Now she had only herself to think about and she was concerned at the increasing emotional price she was paying and, as she felt that she was now past her best physically, it was becoming harder for her to play the role of mature swinger that Michel had originally defined for her in the subculture he frequented. At first, when Michel introduced her to Johnny and Ayida Mendes, she took to the lifestyle willingly and with a frisson of excitement as her sexual comfort zone was extended by new experiences, some of which frightened her at first, but she had to admit, brought enhanced pleasures too. Once she overcame her inhibitions, and was considered to be a member of the community of daring adventurers, she tended to look down on ‘straight’ people, who were constrained by their puritanical morals, or were simply too unattractive to market themselves for recreational sex in the way she could. With Michel, Sonia had been able to free herself from constraints and enjoy the experience to the full by keeping herself in good shape physically and by using her increased funds to take care of her presentation. She was happy to be admired and openly approached by men in the way that Michel encouraged. The key to the right balance was consent. Michel and Johnny had coerced her to extend her boundaries of experience and she had become willing to allow that to happen, feeling confident that they would protect her if necessary. However, once the novelty wore off, she was increasingly concerned that her protectors were also capable of becoming her exploiters. She was worried that, although in the past when she indicated that a limit of her fantasies had been reached and they relented, they had also shown that they wanted to push her further. Sonia’s boundaries did not extend to filmed gang rape and the more or less public humiliation scenarios that she had witnessed at the club. So although she was becoming concerned that there was a risk of things getting out of control, until they arrived in Haiti she had felt that uncertainty enhanced the excitement and she could still protect herself by using her influence with Michel, and therefore she continued to believe that she could trust the two men to look after her. However, recent events in Haiti had proved that her confidence was misplaced.
The single issue that created a rupture was Michel’s rejection of the need for her consent. No single explosive argument had done more to destroy Sonia’s faith in Michel than his frequent overstepping of her limits. Oh, he was never aggressive or violent about it, just extremely jovial and forceful in making fun of her if she didn’t comply. It forced her to the inevitable conclusion that ten years of her love for Michel lay in ruins. Maybe that was as much as she could have expected. After all, the relationship had served her original purpose. She must now decide what to do next, and knowing Michel, anticipate and counter any detrimental plans he might simultaneously be making for her. Michel, she thought, had become a monster, the product of his over-riding arrogance. Some of the very qualities that had attracted her to him she now hated and she was determined to take pre-emptive action to be the agent of his downfall.
A shabby, much-dented pick-up truck arrived in a dust cloud outside the smart, brightly painted wooden bungalow near Port de Paix, on the northern coast of Haiti. It gasped to a halt and the passenger side door cracked open loudly, causing the chickens and other animals to scatter. It looked as though the driver’s door of the pick-up must have been jammed shut by the obvious accident damage it displayed, because after a slight delay, two uniformed men emerged from the one working passenger-side door, wearing grey short-sleeved shirts and red and blue shoulder flashes with ‘PNH’, Haitian National Police badges, long white socks and trainers and sunglasses. The men put on blue baseball caps and approached the table under an awning, where Sonia was drinking coffee and eating a papaya.
“Madame Bodin?” asked one of the policemen.
“No. I am Madame Alvarez,” replied Sonia without elaboration. She was thinking that as she was alone she should exhibit some authority by not offering further information.
“We are policemen, Madame, and we are making enquiries. May we see your passport?”
“May I know why?”
“We have been asked to check on Monsieur Michel Bodin. Some relations in Paris have reported him missing and the French police have asked us to investigate.”
“I am Monsieur Bodin’s partner and he has gone to Paris.”
“When was that, Madame?”
“A few weeks ago, early in September.”
“Have you heard from him since?”
“No, but that’s not unusual because the telephone reception is so bad here.”
“OK Madame, let us see your documents please.”
Sonia got up and went in search of her handbag. Her pulse was thudding so much it sounded as though someone was walking behind her. She looked around and saw that the policemen were still by the table. She fought to keep control of herself. As she came back to the table, the men were standing facing her, eying every detail of her skimpy clothing and the way her body moved underneath. She smiled and presented her passport.
“Do you rent this place?” enquired the policeman who took her passport.
“No. Monsieur Bodin bought it in my name.”
“That would surprise me very much, Madame.” He made no further comment, but concentrated on flicking through the passport, reading or at least dwelling on every page including the blanks, leaving Sonia to think smugly that for her at least there had been a way to acquire the property, and doubting if this man could read the passport.
“Now, please tell us exactly what were Monsieur Bodin’s plans and intended movements when he went to Paris?” The policeman noted her responses and recorded the passport number in a large, lined, hard-backed exercise book with yellowing pages and battered cover, proving that he was more literate than Sonia had at first imagined. Before leaving, the police officers lifted a sun-bleached plastic jerry can from the back of the pick up and asked Sonia to fill it with water so they could top up their leaky radiator. The men watched Sonia’s hips swing as she carried the container to an outside tap which served a large water trough, and they continued watching as she bent over it while it filled. The jerry can once had a tap at the bottom, but this had broken off and been replaced by an ill-fitting cork which leaked once the can was filled. There was still some water left in it by the time Sonia returned to the car.
The vehicle started with a noise like a cockerel and bumped away down the track from the house leading to the main track to town, leaving a cloud of dust drifting away with the light wind.
The policemen chatted in Creole, “She not worried. Not surprise he gone.”
“No, the béké has done a runner. I could take over though. Give her a taste of the tropics.” They both laughed and lit cigarettes as they bounced along slowly with a wisp of steam already rising from the radiator. They didn’t have far to go to town.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Quest for Facts
2012
Late in 2012 Patrick Mastrolli, the ex-policeman friend of Michel Bodin, phoned Thérèse out of the blue. He had retired and was now living in Dakar, in Senegal. He had been on a liaison assignment there, liked the place and decided to stay there when he retired. He asked if Thérèse could get him some business information in England. Thérèse took a note of what he wanted, and then asked if he had had any recent contact with Michel Bodin.
“Not since I have been here. I have rather lost contact with my Paris friends.”
After a long update, Thérèse asked Mastrolli if he could do anything to elucidate the circumstances of Michel’s disappearance, as his parents and the family as a whole were increasingly worried.
“It would take time and money,” he explained. “The French police have no jurisdiction in Haiti and there is another problem in that there has been no settled government there since the earthquake. It is quite a dangerous place to be.”
After further discussion, the two agreed that they would communicate via Skype and emails. Mastrolli would get some facts together, and present Thérèse and George with a proposal, either for further investig
ation, which he could set up, or alternatively advise them to drop it.
A week later, Mastrolli called Thérèse on Skype.
“I’ve looked into this and there are strange and unexplained elements to the story, but the French police are conscious of the cost and difficulty of pursuing this as a case. It really should come under Haitian police jurisdiction and they are unlikely to do any more than they have already. The earthquake in 2010 has left the whole country in disarray and although the UN is pouring in resources, the poor state of infrastructure and political instability before the earthquake means that it is still a mess. The French police had to put money on the table to fund the Haitians for the initial investigation. As you know, the relevant family witnesses are scattered from Australia to New York, Ireland and Paris, and the current breakdown of whatever administrative functions existed in Haiti before the earthquake make it difficult to obtain facts at that end.
“As to what might have happened: it is quite possible that Michel has done a disappearing trick. I heard that he was being threatened by some people in Paris, which is one reason why he went to Haiti. He was also concerned that the French tax authorities were closing in on his past business dealings and historical tax returns. They want to interview him. In addition, I believe he was tiring of his relationship with Sonia. People disappear with fewer reasons than those.”
Thérèse was not surprised to learn why Michel had left Paris, but still believed that one way or another, some harm must have come to her wayward nephew. Did he really buy the land in Haiti in Sonia’s name, as Charlotte feared? Could it have been a leaving present from him to her?
“Patrick, how much would it cost for you to carry out a more thorough investigation and visit Haiti for long enough to draw your own conclusions based on evidence, even if there is no complete explanation?”
“Could you get the key witnesses together in say Paris or London, so I don’t have to travel all over?” asked Patrick.
Thérèse considered this. “It might be possible.”
“OK, Thérèse, I am interested enough to want to look into it, but it wouldn’t do any good if I went to Haiti myself. I know someone there who is much better placed to get to the truth than me. He knows the area and I know his methods.”
“What sort of person is that? Does he have your skills and contacts?”
“If I can get him involved, and that’s not certain, he has the same sort of assets as I do, but much more closely related to that part of the world. Just to give you a flavour of the guy, he’s an ex US Marine Corps sergeant who has seen plenty of action. He then did a stint in the LA Police before going private. He organised several projects for me while I was still in Paris.”
“Isn’t an American in Haiti just going to be a visible target for anyone with something to hide?”
“Your concerns would be entirely valid, Thérèse, but this person is black and spent two years in security at the US Embassy in Port au Prince. I can’t think of anybody better suited to finding his way around in that barrel of fun.”
Thérèse agreed to the proposition, subject to Mastrolli taking overall responsibility. They agreed a sum to cover the enquiry up to the point of a report.
The levels of concern in the family and friends were real enough to spur them into action. The incident had disrupted their new status quo. Just as they were coming to terms with Michel’s separation from Charlotte, he had disappeared, so less than a month after their Skype conversation the Miltons met Mastrolli with the family, including Annick, Estelle, and Lydia, Michel’s parents, Charlotte Bodin and the Mendeses in the bar of a three star hotel near the Opera in Paris. Then, over a meal in an excellent nearby restaurant, they briefed Patrick Mastrolli on what they knew.
The circumstances had forced them to form a society of common interest and they were ready to share their frustrations. Patrick let the group talk among themselves, putting in the occasional question to steer the debate and to allow those who were too often interrupted to finish their inputs. This was not a meeting for reserved speakers and those with quiet voices tended to be overwhelmed by the sheer volume and continuity of others. As they warmed up after a glass or two of wine, it was apparent to Patrick that although the family shared mixed emotions about Michel, the strongest of those emotions was anger. Each of these people felt a strong sense of the loss of someone who had been a landmark in their lives, and anger, not because of his recent disappearance, but because of the way he had conducted his life and made his earlier choices. He had, to a greater or lesser extent, ended the life they shared before and then sought to re-impose himself with his mistress, forcing them to accept a new relationship. Patrick thought the one who took the new situation with most equanimity was Estelle, who seemed quite fatalistic about it and was probably trying to maintain a balance of relations with both her parents without judging them. The others were making their own way without Michel, but he was still husband, father, son or friend and he wouldn’t go away, and more irritatingly, Sonia wouldn’t go away. The two were constant companions and until his disappearance, Michel would only meet other members of the family with Sonia in tow. Was that a case of Michel imposing his will, or was it Sonia, clinging close to fill any space left by Charlotte? They were still a family and there were still parties, anniversaries, weddings and grandchildren to bring them together, so it was hard to exclude him.
Feelings were overwhelming, but new facts were few, so by the end of his briefing, Patrick concluded that although everybody had their views on what had been taking place, they were light on relevant facts and detail that could be of immediate use to him or add to his background knowledge. They did not have much idea as to how Michel operated in recent years. Even his wife could only see what happened in the bank accounts she managed, though by now, Patrick felt sure, most of Michel’s money had been shifted to new, probably overseas accounts. Beyond that, Charlotte was in denial about Michel’s private life and intrigues. The Mendeses, who Patrick thought might know more than the others, were almost silent throughout, though they showed concern and sympathy.
Armed with this thin information, he prepared notes, added some thoughts of his own, and transmitted them to Eugène Kotor, his associate in Haiti, requesting a detailed investigation with extraction of the truth.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Investigation
Besides the main streets in the Haitian capital, Port au Prince, there are only two paved highways in the country and they link the northern and the southern regions. National Highway One (Duarte Highway) extends north from Port-au-Prince to Cap Haitien via the coastal towns of Gonaives, Saint Louis and Port de Paix. It was paved in 1973 with funding from the Aid and International Development Forum, but despite further international funding, much of which would probably have been diverted elsewhere, and some improvement efforts by the National Road Maintenance Service, inadequate road maintenance persists and the roads are in very poor state. A journey of just a few kilometres on such roads, even in a well-adapted vehicle, can leave passengers and drivers feeling numb and welcoming an opportunity to stretch out and lie down.
When Eugene Kotor arrived at Michel Bodin’s house near the beach a few kilometres outside Port de Paix, he had travelled nearly 200 kilometres from Port au Prince in a Toyota Land Cruiser with two colleagues, stopping first to rest in the back room of a bar, which was infested with mosquitos, and later to make some enquiries at the local bus station in Port de Paix. He had felt every bump in the road through his bones. He had avoided looking at the scenery, preferring to think about the case in his air-conditioned private cell before stepping out into the hot, uncomfortable real world outside. He was in no mood to sit patiently and listen to Sonia’s lies. He knew now that the version she had given to the police was untrue.
Before setting out, one of the questions in his mind was how she had returned to Port de Paix after parking Michel’s car at Cap Haitien airport, nearly forty kilometres to the east.
Assuming Sonia Alvarez wa
s acting alone and in no hurry, the most likely methods of travel would be by Tap-Tap bus or taxi. If she had taken one of those options, it was likely that someone else from Port de Paix had travelled at the same time or seen her getting off. Kotor had followed that hunch at the bus and taxi station. There were so few whites living in the area that it was easy to get some useful input before turning to Sonia for corroboration.
The bus station was no more than a Y junction in the road with a concrete bund wall in the centre to protect the fuel pumps from carelessly driven vehicles. In the narrow streets on either side of the fuel bunkers, buses and taxis parked where they could between heaps of tyres, and vehicles under repair. A butcher’s shop doorway was piled with half-open cartons of meat, and huge, high-sided tipper lorries, which are also used for passenger transport, blocked the streets outside. Between the larger vehicles and other obstacles zoomed flocks of cheap Chinese motorcycles. Once a bus was fully loaded it was some time before it could lumber away to find its route out of town, but the slow progress of heavily laden, mostly overloaded vehicles along the streets served a useful purpose of crushing rubbish that was deposited there, to be thus reduced to mulch when the rains came. A bus journey towards the edge of the city would be at no more than walking pace in order to avoid wheelbarrows and flat trailers loaded with sacks and powered by humans. Other obstacles to be negotiated included: errant animals, files of immaculately uniformed school girls in tartan kilts, and boys in perfectly pressed long khaki trousers. A bus driver spent several minutes following an attractive young woman in a short skirt, beeping his horn so she would look round. Most of the women to be seen on the street were either pregnant or had recently given birth and were accompanied by tiny, brightly dressed infants.
A Clean Pair of Hands Page 20