“I threw it into the Hudson River.”

“Where is Jean-Paul now?”

“We dug his grave behind one of the trees. It was a miracle no one saw us.”

“Murderer! You had the nerve to call Isia and ask her to sell you Kente cloth? Is this true?”

Quaco started to sob again and cried like a child in pain but did not answer. The Imam suspected this was more crocodile tears.

“Answer me,” the Imam said angrily.

“I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” He continued to sob and cry.

“You must turn yourself over to the police and show them where Jean-Paul is buried. There is no other way. The police are looking for you. If you run, they might shoot you like they shot Diallo. Do you understand?”

Quaco dried his tears but did not answer. He sat with eyes downcast. When he looked up, the Imam noticed that a profound sadness had overtaken him. He seemed remorseful for what he had done.

“Yes, Imam. I’ll turn myself in but I need a favour from you.”

“What do you need, my son?”

“Please come with me to the police station.”

The Imam agreed and together they left the Mosque.