by D C Macey
A couple of minutes later Jeanie led Angel out to join Helen, closely followed by Val who enquired about refreshments. The priest welcomed cool water; Helen did too.
As soon as they were alone, she pressed Angel for news.
He gave her a stony gaze. ‘I’m afraid that police chief represents all that is bad in Africa. He is big, and he is bloated, and he should look for no rewards in heaven. Though I doubt that’s where he will be going.’
‘Tell me what’s happening, exactly.’
‘Our solicitor knew there was only one person to approach. One of the senior solicitors in Arusha is on very good terms with the police chief. He agreed to work as an intermediary for us.’
‘That’s good.’
‘Well, yes perhaps, but unfortunately, he and the police chief are more than good friends, they are cousins.’
‘How’s that a problem?’
‘They are family, can rely on one another. It makes them confident and greedy too, I think.’
‘Tell me. How much?’
‘It’s not just what they want. It’s when they want it. Today is Saturday; they have put Sam in the police station cells. I think at present his arrest is unrecorded, so the police chief has some flexibility in how he deals with the situation. Come Monday morning, he must have the situation regularised.’
‘Oh?’
‘Right now, Sam is not officially recorded in the system. The Kenyans don’t know; nobody does. The cousin of the police chief spoke to him and thought an arrangement might be possible. If the whole problem were to go away before the law offices open on Monday, there would be nothing to report and nobody to transfer.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means the police chief and his cousin have an eye for the main chance. If we can give them money before Monday, Sam will walk free.’
‘How much?’
‘One hundred thousand.’
‘Shillings?’
‘Dollars. US dollars.’
‘That’s serious money. Are you sure they will deliver?’
‘Can you afford to pay it?’
Helen suddenly looked worried. ‘Yes, I can afford it. But as you already said, it’s Saturday. Where can we get that sort of money before the banks open on Monday? Even if the local banks were open, I doubt an Arusha branch would hold that many dollars.’
‘I know, that’s what’s worrying me. Our solicitor tried to get an extended deadline, but they wouldn’t have it. They said, money by Monday morning or he must be transferred to Kenya. Take it or leave it.’
‘How do they expect me to find the money over the weekend, Angel? I don’t know this country.’
‘Perhaps they think, if you want to free Sam enough, you’ll will find a way. After Monday morning, they have no leeway to bargain anyway, so they are all in now. Even if you came up with twenty thousand dollars, I’m quite sure they’d accept that.’
‘Finding any thousand dollars is the problem. And I’m not risking turning up with only twenty thousand. I’ll get the money, somehow.’
‘You will?’ said Angel, the doubt in his voice was clear.
‘I will. Give me ten minutes and we’ll see what can be done.’
She hurried into her room to collect the satellite phone and returned to sit at the patio table. There she made a call.
Five thousand miles away in Edinburgh a mobile phone rang and was answered almost immediately - the line clicked open.
‘Hello? Elaine here, what’s up? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today.’
‘Hi Elaine. Look, I don’t have time to explain. Where are you right now?’
‘I’m at home.’
‘Great. Please, go online and check when the next flight is from Arusha to anywhere in Europe.’
‘Okay, I’m at my computer. I’ll do it now. Are you guys cutting short your trip?’
‘Not exactly, I’ll explain later. It’s a flight for me only.’
‘Right, I’m in now. Here we are. The next flight out of Arusha’s Mount Kilimanjaro Airport is the 17.35 for Amsterdam but it’s not direct, you won’t get to Amsterdam Schiphol until after six on Sunday morning.’
‘Any others starting later but flying direct?’
‘Hold on …’ the line went quiet for a moment as Elaine scanned her screen. ‘No, it’s all much the same.’
‘Okay, book me on it right away, while I’m holding the line open. One-way ticket, no return.’ Glancing up, she could see that Angel was looking very disturbed, almost distressed. ‘What’s up?’ she said.
‘You’re leaving, not coming back?’
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘One-way ticket?’
Helen frowned a little and shook her head at him. ‘No, I’ll be coming back a different route; it’s the only way I can hope to get sorted over there and back in time.’
Angel nodded, still unsure.
‘Helen, are you still there? That’s it all booked. I’ll text you the reference numbers for your tickets. But what’s going on?’ The normally calm lilt in Elaine’s Scottish accent carried a hint of concern.
‘It’s a mess. I need to get a lot of money back here by first thing Monday. We’ll speak later once things are underway. Please bear with me for now. I need you to do a couple more things for me. Contact Xavier in Sardinia, ask him if I can use his plane for a few days, and make sure he understands it’s ultra-urgent. Tell him I need it to meet my flight at Schiphol on Sunday morning. I’m going straight on to Switzerland, to see Franz Brenner, and then I want it to fly me directly back to Arusha.
‘Then phone Franz, tell him I need to get into the bank on Sunday. I’ll happily cover any staffing costs. Make sure he understands this is an emergency; it can’t wait until Monday.
‘Thanks, Elaine. Got to go, I’ll phone once I’m en route and everything’s underway. Love you, and love to Grace too.’ Helen hung up the line and sat still for a moment as her mind raced over the life changes she had experienced since first becoming John Dearly’s assistant. Not just the killings and the evil, there were good things too - Elaine and her daughter Grace. Francis and Xavier, the wonderful old priests who had been John’s long-standing confidantes. There was Franz Brenner too, the Swiss banker and custodian of the secret trust fund, access to which she had inherited, and what a trust fund. And Sam. She stood taking a deep breath of air and held it in for a moment.
Angel had stood up; he had followed the conversation with growing excitement. ‘You are coming back! You really think you can get the money?’
‘The money’s not the problem it’s the shortage of time.’ She reached out her hand and squeezed Angel’s forearm. ‘Thank you, Angel, this is a mess, but you’ve offered me an opportunity to fix it. I’m very grateful.’
Angel gave a shrug, almost embarrassed. ‘My bishop says. I do.’ Then he smiled. ‘I will be waiting, ready for your return. Phone me, we can make arrangements.’ He took Helen’s notepad and scribbled his mobile phone number on it.
Helen smiled in acknowledgement and turned, heading indoors as she called out to Val. She needed Mauwled ready to set off for the airport in five minutes.
14.
Sunday, 27th October - AM
The police lockup had been empty when Sam was first put in it on Saturday morning. The basement room had seemed quite spacious then. Fluorescent light tubes were fixed all along the centreline of the ceiling providing an even, if unforgiving, light throughout the space. The room was thirty feet long and half as wide and set with narrow unglazed but barred window slots high to the ceiling along one long side. Outside, where the slots just showed at ground level, they faced into the police station’s courtyard car park.
After the steel door had banged shut on him, Sam had surveyed the space. There was no furniture in the room, the cement walls and floors were raw and grubby. The only concession to comfort was an eighteen-inch-high cement step that ran down both long sides of the room, doubling for both seating and sleeping space.
The short cross wall, nearest him, hosted the steel door. Fixed in the further away cross wall and offset to one side was a tap. At the middle point of that cross wall was a small hole in the floor - the toilet. Otherwise, the room was bare, save for occasional decorations formed through rough etchings in the cement work where bored and angry prisoners had passed their time.
He chose his spot. In the far corner, close beside the tap and beneath one of the high window slots. It wasn’t much of a base but in lockup terms, it was prime real estate. Sam had hunkered down and watched as the hours ticked by and the cell gradually filled up. He spent most of his time crouched on the cement step, backed into the corner so he could not be surprised from behind.
Many of those being locked up just staggered in and collapsed into sleep. Clearly, there were some with drink problems for whom the lockup was a second home. The air had become more foul and muggy with the passing hours. By the steady trickle of drunks, he guessed it was well into the early hours of the morning when things took a turn for the worse.
A commotion suddenly kicked off beyond the steel door. Several raised voices clashed in an argument that was punctuated by the sounds of kicking and banging. Finally, the door opened, and the police forced four men through the entrance before banging the door shut. The new arrivals hammered on the door. Their shouted insults through to the guards woke some of the sleeping drunks who were ranged along the step to either side of the cell.
Eventually, the men gave up on the door and turned their attention to the cell. They swaggered up and down, kicking at any unfortunates who had spilled off the step and into their way. One man was small, almost dapper in appearance; the other three were bigger, muscle. Sam watched the men carefully, keeping his head down, but it didn’t take long for the gang to spot him. Particularly as he occupied the prime spot next to the water tap.
‘Hey, you, mister, I’m speaking to you,’ said Dapper.
Sam raised a hand in acknowledgement. ‘All right. How you doing?’
Dapper approached him. ‘You American?’ said Dapper.
Sam kept his head down, avoiding being drawn into a staring contest. ‘No. British.’
Dapper turned to his friends. He spoke in Swahili, which Sam just managed to follow. ‘He’s British. And he’s in my seat. Let’s get him moved.’
‘Hey, British, I want that spot, it’s mine. Move now,’ said Dapper in English.
Sam looked at Dapper then glanced at his friends. A long time ago he’d been in a very similar situation, knew how it would unfold. He always hated conflict, tried to avoid it, but he knew if he gave ground they would come after him again for some other reason or none at all. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said slowly, for the first time allowing himself to make eye contact, first with Dapper and then with the heavies - a giant, a scar face and what he guessed was the junior gopher of the group. Then his gaze settled back on Dapper. He pointed towards the far end of the cell. ‘You’re mistaken. There’s space up there. This is my spot.’
There was a rippling through the gathered humanity as an instinctive awareness of brewing trouble saw even the apparently comatose amongst the inmates somehow able to edge away from the epicentre.
Dapper’s friends stepped in front of him, penning Sam into his corner spot. Dapper spoke to him from behind the human wall. ‘Come on English, move.’
‘I’m Scottish.’ Sam didn’t want a fight, wasn’t so sure about the odds, four to one, but he had some advantages. His attackers had all been drinking, they all thought he was drunk and a soft touch, and he had plenty of targets to hit.
‘Ho, he’s Scottish. Whisky man! Hey, your bones will break just as easy if you don’t move.’ Then Dapper gave a short order in Swahili, which Sam understood quite well. ‘Break him!’
The attackers closed in. The first and biggest was much taller than Sam; he had the muscular frame of a man who does a lot of physical labour. He rolled in with a great piston of a punch that would have broken Sam’s face permanently and knocked him out cold had it made proper contact. But Sam had guessed the big man would lead and had been waiting.
In conflict involving sober versus drunk, sober nearly always wins. As the giant fist flew towards him it reached the point of no return and Sam, with perfect timing, pulled his head to the right, and instead of meeting a welcoming face, the fist crunched into the cement wall that Sam’s head had been resting against. With a cry, the big man reeled back, leaving his blood and knuckle skin ground into the cement. He trailed blood across the floor and carried away a broken hand that would keep him out of trouble for several weeks.
Sam went on the offensive. By just straightening his legs, he elevated from his crouch position and suddenly stood eighteen inches higher than his assailants. In just a moment, scar face’s expression switched from raw, confident aggression to surprise and, finally, to pained confusion when his advancing face met Sam’s knee, and his nose slumped back into his face. Sam pressed home his advantage at once, banging his fist into scar face’s broken nose and pushing him sideways hard against the short wall. As scar face’s shoulder reached the wall, Sam put all his weight behind a second thrust, banging the man’s head against the wall. The crack reverberated round the cell and scar face dropped like a stone, unconscious.
Sam turned his attention to the gopher who was suddenly looking unsure; backing away even as Dapper tried to push him forward.
Sam pointed to the far end of the cell. ‘Your place is up there. And take him with you,’ he said while pointing down to scar face, who was coming round and starting to groan.
There were no further incidents.
15.
Sunday, 27th October - PM
Helen walked down the little stairway, exiting Xavier’s private plane that had collected her at Schiphol Airport and carried her directly to Zurich, Switzerland. She shivered. Autumn was biting hard in the Alps and she suddenly wished that she had a coat. All she had brought from Arusha was a shoulder bag with a few essentials; it was left behind her in the plane. Like everyone else, she had to pass through immigration control but had no desire to add any time to the transit process with customs delays.
A little while later, she exited the arrivals zone and looked about for a familiar face, hoping Franz had been able to send his personal driver, Simon, to collect her. She could not see him anywhere, perhaps it was his day off.
Just as she gave up and scanned the signs for a taxi rank, a familiar Scottish accent caught her attention. She turned to see Elaine waving from near the main exit doors. They hurried to one another, and Helen hugged and kissed Elaine warmly. Elaine’s hands slid round Helen’s back and patted twice in what represented a huge show of affection from the older woman.
Then they both leaned back a little to regard each other. For Helen, it was a joy to see her most trusted of friends. She knew there would not be much speaking on Elaine’s part, but she was already feeling better, more confident just through the older woman’s proximity.
She and Sam had left Edinburgh only three weeks before, but the wounds Elaine had received during the summer were at last starting to show real improvement.
‘Elaine, what are you doing here? You’re meant to be back in Edinburgh.’
‘Did you think I was going to stay back there with you travelling halfway round the world to get here? Grace wanted to come too, but I made her stay in Edinburgh just in case there was anything else you needed doing.’ Grace was Elaine’s daughter; the three women had been through a lot together and, in spite of some very tricky times, had come out on top.
‘Well, I’m glad you’re here.’ She kissed Elaine again, and they turned to walk to the exit.
‘Franz is outside. He’s driving us today. Simon is away on business for him until next week,’ said Elaine.
Helen was a little disappointed; she’d been looking forward to seeing Simon. They too had been through a lot together, and she knew he could be relied on when things went wrong. She had secretly hoped that Franz might
send Simon back to Tanzania with her.
Outside the cold hit her; she shivered and was pleased to see Franz standing beside his big Mercedes, waiting to pull open the rear door as soon as she reached the car. She laughed through the cold and hugged him. He hugged her back and then hurried her into the back seat, closing the door behind her. He escorted Elaine to the other door and showed her in.
‘Franz, it’s wonderful to see you and thanks for coming to meet me yourself. We’re in a spot of bother.’
‘So Elaine explained. And no need to thank me. Even if I’d wanted a lazy Sunday afternoon, you don’t think my wife would have allowed it, do you? Now, you must tell me what you want, and I will see what can be done.’
‘Elaine has told you I needed some money.’
‘Yes, and rather a lot it would seem. I can organise that for you. My chief clerk is waiting in the bank. He will deal with it once we are in the building.’
‘Wow, thanks Franz. You know, it seems you always come up trumps. Though I hope I haven’t ruined your clerk’s Sunday too.’
‘Don’t worry, he doesn’t mind. Remember, yours is a very special account, and besides, I’m sure there will come a point in the year when he wants time off and will be quick to remind me of this favour.’ He drove on, the familiar landscape flying past in their rush to the city centre, where they crossed the Limmat River by the Quaibrücke and entered the financial quarter.
Franz pulled up outside the bank; there was little traffic about and fewer pedestrians. He tooted the car horn and waved up at a security camera. They all got out and approached the closed doors, waited for a moment. The noise of locks being opened sounded through the wooden outer door.
A security guard edged opened the door. Helen noticed that a second guard was positioned a little further back, standing ready to hit the seal locks and sound alarm buttons at the slightest provocation. That it was their boss entering the building was no excuse to lower security protocols, and they didn’t.
Once the guards were happy that Franz was entering the building of his own free will and the doors were all secured again, the atmosphere relaxed a little. Franz paused to exchange a few words with the guards about their families and interests.