toward them.

  — Libète. Jak. The decision has been made. We are going to separate. Jak with me, Libète with Dimanche. Get your things. It’s time to go.