The Eden Legacy

II

Rebecca glared at Andriama, hoping that hostility might send him on his way; but he didn’t even seem to notice as he pulled out a chair for himself and sat down, raised his hand for a waiter, called out for a hot chocolate and a pastry. ‘You’re here early today,’ he said. ‘You stay last night in Tulear, perhaps?’

Rebecca had passed a police checkpoint on her way in. They were so common in Madagascar, she hadn’t given it a second thought. Yet something in Andriama’s manner made her suspect that this meeting was no accident. ‘I’ve just come from Eden,’ she told him.

‘From Eden?’ He pretended surprise. ‘You must have set off early.’

‘Yes.’

‘You bring me perhaps the blood information for your father and sister? Perhaps that is why you come so early?’ Rebecca had forgotten about that. She rummaged through her bag for the slip of paper Therese had given her, passed it across. Andriama studied it briefly, then frowned in genuine perplexity.

‘What is it?’ asked Rebecca.

Andriama glanced up at her. ‘We find two blood-types on the boat,’ he said. ‘One blood they tell me is woman blood. Two blood they tell me is man blood. I do not understand how they know this blood is man blood and that blood is woman blood, but they assure me-’

‘It’s to do with chromosomes,’ said Rebecca.

‘Yes,’ smiled Andriama. ‘That is what they assure me.’ He set down the paper she’d given him, tapped it significantly. ‘This woman blood matches your sister.’

‘But the male blood doesn’t match my father’s?’

‘Exact!’ Andriama beamed like a proud teacher. ‘This is strange. I think for sure this will be your father’s blood. It is AB negative blood. According to my doctors, you do not find this AB negative blood at all among Malagasy men. You do not find much in foreigners, either, but never in Malagasy.’

‘It’s rare?’

‘Yes! Exact! It is rare. It is rare foreigner’s blood.’ He smiled wolfishly, and she saw his shrewdness suddenly, why he’d become a policeman, how he’d made his way up through the ranks. ‘You tell me maybe who it come from, this rare foreigner’s blood?’

Rebecca shrugged. ‘Pierre?’

Andriama shook his head. ‘No. We know already the blood of Monsieur Desmoulins. This is not it.’

‘You know Pierre’s blood?’

‘Oh yes. For sure we know Monsieur Desmoulins and his blood.’ He gave her a mischievous smile. ‘He is sometimes our guest after his nights out in Tulear, you know.’ His order arrived. He clapped his hands with delight, plopped four rough sugar-lumps into his hot chocolate, then took a huge bite from his pastry, leaving his lips glossy with icing.

‘How about the South Africans who found the boat?’ asked Rebecca. ‘Maybe the blood came from one of them.’

‘No. We ask already. Is not them.’

‘Eden often has foreign guests,’ said Rebecca. ‘So does Pierre.’

‘You will give me perhaps a list of visitors?’

‘Of course. Next time I’m in Tulear. Now if you’ll excuse me-’

‘Anyone else?’

‘No. Not that I can think of.’

‘But you are seen in Tulear yourself with a foreigner two nights ago. A tall man. English, I’m told.’

‘Daniel?’ For some reason, even the suggestion made Rebecca freeze a little. ‘No.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘I just am,’ she told him stiffly. ‘That has nothing to do with him. But why all these questions? I thought you believed it was just an accident.’

Andriama gestured vaguely. ‘I am a mountain man. These nights in Tulear are too hot for me. I cannot sleep. My brain makes circles; it makes patterns. I tell you, I think, that people are sometimes taken for money near here.’

‘Kidnapped?’

‘Exact! Yes! Kidnapped.’

‘But you also said that hadn’t happened with my father and sister. You gave some very good reasons. I forget exactly-’

‘Yes. Three reason.’ He held up his thumb. ‘People know your father not have big money.’ Up came his index finger. ‘Why take your father and sister? Kidnappers need someone back home to raise money for them.’ The middle finger. ‘No one receive a ransom demand.’

‘That sounds convincing to me.’

‘But!’ Andriama spread all his fingers now. ‘What if these kidnappers never mean for your father to pay?’

Rebecca swallowed. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘What if they mean for you to pay? You are success. You are rich. Your father is proud man, he tells everyone how big success and rich you are. Perhaps these bad peoples hear of this. Perhaps they think, if they take him, you will come home and they will make you pay.’

‘Wouldn’t I have heard from them by now?’

‘Yes!’ beamed Andriama. ‘You would.’

There was silence. Rebecca could hear her heart pounding. ‘What are you suggesting?’ she asked, trying to be imperious, but her mouth was so dry that it came out as a treacherous croak.

‘I think it is clear exact what I suggest.’ He leaned forward. ‘We find no bodies yet. In a drowning like this, we expect to find bodies by now.’

Her outrage was genuine. ‘How dare you say that?’

‘I sorry.’ He didn’t look it. He dipped another sugarlump into his hot chocolate until it had soaked brown, then he popped it in his mouth and crunched it with evident pleasure between his stubby molars. ‘You visit my good friend Mustafa Habib two nights ago. You stay with him two hour.’

‘You’ve been watching me?’ He shook his head to deny her charge. Rebecca frowned. ‘You’re watching Mustafa.’Andriama shook his head again, but his grin betrayed him. She asked: ‘Why are you watching your good friend Mustafa?’

‘Is privilege of being police that we are the ones who ask the questions,’ answered Andriama. ‘What you talk about with Mustafa?’

‘That’s private.’

‘Mustafa very busy man this weekend. He visit people. He ask for money, big money. My people hear whispers that this money is ransom money.’

‘I know nothing about any money Mustafa might be raising,’ said Rebecca. ‘I suggest you ask him, not me.’

Andriama nodded. ‘We will.’

‘Anything else?’ asked Rebecca. ‘If not, I’ll-’

‘Sit! Sit!’ he said. ‘Listen: We not like kidnapping in this country. We make it stop, everyone safer. But very difficult to make stop when people pay. It encourage others. So! We pass new laws. You know these laws?’

‘This has nothing to do with me.’

‘These laws say is criminal not just to ask money for kidnap, but also to pay money for kidnap. We put people who pay in jail.’

‘You’re lying,’ said Rebecca weakly.

‘Oh yes, is true.’ He held up his hand, spread his fingers. ‘Five years.’ He dipped more sugar into his chocolate, watched greedily as it turned brown. ‘You know our jails? We have one in Tulear.’ He turned and pointed down one of the nearby streets. ‘I show you, if you wish. They not like English jails, nice, lots of room, bathroom and shower, one television each, doctor, lawyer, family, friends visit every day. Our jails nasty jails. Men, women all together, wash and make shit together.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘A pretty girl like you, I worry for her.’

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘Me? No. I give information, travel information. And is not just jail you must think about. If we know Mustafa collects money, bad peoples know also. Greedy peoples. They think maybe this their chance to make themselves rich. When Mustafa gives you money, they-’

‘I’ve had enough of this.’

‘-they come for you,’ insisted Andriama. ‘Guns, knives. They cut your throat, here to here, for money like this.’

Rebecca rose to her feet. ‘How dare you talk to me this way!’

‘Because I want to help you,’ said Andriama. ‘Tell me what happen and I do everything I can. What chance have you, alone?’ He leaned forward, tapped the tabletop. ‘Listen-these kidnappers watch what you do. Already they see you talk with me today. They think now for sure we work together.’ He spread his hands to show her the obviousness of what he was saying. ‘You have nothing to lose.’

‘Jesus!’ exclaimed Rebecca. She walked unsteadily away, hands on her head. What a mess this was becoming! She consulted her watch. Nine fifty, still no sign of Mustafa or the kidnappers. Andriama was finishing his pastry, watching her closely. She hurried for her Jeep, her nerves jangling. A stone had got into her right shoe and now pressed against her heel. She tried to pick it out but lost balance, had to put her hand against the wall.

A phone began to ring nearby. Rebecca looked around. Some Madagascans eked out a tenuous living renting out their mobiles. One such man was sitting at a school-desk on the pavement, fanning himself with an old newspaper. He had no chin at all, as though a team of crack surgeons had cut out his jawbone and stitched his Adams apple directly back to his lower lip. Rebecca watched with a sense of premonition as he answered his phone, listened for a few moments, then held it out to her. ‘C’est pour vous,’ he said.