There is a Land (A Libète Limyè Mystery) (32 page)

— The end of hope . . . Libète let the words trail off into the air, the phrase familiar even though its provenance was vague. She couldn’t place who had said it, but nodded anyway, allowing Magdala to hold her wrist and lead her out of the corn and onto the road to Janel’s.

Libète reaches for a weapon while Stephanie reaches for the girl. Libète finds none.

— You bastard! she shouts, springing into action anyway. Jak had fallen backward from his place on the mausoleum steps, scurrying along the ground like a crab.

— Stop! Stephanie shouts.

With her running start, Libète jumps onto a tomb and into the air, sailing toward Dimanche. He catches her, barely budging in the process, and subdues her. He grips her arms tight so that she can’t pummel him and pins her against the crypt’s wall.

— Your mask is off now, is it? She spits at him, and the spray hits his shoulder. He looks down, then back at her, meeting her withering stare with empty eyes.

—
Libète!
Stephanie blares as she loosens Dimanche’s tight grip on Libète and pushes herself between the two. Control yourself! He’s a
friend
, as he’s always been.

The few people haunting the cemetery watch.

— That’s a – Libète bucks –
lie!
Her mind struggles with the claim. He tried to steal me!

— To rescue you! Stephanie retorted.

Dimanche demonstrated no particular need to vindicate himself. He stepped back into the slanted shadow and reached for a handkerchief, first wiping his sweaty, bald head and then the spittle on his shirt.

Stephanie grabbed Libète’s head and looked her in the eye. If you only knew the foolish things you’re saying . . .

Libète resisted her hold again.

— We need to go, Dimanche said, inclining his head toward the onlookers.

— But Laurent! We have to wait, wait and see if he comes, Stephanie said weakly.

— He’s dead, Jak said. His renewed presence nearly made them jump.

Stephanie gasped. No . . . no. That’s not–how did you know to come here? The message I sent by bird–

— We found it in the villa, Jak said, on our return. On the ground, near all the dead ones. Madanm Manno, she informed. She said Laurent ran into the water as those who broke in fired at him. He didn’t run back out.

Stephanie held her hand to her mouth. Just like the old days, just like the old days, she said. No one is safe . . .

— We need to go, Dimanche said again.

— I’m not going anywhere with
him
, Libète said.

— Where’s the motorcycle? Dimanche asked. Jak pointed. Dimanche started toward the cemetery’s breached wall. Back to my place, he said. We’ll decide where to go from there.

— But can’t we wait a little more, Stephanie asked, just in case–

— No.

She nodded, and stood. Jak, Libète. Come with me.

— I need an
explanation
, Libète said, stomping the ground.
Now.

— You will have it, Dimanche growled. Just shut your mouth and do as Ms. Stephanie says, or else you’ll find you won’t be able to speak.

They heard the motorcycle’s kick and rumble before they piled into Laurent’s car, the one Stephanie had held in her custody these months. The black BMW was scratched in many places and had a crunched back fender. It had been pristine when they last saw it.

They rode along the shoreline in an impenetrable silence. It was easier not to talk. Stephanie needed to process news of Laurent’s death, while Libète mulled over the possibility that Dimanche was somehow a friend rather than foe. She ran her hand over the supple black leather of the backseat, feeling its soft ridges and seams. Jak’s hand met hers there, and she let him hold it tight.

The tinted windows made ebullient Jacmel a world of shadows. To Libète, the city now seemed alien and profane, for it and its people did not yield to the weighty things that lay behind and before her.

— Where have you been, Steffi? These past months?

It takes half a minute for her to answer. That’s a long story.

— Please, Jak said. Please tell us.

She sighed. I’ve been trying to secure your protection. I called upon my father, his connections, political and otherwise. You saw the news online I take it? New assassination attempts in Port-au-Prince. Lax, lazy law enforcement. Hardly an investigation into the radio station and Gerry’s murder. ‘No political will,’ the chief of police said to my face. ‘Benoit is insulated,’ another high-up officer said to me. I tried to feed the press stories about you, Libète, tried to get them to print the truth about why you’d disappeared. Not because you were guilty of Didi’s death, but because of fear of persecution, because you had so obviously been targeted. But my ‘friends’ in the press, after what happened to Gerry, didn’t want to step in front of that oncoming train. Stephanie looked at the children in the rearview mirror. So at long last, I went straight to the devil himself.

— You mean?

— Jean-Pierre Benoit. I went to his home. There was no other way I could see to make it stop.

—
Se vre?
But why? Jak said. Right into the lion’s den!

— I saw no other way. He welcomed me, all smiles. Treated me like an old friend. ‘Out of respect for the name Martinette,’ he said. I was in no mood for pleasantries. I asked him what it would take to leave you both alone.

— 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.