One Green Bottle

by Curtis Bausse

Magali turned and fled.

  At the corner of the street, she looked back. They hadn’t bothered to follow. She heard the sound of shattering glass and a cheer went up in the still, warm air of the evening.

  Magali hurried back up the road to the flat. Were the neighbours in now? They’d know what to do, they’d help, that was the spirit here. We’re all in this together. But just as before, when she rang the bell there came no answer. Five other flats, every one of them empty. Where were they all? Sheltering in the Nyora, no doubt, the mzungu watering hole, the only place in town that could be called a restaurant. Sensible enough – safety in numbers. Unless the Muslims decided to storm it. Smash the bar to bits, butcher the infidels.

  She clutched her phone, scratched at the glue on the screen. It clung to her fingers, got under her nails, wrapped itself round her brain. For the umpteenth time, she tapped the number. The same, desolate succession of beeps came to taunt her.

  The anniversary. The day she opened her door and Charlotte was there, desperate and bereft. Since you’re a private detective, I’d like you to find the person who killed my son. Oh, yes, how her life had changed!

  Magali stood in the corridor, biting her lip, head bowed.

  A ravine. Upside down. She can’t get out. Broken bones, bleeding. Dead.

  She went back outside. She was approaching the Sofidep junction when a car came towards her. Followed by another. And another.

  She hesitated. Stepped out into the road. Waved.

  A gasp of relief as she recognised the driver: he lived in the flat over the landing. White, friendly, concerned. Young wife beside him in the car.

  ‘Look, I’m awfully sorry but my friend’s had an accident. I need to go out and find her, I’ve had no news, her car must have –’

  ‘Of course,’ said the neighbour. No second thoughts. Solidarity. ‘But where?’

  ‘She was coming back from –’ The phone came to life in her hand. ‘Wait a minute!’ She jabbed the screen. ‘Charlotte!’ A rush of relief. ‘What happened? Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m... Yes, I’m fine, it’s just... Oh, hell, Magali!’

  ‘What’s the matter? What happened?’

  ‘I hit a girl and...’ Charlotte’s voice was concentrated misery. ‘She’s dead!’

  Chapter 2

  ‘Unfortunate.’ Benjamin Malo’s assessment made him, in Magali’s view, a master of understatement. Mild, almost dreamy, he rocked back and forth in a large black chair behind his desk, looking as if he’d rather be somewhere else. Swimming in the lagoon, no doubt. His slim build and smooth, tanned features appeared to be made for snorkelling, not sitting at a computer recording details of a death. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t make matters any worse,’ he muttered, more for his own benefit than theirs. ‘Things are awkward enough as they are.’ He meant the riot, though it wasn’t referred to as such. On the news that morning, they called it ‘a disturbance.’

  Malo, absent-mindedly chewing a fingernail, wasn’t expecting an answer, so Magali didn’t say what came to mind: If you wanted a cushy job, how about car-park attendant? The crisply dressed officer in front of them was a captain in the Gendarmerie Nationale.

  On the other hand, when you looked out of his window, you could sympathise. Lush vegetation, sparkling blue lagoon, a band of turquoise in the distance where the sea met the coral reef. Here they were in paradise and everything was going belly-up.

  Paradise, to be exact, was Mayotte. 150 square miles of tropical island, a little dot in the Indian Ocean that was, since 2011, a French department. Hounda, where Magali and Charlotte were staying, was a small, normally sleepy town on the west coast. Hardly a magnet for tourists – in this part of the world, the major player was Mauritius. But Magali had suggested it might be an interesting place for a couple of weeks or so, and a friend of hers, Pierre, had kindly lent them his flat so they thought, why not? They hadn’t arrived, as some tourists do, completely ignorant of the challenges facing the island, on the contrary. As soon as they decided, Charlotte began to research: Mayotte, a geopolitical oddity, could make for a good documentary. Even so they’d been surprised by the atmosphere. An undercurrent of tension, an edginess in the air, as if beneath the somnolence it wouldn’t take much for paradise to explode. Which, as the riot proved, it didn’t.

  And now, on top of it all, an imbecile of a mzungu woman had gone and killed a local.

  Perched on the edge of her chair, hair all over the place, Charlotte was far from her normal impeccable self. The eyes especially. She’d been up all night, first at the scene of the accident, then back at the flat, unable to sleep, staring out from the balcony at a flat, moonlit sea. The eyes were harrowed by guilt.

  Now was the moment of reckoning. Confession. Those few seconds of horror transposed into a stark, indelible statement. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Unable to face the ordeal alone, she’d asked Magali to come with her. Malo, putting them both at ease, said by all means, she was welcome.

  ‘I’ve drawn up a statement which pretty much covers it.’ Malo studied the screen, made a couple of amendments before setting the printer in motion. ‘You were under stress when you spoke last night to Lieutenants Dabrowski and Bonisset. So I want to make sure you agree with what’s written. At this stage it’s just an account of the facts.’

  ‘I see,’ said Charlotte, then looked up fearfully. ‘And later?’

  ‘If it goes to trial, you mean? You’ll have a lawyer putting a spin on them. My job is to make sure we agree upon the facts.’

  ‘If? You mean it might not?’

  ‘We don’t know the victim’s identity yet. Whether there’s a family somewhere. Whether they’ll want to press charges.’

  Magali leant forward. ‘Why wouldn’t they?’

  ‘We don’t know who she was but one thing I can say is she was illegal.’ He arched his eyebrows: You get my meaning?

  They did. Mayotte now was a part of France in the same way as Normandy or Alsace. Therefore part of the European Union. Fully half of the population were illegal immigrants from neighbouring Comoros. Get a foothold in Mayotte and you’re bound for Eldorado. Unless, that is, the authorities send you back. Fear of which was a strong incentive to keep a low profile.

  ‘It doesn’t mean they won’t. Or even stoke up trouble. As you saw with yesterday’s disturbance, a situation can flare up any time.’ He gazed at her steadily. His eyes were the colour of the lagoon. ‘We must do all we can to prevent that.’

  ‘But surely something…’ Charlotte looked confused. ‘There has to be some sort of trial.’

  ‘Oh, yes, if not civil, then penal. The Republic versus Madame Perle.’ He announced it like the title of a play.

  Charlotte stared at him for a moment, then lowered her head, fingers rubbing her brow.

  ‘And the penalty?’ said Magali.

  ‘Involuntary manslaughter? Anything up to five years. And with an aggravating circumstance, seven.’ Seeing her look of shock, he reached out a hand, reassuring. ‘It’s unlikely to come to that. Could just be a hefty fine. I’ve had to say, of course, that your friend was phoning, which means that ultimately the responsibility is hers.’ Charlotte being absent, hunched in wretchedness, he spoke to Magali instead. ‘But there are mitigating circumstances.’ He glanced down at the statement. ‘It was dark, the victim was barely visible… No markings on the road. She was driving slowly... Vehicle in good condition... Tested negative for alcohol or other substances, no previous convictions, driving or otherwise.’ He looked up, this time at Charlotte. ‘And of course the fact that the victim, you say, ran out in front of the car.’

  Charlotte nodded energetically. ‘Really suddenly. I mean, I hardly had time –’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got it all down.’ He flashed a brief smile. ‘So all that could help. I say “could” because it might be argued that given the conditions, there was all the more need to be paying full attention. From what I hear, phoning at the wheel’s become a bit of an issue in the Metropole. Out here, who
knows? It’s the first case of its kind. The Prosecutor might even decide to let it go. Unlikely, but it’s his prerogative. The ball’s in his court, so we’ll see.’ He paused, waiting for a reaction. ‘Any other questions?’

  Charlotte swallowed and shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  He passed the statement over. ‘Read it carefully before signing. It’s important you agree with what’s written, so now is the time to change anything you think is inaccurate.’

  The Captain glanced at Magali as Charlotte began reading. He was more relaxed now than when they’d entered, as if with the signing of the statement, a first, tricky hurdle was overcome. He gave Magali a pleasant nod, then took out his phone and consulted it for messages.

  Satisfied, he allowed himself a touch of sociability. ‘Planning on staying long?’

  ‘Three weeks. Well, until this happened... I suppose we’ll have to wait now.’

  ‘Assuming he prosecutes, we’ll see what the magistrate says. Probably ask you to stay in Mayotte – well, your friend, anyway – but you never know. With sufficient guarantees, there’s a chance she’ll be able to return to the Metropole. Might be wanting to, after yesterday’s little rampage.’

  ‘No!’ Charlotte intervened with vehemence. ‘I have to see this out. I can’t just bunk off like that.’

  ‘It could be months before a trial,’ said Malo.

  ‘At least till everything’s clearer,’ Charlotte mumbled, eyes returning to the statement.

  From what Magali had seen, clarity wasn’t a word you’d associate with Mayotte. No one appeared to know why the French were even there, let alone what the future would bring. ‘A rampage indeed,’ she said. ‘The neighbour said something about a street party. How could it degenerate like that?’

  ‘Moulidi, to be exact. A religious dance. The Muslims come out in the street and celebrate. It wasn’t the moulidi itself that degenerated, it took place a few days ago. They’d asked for permission and obtained it, so they were in their rights. But it got pretty rowdy and... Well, someone complained, threatened to sue them for disturbing the peace. That’s what sparked it all off.’

  ‘Well, whoever complained got more than they bargained for, I’d say.’

  Charlotte made a clicking sound – she was having trouble concentrating. It took her a long time to read the statement and at one point she put her finger on the page to help her focus on the words. Finally she got to the end, then ran her eyes over it again before saying, ‘I swerved. I mean, I did try to avoid her. That’s why I went off the road.’

  Malo nodded and turned to his computer. ‘Right. I’ll add a sentence to that effect.’

  ‘The point is it would have been hard to avoid her even if I hadn’t been phoning.’

  Malo shot a quick glance at her and continued typing. ‘That’s an interpretation, not a fact. A point to take up with your lawyer.’ He read out the sentence he’d added and asked for her approval. ‘Anything else?’

  Charlotte looked across at Magali and shook her head.

  Malo printed out the statement again. ‘I’d advise you to be careful over the next few days, not venture out too much. I don’t think there’ll be any trouble, but once it gets out what happened, you never know how they’ll react.’

  Charlotte caught her breath. ‘What, you mean they’ll come after me? Lynch me?’

  He waved it away, smiling at her reaction. ‘They won’t be baying for blood, no. But tensions being what they are, there could be some hostility. It’s best not to show yourself too much.’

  Charlotte was silent for a while. The word hostility circled in the air like a nasty insect. ‘Of course,’ she said eventually. She took up the pen to sign.

  At which point, Magali put out a hand to stop her. ‘Just one question,’ she said, feeling her heart beat faster – she was going to appear foolish. ‘I know it can’t go in the statement, but out of curiosity, what if Charlotte doesn’t actually think she killed her?’

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  Acknowledgements:

  Madeleine – this book could never have been written without your patience and understanding. Thank you.

  To Emily and Malcolm, thank you for always believing in me, and for your generous and helpful advice.

  I would like to thank everyone who reviewed and commented on the book, and helped to make it what it is. Special thanks to Marlin and Sheila, and to Renee – your support and encouragement were a great source of motivation.

  Thank you, Audrey, for your excellent editing and advice (not to mention your generosity) – I am alone responsible for any remaining infelicities.