He contemplated Quaco’s role in the disappearance. Was it possible Quaco had murdered Jean-Paul? He said a prayer and recited verse thirty-two from Chapter Five of the Koran. If anyone slew an innocent person it would be as if he slew the whole of mankind and if anyone saved a life it would be as if he saved the life of the whole of mankind. The Imam was convinced Quaco posed a threat to the residents of Le Petit Senegal. Having grown up in a rough neighbourhood himself, he had known many street hustlers who preyed on the weak and were skillful liars – and he knew how to deal with them. He called Quaco on his cell phone. After three rings, Quaco answered.

“Yes. hello? Who is this?”

“Quaco, its Imam Saud.” There was silence on the other end. “Do you hear me? This is Imam Saud.”
“Yes . . . Imam? How did you get my number?”

“I’ll tell you when we meet. You must come to the Mosque.”

Another pause. Finally, “I’m busy right now, Imam. Perhaps—”

The Imam cut him off. “I need to see you. It’s urgent.” Another pause. “Quaco, the police are after you.”

That got his attention. “The police? What – what for?”

“I cannot discuss it. The police might be listening to our conversation.”

“The police! You mean my phone is bugged?”

“I cannot discuss it further.”

Quaco agreed to come to the Mosque. When he arrived, Quaco appeared nervous and fidgety. The holy man told him to be seated. The Imam fixed his steely gaze upon him. “The police know you spoke to Jean-Paul the night he disappeared. You’ve called Isia several times.
What’s going on?”

Quaco turned pale. “I only wanted to help Jean-Paul sell Kente cloth. The night he disappeared I met him underneath the George Washington Bridge to discuss his proposal. He offered me a finder’s fee for any buyers of his wife’s Kente cloth.”

“A finder’s fee? How much?”

“Fifty dollars.”