Tangier

occasionally, into Aziz's voice. Then I know I'm in for it. Absurd passions. A glimpse at the rot of the West.' He slipped into his moccasins. 'It's the best part of my job.'

There was not a car on Hassan II as he drove quickly through the night, only a few souls still lingering at the cafes off Place de France. Aziz was waiting on the steps of the Surete, pacing back and forth, puffing nervously on a cigarette.

'This one's something, Hamid-prominent persons, overtones of sex. I have the principals separated now. A few minutes ago, when we put them all together, they started to fight like medina cats.'

Poor Aziz, he thought, so loyal, so intelligent, but when it comes to the foreigners he still gets flustered and confused.

'Don't worry.' Hamid slapped him on the back. 'We'll straighten this out soon enough. We'll go to my office. I want to hear everything in sequence. We must conduct our business in an orderly way.'

He stopped off at a lavatory to splash cold water on his face. He wanted, always, to appear clear-headed and set a calm example for his staff.

When, finally, they were seated in the office, Aziz began to talk. Hamid was pleased by the cogency of his delivery and by gestures he recognized as his own.

'About an hour ago our operator received a call. The night clerk at the Hotel Continental reported a disturbance in one of his rooms. Since the Continental is in the Dar Baroud sector of the medina, the operator referred the complaint to the First Arrondisement. A pair of officers responded, arrests were made, and since foreigners were involved all the parties were brought down here. This is what we have: Mohammed Seraj, better known as Pumpkin Pie; an old whore who goes under the name of Sylvia; two young prostitutes, a boy and a girl, each about sixteen years old; Mr. and Mrs. Codd.'

'Ashton and Musica Codd?'

Aziz gave a triumphant grin. 'The Codds claim the role of complainants, but there's a difference of opinion on that. For one thing, they were arrested nude. And our investigating officers say Codd tried to thrash them with his walking stick. Pumpkin Pie claims they hired him to convince the teenagers to perform unnatural sexual acts. He says the whole fracas began when he refused and they turned on him in rage. The old whore claims she just happened to be in the next room and came out only when she heard the noise. The teenagers say she's their mother, and that she's in the business of renting them out.'

'What do the Codds say to that?'

'They're claiming they were framed. They were 'interviewing' the kids, they say, when the whore arrived suddenly with Pumpkin Pie. These two tried to blackmail them, and when they refused to pay out they were brutally stripped and robbed. Codd says he assumed our men were other members of the gang. He merely tried to defend himself with the only implement he had at hand.'

'Whew! All right, Aziz. Arrange six chairs in a crescent around my desk. Bring everybody in. I'm going down to the canteen. I need a cup of coffee before I deal with this.'

He knew he was in for it on his way back upstairs, even before he reached his floor. The clamor of their shrieks echoed in the corridor. He could hear Aziz shouting at them in Arabic and French, warning them that when the Inspector arrived they'd better be still and behave.

'Shut up,' he yelled, walking back into his office. 'This is a department of criminal investigation, not a zoo.'

He looked at them, fixed each one of them in turn. Pumpkin Pie, in a soiled undershirt, held himself with the arrogance of a hustler who felt himself desired. The old whore was pathetic-fat and wasted, her face contorted in a toothless grin. The two children were beautiful, but Hamid knew they were capable of infinite lies. And the Codds- Hamid recognized the grimace of shame. Their clothing was disheveled, their faces stained with mercurochrome dots. The famous old Irish playwright and his wife sat as proudly as they could, determined, he could see, to brave things out.

'A sorry-looking group,' he said to Aziz in French. 'Is anybody injured? Is everyone all right?'

'Superficial cuts, Inspector. Our officers were beaten worst of all.'

'The old bugger hit me with his walking stick,' said Pumpkin Pie. 'I'm going to sue him for damages as soon as I'm released.'

'What makes you think you're going to be released?' Hamid asked.

'They're perverts, Inspector. Can't you see?'

'He says the two of you are perverts,' Hamid said in English to the Codds.

'He did, did he? Well-he's a blackmailer.' Codd brandished his fist. 'He tried to frame us. He ought to be locked away.'

'Publicly thrashed, I'd say,' said Mrs. Codd.

'Piss on you, bitch,' said Pie in Arabic. 'Your cunt stinks like a rotten fish.'

'Shut up!' screamed Aziz.

'What did he say?' asked Codd.

'I'm afraid, Mr. Codd, he was insulting your wife.'

'This is absurd, Inspector. I demand that we be released. Surely you're not going to take the word of scum like this against people like my wife and me. We're tired. We're willing to drop our charges. All we ask is that you release us so we may return to our home and go to sleep.'

'That's all very well, Mr. Codd,' said Hamid. 'But your charges aren't the only ones we're dealing with tonight.'

'It was all a misunderstanding. I'm sorry about the officers. I'll gladly pay them damages. It was a trivial misunderstanding-nothing more.'

Hamid shook his head. 'Not so trivial as all that. Solicitation of minors, attacking a policeman, engaging in a brawl, false registration at a hotel. These are serious crimes that could lead to your expulsion. What a tragedy for you to end your residency here that way.'

Hamid sat back then and watched them squirm. Musica Codd held back a sob. Ashton sat stiff and pale.

'Before we begin our investigation, I can call in Clive Whittle if you wish.'

'That won't be necessary.' Codd vigorously shook his head. 'I'm quite certain we can straighten this out for ourselves.'

'Very well,' said Hamid, 'but I insist on hearing the truth. This absurd story about your 'interviewing' these children is not something I'm prepared to believe.'

'But-'

'Let me finish. It's a foolish, impractical lie. If you're going to stick to that, you'll only force me to pursue this case. Then this matter, in all its obscene detail, will become the delight of our local press.'

Musica choked. Ashton bowed his head.

'It's a well-known fact, Mr. Codd, that both you and your wife have, for some time, been trying to arrange yourselves a partouze. It seems as though you've finally succeeded, though perhaps not with the result you had in mind. Do you deny any of this? What were you doing with these children? Do you really expect me to believe you were set up for blackmail by ignorant thugs like these?'

He turned away before Codd had a chance to answer, switched to Arabic, and addressed himself to the whore. 'What have you got to say, you bag of bones?' he asked.

Sylvia set her mouth to show she wasn't going to talk.

'You set this whole thing up with Mohammed here. He made a deal with you, didn't he? How much money do you get for selling the bodies of your kids?'

'That's a lie, Inspector!' Pumpkin Pie screamed out.

'Shut up! I haven't gotten to you yet!'

'They're perverts! This is my country! We're brothers in Islam! You cannot side with them!'

'If he says another word, Aziz, take him back downstairs.'

Aziz nodded, delighted by the whole affair. Hamid rubbed his eyes. Already he was bored.

'All right,' he said, 'we have testimony that contradicts. Clearly you children are the key. Now listen, and tell me if I'm right. Your mother told you to go with Mohammed and meet this English couple in the room. She told you to do whatever the English wanted. Isn't that correct?'

Both children nodded eagerly.

'So,' he said sympathetically, 'tell me what went wrong?'