BOOK: Child Number Three-chapter 5

Child Number Three-chapter 5

5.  It took the motorbike less than ten minutes to get the girls backto the civilisation of their hotel with both grateful to be away from theslums.  "Perhaps you should stay in the nice part of town from now on,"the shanty town tour guide said with a cheeky grin.   "But if you want to know more about ZitaneSirat, perhaps I could introduce you to my father.   He still works at the International. I toldyou my father knew Zitane."  A smile widened on Amy's face. "Could you take me there now?" she asked despite Carolyn's obviousfrown.   "Don't you think you've had enough adventure for one day?" Carolyncomplained.   "Plus you've still gotdried claret around your nose.  It's notthe best of looks."  "I'm just getting started," Amy smiled back.   "Besides I'm only meeting this gentleman'sfather as he puts in an honest day's work at the International Hotel.   It's hardly going to be lifethreatening."  "I suppose I'll have to come too then," Carolyn winced.   "As much as I don't like the way thismorning panned out, I'm glad you weren't there alone."  Amy smiled, trying to keep things jovial.   "You wouldn't be sayingthat if they'd snatched your handbag."  "Imitation you see," Carolyn shot back. "Real Gucci and that strapwouldn't have broken."Amy didn't care about her handbag.   The flow of information that morning hadbeen relentless and even though there had been no breakthrough answers as a routeto asking the right questions it could prove invaluable.   Like why had Zitane's son blamed her for hisfather's death and the complete demise of his family? Already she'd left thelies of Tuscany far behind.   Carolyn turned to face the motorcyclist.  "Thanks all the same for the double backie out of Dodgeville," shesaid, "but if it's all the same with you I think we'll travel to theInternational via more conventional means.  And if you could possible leave it half an hour, I'd love to get out ofthis get up and into something a little less…touristy." 
***The girls arranged to meet the tour guide, Sofian Mourtada, at the entrance to the International, bothdressed in long, flowing summer dresses, covering their legs if not theirarms.  The palm trees lining theroad up to the hotel were a welcome luxury and a far cry from the crumblingshanty towns that had scared the hell out of them only a few hours earlier.  Carolyn pulled her friendback by her dress.   "I want an honest answerlady," she said.   "Do you have any ideawhat this is all about?"Amy shook her head.   "I swear I only found outabout the murder of that man's father today.  It might all just be one big coincidence."  "It didn't look like acoincidence when that slum dog Sam started threatening us with his kebab skewerback in his mud hut," Carolyn said.  Amy shook her head at herfriend's choice of words.   "My dad's passport showed hetravelled out of Morocco on the date of that murder," she explained.   "So what?" Carolynquestioned. "A million people did a million things on that date.""That's the date they toldme they were on a coach crash in Italy, the coach crash where I miraculouslyappeared, Cazza, or didn't as the case may now be."  "So Charlie lied?" Carolynquestioned disbelievingly.   "Charlie, Jenny, theadoption agency," Amy replied.   "I'mstarting to wonder if my whole life hasn't been one big lie."  Amy recognised the motorbikepropped up against the wall of an ornamental flower bed and saw its eversmiling owner waiting in the shade by the entrance to the hotel.  "Come," Sofian said.   "My father isexpecting you."  The three walked in though the hotel reception and over to theconcierge where an old man was explaining the wonders of the HassanII Mosque to two hotel guests.  His face looked like wrinkled leather but it oozed happiness.   He noticed his son with the two girls andsmiled, waving in their direction.   Amylistened patiently to the history lesson unfold until the concierge smiled inher direction and beckoned the girls over.  "My son told me you are friends of the Sirats," he said.  "I wouldn't quite say friends," Carolyn replied.  Amy explained that her father used to work in Morocco with aFrench oil company.  "Well I'm afraid that I don't know your father," the old manexplained, "but I did know Zitane.   Heused to work with me in this very hotel many, many years ago now.   He was very good at his job, so good in factthat a very wealthy son of an oil tycoon asked him to work as a butler forhim.   Working for such a wealthy man isseen as being a great, great honour in this country and of course it can payquite well."  "Do you know how he died?" Amy interrupted.  "He was murdered," the old man replied.   "Zitane was found at his home with histhroat slit, his tongue cut out and his hands cut off.   Perhaps I do not need to be so graphic in mydescription but such injuries suggest that he betrayed someone's trust bytalking about them and that he stole something."  Amy grimaced imagining the murder scene.   "Was anyone charged with the murder?" she asked.  "No, nobody was ever charged.  The police questioned Zitane's employer but he had a strong alibi at thetime of the murder.   The whole thingremains a mystery."  "And what happened to the Sirats?" Amy asked."  Why were they forced into the slums?"The hurt in revealing what happened was clear for both girls tosee.   "They became outcasts," the concierge explained.   "Stealing is greatly frowned on in ourculture.   It brought great shame ontotheir family.   They had no income andlost their home and Sidi Moumen was the only place they could live.   It is a vicious circle of poverty and lackof opportunity.   I cannot do much forthem these days as I have my own mouths to feed but I do give my son food andmoney to take to them when I can."  Carolyn felt guilty at her earlier description of the knife man inthe shanty town.   Maybe she'd been alittle flippant.   "This man, the wealthy manthat Zitane used to work for, is he still around?" Amy asked. "Yes he is," the maninformed.   "Luca Garcelon-Siri has never wanted for anything due to his father'sriches.   He is a very private man, arecluse.   He lives in a palace in Anfanot far from here.   I can get you theaddress if you wish."  Amy noddedenthusiastically.   "If his fatherwas involved in oil maybe he knew Charlie," she speculated.  "Well a palacecertainly sounds better than the shanty town," Carolyn replied.   "So I'm game."  It wasn't muchof a lead but it was the best she had and Amy knew she had to make the most ofher time in Morocco if the seeds of her family tree were going to bloom. 
***The descriptionof Luca Garcelon-Siri's abode as a palace wasentirely accurate.   Set on the greenhill of Anfa, inside its own gated courtyard, it backed onto the lush greenexpanse of the Royal golf course.   Afountain in the courtyard gave the property a near regal feel whilst all mannerof foliage flourished on either side of the yard.   The three-storey salmon coloured buildingboasted archways, domes and balconies in front of each of the large Frenchcolonial style windows.   The fountainmeanwhile was adorned with geometric tiling and Islamic calligraphy.    Amy rang the intercom, positioned at the side of the gates.  "This place is actually a palace, Carolyn said.    "I'll show my ass from the walls of themedina, if we get in here."    "You'll be locked up forall of eternity if you got your butt cheeks out over here, not to mention alifetime of embarrassment on youtube as soon as I got near a PC."  The interchange was interrupted by the emergence of three hugeDobermans.   They charged over to thegate, barking and snarling at the girls. "Jesus," Carolyn said backing off from the snapping jaws of thedogs.   "Not even Hades is guarded bydogs so evil."   The intercomcrackled into life and an Arab voice greeted the girls.  "Hello do youspeak English?" Amy began, speaking over the barking of the savage dogs.   "I'm here to see Mister Garcelon-Siri."  "I'm afraid MisterGarcelon-Siri isn't available to be seen," the voice said immediatelywith an accent more akin to the Queen's English than either girl couldmuster.   Amy stepped back towards the intercom risking being covered in theDobermans' slobber as they snarled and jumped up at the gates.  "Could you tell him that my name is Amy Walker and I've come all the wayfrom England to see him? My father Charlie Walker used to work for a French oilcompany out here.   He knew Zitane Siratwho used to work here as a butler.  Please could you mention both those names to Mister Garcelon-Siri and seeif he is willing to see me?"The voice agreed and scuttled off to make the request leaving the dogsto keep the visitors at bay.  "I don't like this place," Amy said.  "It's too quiet, too secluded."  "You're joking aren't you," Carolyn replied looking enthused.   "Apart from these dogs, it looks like the PlayboyMansion to me.   I bet it's hosted allsorts of lavish parties over the years." Eventually, the intercom crackled back into life.  "MisterGarcelon-Siri has granted your entrance," the formal voiceinformed.   The butler appeared at the main entrance to the mini palace, lookingevery inch a pleasant man, dressed in a full length cream djellaba.   Softleather slip ons covered his feet whilst a red fez saton his head.   He pointed what lookedlike a remote control at the dogs, pressing a button to send them whining andyelping back towards the side of the palace where they disappeared from view,then casually walked down the steps, shutting a gate to lock the dogs intotheir kennels.   "Looks like you've got a date with the medina walls this evening," Amyjoked.  The butler approached the gate and pressed a remote control buzzer.   "My apologies for the exuberance of our welcoming committee," hesaid.   "Mister Garcelon-Siri'sfamily have many riches which he needs to protect."  The girls strolled through the gate to the courtyard.  "Nice place, you've got.   Is yourboss some sort of Prince?" Carolyn asked only to be ignored by the butler.  "It is my pleasure to welcome you here," he said instead.   "And your timing is impeccable.   Mister Garcelon-Siri istaking afternoon tea in his gardens and will see you immediately."  He led the girls through a grand marble reception hall where an ornatestaircase with gold trimmings wrapped around itself to the second level.  "I'm afraid you must wait here," the butler said to Carolyn.   "Mister Garcelon-Siri willonly see Miss Walker.   It is Miss isn'tit?"Amy nodded nervously prompting the butler to ask the girls to wait inthe reception whilst he checked his master was ready to see his visitor.  "Are you alright with this?" Amy whispered to Carolyn.  "I'm fine if you are," her friend replied.   "Besides it's your family tree that's got aprince in it not mine."  Amy frowned at her friend's comment. "He's not a prince," she said.  "You don't think I could be related to this man do you?" "Oh I don't know," Carolyn speculated, "your dark hair and dark skin? Icould see a bit of Arab in your genes.  Maybe you were conceived out of wedlock with a western woman and tospare shame on the family you were sent to England for adoption."  "Maybe your imagination's in overdrive," Amy said laughing.  "Well, someone's got to join all this together," Carolyn added.   "And given the choice of palatial luxury orthe sewers of slum central, I know where I'd be laying my hat along with therest of my wardrobe."  The emergence of the butler stopped Carolyn's summary of Amy's familytree from flourishing any further.  "Mister Garcelon-Siri will see you now Miss Walker," he said.  Nervous excitement prickled like before an exam that she'd revised andrevised for.   All she wanted now was forall the answers she'd revised to come up.  Taking in every detail of the palace's opulence, she followed the butlerthrough a sitting room leading to an extensive dining room which backed outonto the landscaped gardens.  The man she had come to see was sitting at a table under the shade of acanopy drinking from a china cup and saucer whilst reading the localbroadsheets.  He stood up as he saw Amy approach.  Tall and slim with curly dark hair and a thin pencil moustache, helooked a Moroccan but not a Muslim and his crisp, beige suit was certainly inkeeping with the surroundings.  "Please Miss Walker, make yourself comfortable," he said with a charmingsmile whilst lifting a Panama straw hat from his head.   "It is Miss isn't it?""Well it's kind of Doctor but I'm still getting used to that bit myself,"Amy said nervously. "I've only just qualified."   It was the second time her relationship status had been brought up in amanner of minutes.   Maybe it was justsome local tradition to ascertain the marital status of any woman upon meetingthem.   The man's wrinkles spelled outthat his life had been happy and somewhat charmed.  "I'm amazed and somewhat embarrassed that someone would travel so far tosample afternoon tea with me.   But tellme first, how are you enjoying Casablanca?"The small talk was expertly delivered.  Garcelon-Siri was in his late fifties, clearly well educated andaccustomed at having to engage with people from all walks of life.   He engaged with Amy with no problems atall.   Having shared some of his ownfamily history and established where Amy had travelled from, that she had beenadopted and that she was searching for some clues as to her own ancestry,Garcelon-Siri brought up the name that had granted her entrance into hishome.  He poured her a cup of tea as he spoke. "I'm afraid I didn't know your father but you did also mention Zitane,"he said.   "Zitane was a fine aid for me,an excellent butler and a good friend.  How did you know him? You barely seem old enough."  "I didn't know him," Amy answered.  "But my father did.   They musthave met on one of his many visits to Morocco but it must have been importantto him as my father kept a copy of Zitane's address in his desk."  Garcelon-Siri nodded his approval.  "Zitane was an excellent host," he explained.   "If your father had been lucky enough to beinvited to his house, he would have been well looked after.   Zitane excelled at hospitality."  "Do you know how he died?" Amy asked, going in for her own kill.   "I heard he was murdered."  "Yes it was very tragic," Garcelon-Siri explained.   "My own father hired an investigator topiece together what had happened.  Zitane had borrowed some money to buy his family home but he borrowed itoff the wrong people.   When he fellbehind with the payments these people became aggressive towards him and set himimpossible deadlines to repay the money.  They claimed he had stolen the money from them and cut his hands off andthen murdered him.   The tragedy is thatmy father would have happily given him the money if he had asked.   He would have bought his house outright andgiven it to him.   That's how fondlyZitane was viewed in my family."  Garcelon-Siri drank diligently from his tea cup.   "Did your father come to the funeral? I don't remember him but then itwas a lavish occasion with many people there.  My family paid for it.   It reallywas the least we could do."  Amy frowned.  It didn't sound likethe shunning she'd been told of earlier. "Life, real life is full of suchtragedy," he continued.   "Do you haveany idea how Zitane and your father knew each other?"She sighed heavily, unable to disguise her disappointment.   "I was kind of hoping you may have been able to fill in that blank," Amysaid.   Maybe this was as far as her adventure would go.  "Well I'm sorry I cannot tell you more," the man added.   "Zitane was a noble man, a realgentleman.   If your father knew him I'msure your father must have displayed the same qualities."  Garcelon-Siri smiled.   "Perhaps I could invite you to a night of Moroccan hospitality, food anddrink, tonight as way of an apology... for not being able to help you more," heoffered.   "My catering staff have beentrained in every culinary expertise possible.  I could bring in some entertainment, some music, some dancersperhaps.   What do you think?"Amy was caught off guard by the sudden offer.   "I couldn't, really, but it's very kind of you to offer."  "No please I insist," the man said.  "Bring your friend and your boyfriends.  I would like to treat you to some fine dining, Morocco style."  Amy didn't feel comfortable with the impromptu offer and chose to ignorethe boyfriend link.   "I couldn't ask you to go to all that trouble," she said.   "Not at your house.   It's very kind of you but…""Okay, a meal out at a restaurant of my choice," Garcelon-Siri saidunrelenting.   "I know a perfect placeoverlooking the Mosque and the ocean.   Me, you and your friends.   What do you say?""There's only my friend Carolyn with me," Amy explained.   "Well in that case I will have the pleasure of the company of twobeautiful ladies all to myself.  Please," he added with his charming smile.   "Let me repay your trip here to see me withsomething palatable.   You will be quitesafe.   I promise you.   I am an old man and trust me as beautiful asyou are, you are not the right age for me.  And if I bore you with stories of my father's empire gone by please justtell me and I will be quiet."  Amy chuckled a nervous laugh.   "I don't suppose it would do any harm.  What time are you thinking?"Garcelon-Siri called his butler to bring a business card for therestaurant.  "Shall we say eight o'clock?" he suggested handing Amy the card.  The deal was sealed with a smile from Amy.   She convinced herself that it could be anice start to the evening, some free food and drink and an insight into locallife.   They could ditch him at ten o'clock and get in one of the nightclubs Carolyn had been itching to get intosince they'd got there.  She thanked Luca again for his kind offer and bid him farewell. 
***Carolyn was beginning to get bored.  There was no signal for her mobile phone in the reception area and soshe couldn't even send the dozen or so texts that she'd promised to send to herfamily and friends back home to tell them they'd got to Casablanca in onepiece.   When she did eventually getround to texting she'd be sure to miss out their adventure in the slums.   That was a story to save for when they gothome.   There was no point in worryingpeople unnecessarily.  A noise from above distracted her from her thoughts.   She glanced up to the top of the stairwellwhere a young, Chinese girl poked her head through the ornate railings.   She muttered something in a language Carolyndidn't recognise.  She looked about ten.  "Hello," Carolyn said.   "Aren'tyou just the most beautiful girl? What's your name?"The response was unintelligible but uniquely aggressive. The girl thrusther hands through the railings, grabbing at the air around Carolyn's head.  The butler suddenly emerged and shouted at the girl as soon as he sawher, racing up the stairs after her and sending her scurrying back into herbedroom.  Carolyn stood open mouthed at the butler's sudden change indemeanour.   From calm and cool to kickoff in less than three seconds.   It wasimpressive.   She narrowed her eyes andlistened intently to hear a key turn in a lock and the butler mutter somethingunder his breath.  "My apologies," he said on his return.   "The lady of the house has finished school for the summer.   Her father insists that she studies for twohours each day but she is easily distracted." The two looked at each other in silence until Amy's reappearance endedthe awkwardness.   The butler immediatelyushered them towards the front door leading back into the courtyard.  "So how did that go?" Carolyn asked her friend.  "We've been invited out to a restaurant," Amy replied.  "Cool, anywhere posh?" Carolyn asked.  "I'm assuming your sugar daddy is picking up the tab."  "He's not my sugar daddy," Amy answered.   "But yes, it's his treat?" "So you didn't get the bean tingle then?" "Caz, that's disgusting. He'sabout sixty," Amy replied.   "I'm atleast thirty years too young for him." 
***Garcelon-Siri waited until the butler returned from seeing off hisguests before making the call.   Hecouldn't decide whether this unexpected turn of events was bad, very bad or exceptionallygood but he was sure of one thing; it was definitely her.  The butler returned and informed that the girls were on the other sideof the palace gates, prompting him to punch the number into the phone.  Even after all these years he was confidenthis associate would answer his phone.  There was a slight pause.  "No names, you know who this is," Garcelon-Siri said immediately afterthe voice had greeted him.   "And I haveno time for small talk.   The girl isback; the girl taken from me twenty three years ago.   Yes I know what that could mean.   Of course I know what I must do.   I will take care of everything myself.   Yes, I will do it tonight.   I understand every implication.   You don't need to send anyone over.   I am more than capable."  



Copyright©2011by Phil Martin
Allrights reserved.
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