Free Brother Kemal by Jakob Arjouni Page B

involved! I don’t mean smoking a bit of weed, why would he go to prison for that? So stop telling me fairy tales!’
    I looked at the villa to see if there was any activity at the windows. In the last few minutes Valerie de Chavannes’s voice had risen louder and louder. But I couldn’t see either Marieke or the housekeeper.
    Now Valerie de Chavannes wasn’t looking at me with pleading in her eyes, but like a wild animal. A mother animal who would defend her young however bloody the fight. And she wanted me to decide: was I for her or against her?
    As calmly as possible I said, ‘I’m not telling you fairy tales. Abakay won’t be going to prison for dealing drugs but – or if I were the public prosecutor this is how I’d construct the case – for murder.’
    I emphasised the word
murder
clearly. Presumably therewere several ways of nailing Abakay: for trafficking in minors, pimping, sexual abuse, abduction, rape, drugs – and maybe murder too, depending on how you interpreted the scene in the front hall of his apartment, but that made no difference to me at the moment. I just wanted to utter the word
murder
. Valerie de Chavannes had to hear the precise description of what she was suggesting to me. Never mind
I’m wondering how far you would go in that direction …?
    ‘It will probably be hard to pin murder on him, but who knows?’
    ‘Murder …?’ Obviously my remarks had had the desired effect. Valerie de Chavannes looked as if someone had kicked her hard in the behind.
    ‘That’s what it’s called when someone is killed, however much of a bastard he is. Incidentally, you get far longer than two or three years in prison for it. And you know something? I wouldn’t even like to spend a weekend in there.’
    ‘But … but why would Abakay murder someone?’ There was horror in her face.
    ‘As I said, I don’t want to explain the circumstances. Try to forget Abakay, be glad you have Marieke back, and above all, never ask anyone again to kill for you. Because from that moment on, if he plays his cards right, well, he has you firmly in his power. And how would it be if it wasn’t Abakay but a slimy little private detective from Gutleutstrasse who wanted his share of your cake?’
    She was still looking at me in horror, and then increasingly in confusion and embarrassment. In the end she just looked downcast. She turned her eyes away and looked at the flowering shrubs. After a while she said, ‘I don’t think you’re either little or slimy.’
    ‘Thanks, but I didn’t mean it literally; it was just making the point.’
    ‘And I’m sorry. I don’t think I really expected you to go along with my proposition …’
    ‘That’s all right.’
    ‘If it was only me, but Marieke and Edgar …’ She went on staring at the shrubs. ‘Have you ever been really afraid? I don’t mean facing a gun, or fear of flying, or anything like that, but permanent, constant, daily fear?’
    I thought it over. ‘Once, when it began to dawn on me that I’d made a bad mistake. Perhaps that’s the worst fear – when you’re afraid you’ve messed things up yourself. But if I may say something to you; if anything should happen to Marieke or your husband, it’s not your fault. You meet characters like Abakay in life – at least, if you ever step outside your front door – and we’re none of us fast or experienced enough to get away every time. It’s just bad luck.’
    ‘I invited him to supper.’
    ‘Yes, bad luck, and maybe a bit of naïveté, but it has nothing to do with fault. You don’t have to make up for anything, understand?’
    ‘Oh, Herr Kayankaya …’ She sighed, turned away from the flowering shrubs, and her glance rested heavily on me. ‘Do you know something? Right now I really want to hug you.’
    ‘Oh.’ I felt slightly dizzy. ‘Hmm … But would your daughter understand that if, for instance, she saw us through the bathroom window?’
    Her eyes were still on me, feverish, inviting,