The Turn Series Box Set

by Andrew Clawson

  “My thanks,” Paul said. “I would like you to meet him soon.”

  Manny agreed. “Send him now, before Juma realizes who his new men are. He will not complain if another is around to help.” Paul said he would, and then Manny asked, “Who is this man?”

  Paul grinned. “His name is Paul Mwashinga, and he will see you soon.”

  Unforgiving sodium lights cast a harsh glare on the concrete floor, working with the sunlight falling through dirty windows to light up the warehouse. Mwanza police chief Nixon Ereng squinted in the glare, studying the evidence. For once, he had more than enough of it, given he couldn’t take two steps without disturbing some part of the crime scene. Twenty years on the force had sent a lot of death and misery past his eyes, and this was up there with the worst of it.

  “Did you get me a total body count yet?” His voice rang through the cavernous structure. A moment later one of his officers hustled over.

  “Yes, sir. Eighteen in here, and four more outside.”

  “I need identification on them all. Did we discover what exploded in the yard? I want to know if they used grenades.” Not that he’d be surprised, but openly detonating them within blocks of residential homes was ballsy even for gangsters.

  “We do not believe they used grenades, sir.” Morning sun warmed his skin as Nixon stepped outside, the officer trailing in his wake. “The closest buildings are commercial, but none of the residents we interviewed heard or know anything.”

  Not surprising. Around here death could be contagious if the wrong person saw you talking to a policeman. The locals offered little in the way of cooperation, but someone had to have heard something. And with this many dead bad guys, were there even any left to go around threatening informants?

  “Keep trying. Maybe we will get lucky.” A piss-poor strategy, and he knew it. Nixon waited as the officer walked away. He needed to speak with another man. Cast in shadow, this man lounged inside the warehouse door, sunglasses covering his eyes, a hat pulled low against the sun. His chin dipped when Nixon looked over, nodding toward a small creek running behind the warehouse.

  “Thank you for coming,” Nixon said once they stood under a row of bent trees abutting the water’s edge. “What have you heard?”

  Even meeting him like this posed a risk. Nixon wouldn’t have called his undercover informant here without a good reason, and the man knew it. Working a toothpick, he hooked both thumbs in his belt as he leaned against a tree, eyes scanning the area. No one could have guessed this slightly disheveled man was a cop, an undercover officer who had infiltrated the local criminal society. He was coming up on two years’ continuous service, a veritable lifetime in the world of undercover work.

  “New guy tryin’ ta take over.” The words lolled off his tongue, unhurried, his street patois syrupy-smooth. “Made a move last night, takin’ out the ol’ guar’. He want the gol’, what I hear.”

  “You mean the mine?” Nixon wiped a drop of sweat from his brow. How he despised the incessant heat. “Who has control of it?”

  “They dead now. All we gotta know.” Nixon didn’t push it. “Now someone movin’ in, made the move you see here.” A shrug toward the warehouse. “About didn’t work, ’cept it did. This new fella, he got a big backer, I hear. Man with real big money.”

  Interesting. The mine on the shores of Lake Victoria produced a moderate amount of gold every year. Enough for locals to fight over, but enough to get a big-time player in town? It was common knowledge that whoever ran the unions ran the mine too.

  “There are bigger mines to target if you want to make money,” Nixon said, as much to himself as to the man beside him. “The chief before me dealt with that back in his time, when the mine was booming. It has been slowing down for nearly a decade. Why would someone want to control it now?”

  “Happenin’ now. All you gotta know.”

  Fair enough. “Can you tell me more?”

  “Later,” he said, the toothpick circling around. “I’ll call you.” And with that, Nixon’s source walked off, headed deeper into the warehouse district. Across the yard Nixon noted a detective looking his way, clipboard in hand. Nixon held up a hand. Hold on. He needed a minute to sort through his churning thoughts.

  The gold mine again. Nixon kicked at the dirt, and pebbles rolled away, bouncing into the stream. Why now, with all the headaches it brought? He could talk to the mine superintendent, a man he barely knew and trusted even less. Brazilian, he thought, sent by the mine owners to keep an eye on things. He’d heard about this man, about his fondness for the finer things in life, most of which weren’t in Mwanza and many of which were against the law. Maybe he’d swing by, remind the man that while Nixon hadn’t yet done so, taking a closer look at his personal life wouldn’t be a problem. Only the superintendent worked for a powerful conglomerate, the kind of company that didn’t worry about how profits arrived, only that they did.

  “He will laugh at me,” Nixon grumbled to himself. “As he should. I cannot fight that kind of money.” Which left Nixon back where he started. No information, and a pile of corpses. Walking toward the waiting detective, he filed the need to look more closely into the gold mine in his back pocket, one more task on a long list. “Perhaps these bodies will help me.” He looked skyward. “If anyone is listening, I could use the help.”

  Chapter 7

  Mwanza Police Station

  Mwanza, Tanzania

  Ringing phones clattered for attention as Reed stepped through the door. Uniformed officers led unsavory characters who half-walked, half-stumbled into the police station. Goosebumps rose on Reed’s arms as he walked toward the front desk; the air conditioning was working overtime as usual. Of the myriad challenges this undermanned department faced, an overheated office wasn’t one of them.

  The dispatcher barked into multiple phones, twice reaching for another line before hanging up the prior call. It took him a few tries, but once Reed got the timing down, he managed to get the man’s attention during the millisecond between calls.

  “I’m here to see Chief Ereng.” No acknowledgment, but the desk officer reached for a silent phone.

  “Reed Kimble to see you, sir. Yes, I will.” The man finally met his eyes. “You may go back.”

  Whatever they paid this guy, it wasn’t enough. Those phones likely haunted his dreams. Reed headed down the hall to find Chief Ereng waiting outside his office, one massive paw outstretched. “Good afternoon, Reed.” The chief waved toward an empty chair. “Have a seat. It is a busy day, but I am always happy to see you.”

  Clutter had no place in the chief’s office; each book and file folder was tucked neatly away, the top of his desk clear. Reed liked this man, liked the way he handled the city.

  “Good to see you too, Nixon. I know you’re busy, so I’ll be brief.” He glanced back and found the doorway empty.

  “I think of us as partners, Reed. Men who want the same thing, to protect our city. I always have time for you.”

  “Partners sounds good to me.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I spoke with an interesting man this morning. I think you’d like to know what we talked about.”

  “Does this man have a name?”

  “Manny. We have a mutual acquaintance, which is how this conversation came to be. Manny is involved in some unsavory business, things I have no part in and don’t approve of. However, I think he can be useful.”

  “Useful for what?”

  “Information. The kind we can use.” Reed’s voice dropped. “It’s busy around here. Any chance you gave the morgue a lot of business recently?”

  “You are well informed. A moment.” Nixon stepped to the office door, swung it shut and settled back behind his desk before he continued. “Twenty-two bodies, to be precise.”

  “Which checks out with what Manny told me.”

  “Was Manny involved?”

  “Yes. He was there when it happened. His group operated out of the warehouse, and they were attacked. The man who organized it w
anted to take over new territory. He succeeded.”

  “Most of the assailants died in the process. This must be a problem for their leader, the one who wants to take over.”

  “You should have been a detective,” Reed said, getting a rare laugh from Nixon. “A lot of his men died, so the new bad guy in town recruited the survivors, offered them jobs instead of a bullet.”

  “Allegiances shift, Reed.”

  “And that’s a weakness for the new boss. Who has a name, by the way.” Again, silence from Nixon. “You didn’t hear this from me.”

  “Of course.”

  “His name is Juma Cheyo. That’s all I know right now. Manny said there’s a meeting tonight where he should learn more about what Juma is planning to do. I’ll pass on anything I learn.”

  “Being a police officer makes me a suspicious man, Reed.” Nixon scribbled on a notepad as he spoke. “Please do not take offense to my question.”

  “Fire away.”

  “You want Mwanza to grow, to be free of criminal influence. This I understand. But there is another question I must ask.” Nixon leaned over the desk, his eyes boring into Reed’s. “Do you have a different motivation for sharing information? I will believe you if you say no.”

  A smart question. And right on the money. “The answer is yes and no. Mwanza is my home. It’s where I have a business, and the safer this city is, the more likely people are to come here on safari. If they enjoy themselves, they’ll go home and tell their friends, which helps both of us.”

  “I see. And the other side of your response?”

  “This part is personal.” The chief raised an eyebrow. “Juma wants to make a move on the gold mine.”

  Nixon went rigid, and he set his pen down. “When did you learn this?”

  “A few hours ago. Manny told me about it. After tonight I should know more.”

  “I’ll share this with you, but it must remain between us.” Nixon frowned. “There is a man who works for me as an undercover officer. I spoke with him today at the warehouse. He told me the same thing. That the gold mine is a target.”

  “The easiest way to profit from the mine is by taking over the unions.”

  “Which is what my officer suspected. Now that you have also heard it, I will focus my efforts on determining how this will happen and how we can prevent it.”

  All well and good, but not the reason he’d come. “Which is important, I agree. But you know that’s not why it’s personal for me. It’s about the poaching. These thugs use animals like banks. They kill wildlife for ivory, pelts, anything of value. The slaughter won’t stop unless I do something. Unless we do something.” He tapped Nixon’s desk. “Without wildlife, Mwanza is nothing more than a dot on the map. The animals make our city special; they make Africa special. We can’t let that go away.”

  “I agree, Reed. Wildlife is vital to our region, not only for your business, but for us to show Mwanza is moving forward. If we cannot protect our natural resources, then it does not say much about our city.”

  “Chief, I know you’re stretched thin. You have an entire city to protect. I just want to make sure you’re focused on four-legged citizens as well as two-legged ones.”

  “We do our best with what we have, Reed. We patrol rural areas as often as possible, but the plains are extensive. When violent crime is happening within a mile of my station, I must make hard choices.”

  “I understand.” Leaning back, Reed pulled at the stubble on his chin, rustling the short hairs. “Yesterday we found the remains of two elephants. Elephants I’d seen hundreds of times on my safaris, two elephants we’ll never see again. I do my best to keep an eye on them all, but it has to be a team effort. If we don’t do something, soon the only elephants around Mwanza will be in photographs.”

  “I realize the task force is important. I truly do.” Nixon shook his head. “Money is tight, but I will see what I can do about more funding.”

  About all he could really expect from the man, but it was a start. “Thanks, Chief.” Reed stood to leave. “And we’ll keep our eyes open out there.”

  “Stay safe,” Nixon said as he stood. “I would appreciate it if you would contact me with any information you learn from Manny.”

  “Of course.” Reed turned and left, dodging criminals and officers until he stepped outside into Mwanza’s suffocating embrace. Nixon and his men were busy, so that left it up to Reed. Fine by me. Time to get started.

  A few minutes later, Reed pulled up outside his quarters, but found no sign of Sarah. Probably avoiding the worst of the afternoon sun, he figured, waiting for the temperature to move from broiling to merely scorching.

  “There you are.” He pushed open his front door to find her seated at the kitchen table with her laptop. “Fancy a drive into the wilderness?”

  “When don’t I?” She flipped her computer shut and walked over to him. “How’d it go with the police chief?” she asked, her hands encircling his waist.

  “About what I expected. Nixon has too much on his plate right now to commit more resources, but he did promise to help if I need him.” She gasped when he revealed the total number of bodies found this morning.

  “Manny wasn’t kidding,” she said. “If those thugs are willing to kill each other like that, they won’t hesitate to shoot us.”

  “Too bad for them we won’t go that easily.” He went into his bedroom and grabbed a well-worn set of safari clothes. “Want to come with me and check on the Stones?”

  Several hours and a tank of gas later, he rumbled back into camp, the Jeep’s top down and a sense of security settling where worry had resided. The Rolling Stones were fine, every one of them accounted for. On the way home he’d detoured by a place where several lions could often be found, and they were in luck there too. Of course, the big cats had scarcely moved when he drove up, though one had yawned ferociously.

  “All is well,” Sarah said, hopping out of the Jeep. “And I’ll tell you something else. Keeping an eye on this place gives you a mighty appetite.”

  Reed grinned. “You’ll never go hungry at Kimble Safaris. That’s practically a commandment around here.”

  And he kept his promise. A hearty meal and several cold beers met their needs. Then, after doing one last round to check on the camp, Reed clambered into bed. The last thing he saw as he drifted off to sleep were thousands of stars dotting the bedroom window.

  A piercing noise shattered the still night. Reed cracked an eye open as cool air rolled over his face. What the hell was that? Again the blaring siren called.

  Damn. His cell phone. The stupid thing was rattling on the nightstand beside his head. Fumbling to answer it, he nearly fell out of bed.

  What time is it? No light came through the open window, and Sarah lay unmoving beside him.

  A number he didn’t recognize. “Hello?” The bedside clock came in to focus. Nearly four in the morning. This better be important.

  “I am sorry to wake you.”

  “Manny?”

  “Yes. I could not get away until now.”

  “Away from what? Are you in trouble?”

  “No, it is not me who is in trouble. The meeting ended a short while ago, and there is much you need to hear.”

  “Give me a second.” Slipping quietly out of the bedroom, Reed padded into the kitchen and sat down at the table. “Go ahead. What happened?’

  “Juma Cheyo is under pressure. Now he is moving quickly.”

  “Pressure?”

  “The kind of pressure that comes from a boss.”

  “You’re talking about the big money guy. Whoever that is.”

  “That is what I believe. Juma sent men out tonight, men he trusted.”

  All vestiges of sleep vanished. “Where did they go?”

  “I am not sure. But I know what they did. Money is needed to pay the men who work for him, so Juma sent them out to gather it.”

  Only one kind of money waited for the taking, a currency uniquely African. “Did it already happen?
”

  “Yes. I did not see the men return, but I heard they killed eight.”

  His heart sank. “Sixteen tusks. Over seven hundred kilos of ivory.” Numbers flashed in his head. “That’s almost two and a half million dollars.”

  “Juma was very happy about it.”

  “But where did they find – oh shit.” Eight adult elephants. He knew of only one herd nearby with that many. “Manny, I’ll call you back.”

  Reed ran back into the bedroom. His skin seemed to have shrunk, stretching too tightly around his body. “Sarah, wake up.” She stirred, protesting as he flipped the lights on. “Get up, Sarah. Something bad has happened.”

  “What are you talking about?” She sat up, rubbing her eyes.

  “Manny just called. That gang killed eight elephants tonight.”

  She jumped out of bed. “What? They didn’t get the—”

  “I don’t know.” Reed turned to the bedroom wall. Tumblers clicked, then he pulled the thick safe door open. “But we have to go check. Just you and me. Right now.” He took out two rifles, along with full magazines which he stuffed in his pocket. “Take these.” Now a shotgun and two pistols. “Make sure they’re loaded, then meet me outside.”

  A minute later they were racing across the savanna, headlights bouncing wildly as Reed pushed the Land Rover to its limit. They didn’t speak, a full moon guiding them to where the Stones had been earlier that day. Reed hit the brakes and they skidded to a halt, then he grabbed a spotlight and threw incandescent light into the darkness, the powerful beam lighting up everything it touched.

  “Do you see anything?” he asked. Sarah had another spotlight out, checking the other side. She didn’t respond. “Sarah?”

  A choking sob froze Reed in his seat. “It’s bad,” she finally said. “Very bad.”

  He turned his light to join hers, cutting through the night to reveal the savanna he knew so well. Except now all of it was coated in red: the rocks, which weren’t really rocks, but grown elephants with their faces hacked off. The dirt, dry and thirsty, unable to drink all the blood spilling from the ruined bodies.