The Lollipop Flew Away: Detective Mike Sanse # 1 (Mike Sanse series)

by Anthony Mugo

  “On the way home I was ambushed. I woke up to screaming faces, kicks and jabs. I went under again and woke up in hospital chained to the bed. There was a cop guarding me. The doctor was looking at me funny and told me I had been dead for hours.”

  “Did you see the person who attacked you?”

  “He came from nowhere and I was too drunk.”

  “In short you can’t tell what happened between the time you left the bar and the time you woke up to a beating.”

  “That’s right.”

  “How splendid,” Sanse said. “How did you plan to kill your father?”

  Bob stared at Sanse. “I didn’t have a plan.”

  “Did you think of hitting him with a hammer?”

  “No,” Bob protested. “I told you I was mugged.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “What progress have you made this far?”

  “I just started, son.”

  Bob had a faraway look. “They will hang me, won’t they? I know they will. I saw it in the eyes of the judge.”

  “If you killed your father then…”

  Bob’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “If I can kill I would have killed him years ago. What Father did was a replay of countless similar if not worse incidents over the years. Now I wish I killed him.”

  And he started to cry. Like Grace, Sanse let Bob cry. “My childhood was a living hell. I had a father who wasn’t fatherly. He treated his servants better. He bought my brothers presents and left me out.”

  Sanse left.

  ***

  Sanse had driven home determined to read the letter which had arrived two days previously. Of course it carried bad news; he just didn’t know how bad. He had imbibed two glasses of Medusa on his way home yet he felt too sober to see his fate in black and white. However, much of his reluctance stemmed from his inability to avert the impending doom. He walked out planning to drink some more.

  “Hello Mr. Sanse,” a boy in uniform greeted him outside the gate.

  “Hello Alex.” The boy was in the company of Karembo, their house girl.

  “Do you have a gun?”

  “Only the police carry guns; I am not a police officer.”

  “Was the man who shot Daddy and Jack a policeman?”

  The question made Sanse regret having walked out of the house. A blue Suzuki drove up to them and stopped. Catherine, Alex’s mother, stepped out and planted herself in front of Sanse, her arms akimbo. She was young and voluptuous. She raised her hand to slap Sanse who grabbed it in the air.

  “Why did you come into our life?” She said. “I am a widow at thirty for heaven’s sake!”

  Sanse said nothing.

  “Keep your distance!”

  “By all means,” he said and let go of her hand.

  “I hope next time they won’t miss.”

  Catherine bundled Alex in the Suzuki and spent towards her compound. Karembo trailed the car dejectedly. Sanse retreated to his house cursing that black Friday six months ago for the millionth time.

  It had been a long week and all Sanse had wished for was his family’s company. He had boarded a bus from Nairobi at three. When he arrived home at six his family was out. Earlier in the day he had assured Raymond, Catherine’s husband, that he would travel home. He was considering Raymond’s challenge to a game of pool when the nightmare unfolded. There was shouting, there was gunfire and yes, there was hell. Within five minutes the bodies of his wife Betty, his son Jack, his daughters Vivian and Emma, and Raymond, lay strewn on his lawn. A neighbour driving by knocked the assailant dead. Sanse identified him as Chei, a tough criminal he had arrested a week before. He was out on bail.

  Sanse had had the feeling that Catherine disapproved of any engagement between her family and his. However, Raymond loved pool and Sanse was the man to beat. Again, Alex and Jack were inseparable. Now, with Raymond dead, she was like a spitting cobra. Sanse did not blame Catherine. His own life was shattered. He was on a free fall. Hell; how did one hold to their marbles after their world has collapsed? Now, six months after, the memories were still fresh despite a spirited effort to push them away. Not even booze could obliterate them. He doubted time ever would.

  Sanse took the letter and tore the envelope. The letter read:

  Re: Outstanding Arrears of Kshs 55,600.

  The foregoing refers.

  Despite our constant reminder the amount above has remained outstanding. Be advised that if the amount is not paid in full within fourteen (14) days we shall institute measures to recover the outstanding loan in full and penalties thereof at your own expense.

  The letter was signed by the Branch Manager, Mercantile Finance Bank on 16th October 2007

  Chapter 4

  Sanse visited Kathare for the first time fifteen years before during the kidnapping of Rumu’s son. At the time he was attached to Buruburu Police Station and Rumu was a teacher at the Kenya Polytechnic. After solving the case Sanse was invited to a thanksgiving service at Kathare Anglican Church of Kenya. That was when he met Betty. He could still see the dimples, the bright smile and cornrows cupping her beautiful, chocolate-skinned face. He had always struggled to impress girls but with Betty he found himself saying the right things in the right order. He recalled thinking he could die for her. He always felt unprepared to have a family. Not anymore. He didn’t need a fat salary to be with her. The feeling was mutual as Betty gave up her plan to join college. Now he avoided travelling to Kiambwe as much as he could as the journey awakened memories of that first encounter.

  As usual, when Sanse got to Rumu’s home he was welcomed by pig snores and chicken cloaks and cow moos. Rumu left his chore at the cowshed to meet him.

  “Do you call this retirement?” Sanse said.

  “Yes,” Rumu said. “Retirement means starting afresh at fifty-five.”

  “What can’t wait?”

  “I had to say this face to face. We should sell the place ourselves before the bank throws it away.”

  “Easy. You are talking about Betty’s home.”

  “How can I forget?”

  “The taxi thing was a big mistake,” Sanse said. “Now I have a case to solve.”

  If anyone knew the weight of those words it had to be Boaz Rumu. But time was not on their side.

  “Betty knew when to let go,” Rumu said. “Talking of cases, how could you turn a client away?”

  “I don’t do marital problems.”

  “There comes a time…”

  “Not for me,” Sanse said.

  “The drumbeat has changed, so should the dance.”

  “As I said, I have a case to solve.”

  Sanse drove to Mutira which was four kilometres from town. True to Rumu’s assurance, it was easy to spot Gitonga’s home thanks to the conspicuous brick wall and heavy gate. All the neighbouring homesteads had simple live hedges. The walk-through gate was opened by a woman in her forties who took him in from head to toe, her hands busy undoing a hair plait.

  “I am Mike Sanse.”

  “Eunice,” the woman said.

  “May I speak with Wira or Elizabeth?” Sanse said.

  The woman gave way and closed the door. Before him was an imposing one-storey mansion. Just after the gate to the right was the garage. Two wooden houses stood to the left of the mansion, the nearest standing fifteen metres away.

  “Wira is not in,” Eunice said. “Elizabeth is in the house.”

  Sanse agreed with Rumu the moment he saw Elizabeth. The cat eyes and set mouth spoke of a mean, strong-willed woman. She was neither ugly nor pretty. She made up for what she lacked in facial beauty with a remarkable backside. She was old, most likely in her late forties. It showed in her face, her voice and carriage. Judging on the crimson-red lipstick, low-cut dress, high-heels and pungent perfume, she didn’t consider herself a day over thirty.

  “Morning,” Sanse greeted her. “I have a few questions on Gitonga’s murder.”

  The small eyes became slits. “Who the hell are you?”<
br />
  “Mike Sanse, a private investigator. Grace hired me.”

  Elizabeth dialled her phone rapid fire. “I know this is hard to swallow. Nevertheless, inviting a stranger to nose around is unacceptable. Hello? Hello? How dare you...?”

  She glared at the phone then shifted her wrath to Sanse. “The sly gold digger is worried! Do you know her story? I guess not. She was once my brother’s lover. Looking at her you got the idea of a peacock out to outdo itself. Gitonga tired of her and threw her out. She married Bob hurriedly because to her marriage to Bob equals marriage to Gitonga’s wealth. At the time Gitonga was ever in and out of hospital for abdominal cancer and high blood pressure. She hoped he would die but he didn’t. Now that Bob is the murderer she is out in the cold. Why waste time on her?”

  “It is about Bob not Grace.”

  “What about him?”

  “Bob claims he was fixed.”

  “Anyone with half a brain would expect no less,” Elizabeth said. “Bob is facing the hangman for heaven’s sake! If you want to scavenge there are heaps of unsolved cases tormenting the nation. Let my brother rest in peace and his killer be punished. Just that we have an understanding,” she dialled her phone. “Hello detective? I have a private investigator here... Mr. Sanse... you know him? Grace. I’ll do. Thanks.”

  “Only those with skeletons to hide should be afraid to talk,” Sanse said.

  “Only layabouts should talk for talk’s sake,” Elizabeth said. “I know; Bob’s story would move anyone to conjure a miracle. If you want to help him get on your knees and ask God to forgive him. Now get lost. If you come back it shall be a police matter.”

  The two men standing outside the gate approached Sanse as he got into his car. Could he lift them to town? In answer Sanse opened the passenger door. The two hurried into the car.

  “Are you locals?” Sanse asked conversationally.

  “Born and raised,” the brown one with sparse hair and red lips said. “Mwangi.”

  “Nyaga,” his companion said. His forehead formed a canopy above his huge eyes.

  “Did you know Gitonga well?”

  Mwangi nodded. Nyaga said, “I worked for him. A good number in the neighbourhood did. With him dead the future is not so bright for many of us. He was bright but unlucky. He was terminally ill, cancer or something. He lost his wife and two sons. Bob, the only survivor is a good-for-nothing who killed him. I pray he hangs for it. We should have beaten him to death to save the taxpayer’s money.”

  “You mean...?” Sanse said.

  “I was there,” Nyaga said.

  “Me too,” Mwangi said. “I was on my way home when the howl cut the night air. I staggered into the compound and we started breaking the door. I was the first to arrive.”

  “Exactly where was Bob?”

  “About six feet from the rear door,” Nyaga said. “The hammer was still in his grip. Gitonga’s body was in the sitting room.”

  “It was enough to sober me up,” Mwangi said.

  “There were torn documents on the table,” Nyaga said.

  “What documents?”

  “A will,” Nyaga said. “Jimia pieced it together and read it out.”

  “What did it say?”

  “Grace gets the house, all household goods and five percent of the annual profits of Gitonga and Sons. Elizabeth gets the two acres at Ndimi, the farm house there and one hundred thousand in cash. Wira gets Metro Dairy Farm at Kiriga and a hundred thousand. Kathare Orphanage gets two hundred thousand. The rest is managed by a trust and handed over to Dan Gitonga on his eighteenth birthday. Bob gets fifty thousand only.”

  Mwangi appeared ready to doze off.

  “Who is Dan Gitonga?”

  “Bob’s son,” Nyaga said.

  “What other documents were there?”

  “They concerned Gitonga and Sons; quotations, invoices and the like.” Nyaga said then brightened up in recall. “There was a Share Transfer Form. Wira had signed the transfer of a hundred thousand Ken-mint shares to Gitonga.”

  “When was the transfer?”

  “Same day.”

  “Was Wira present?”

  “We arrived a minute apart,” Nyaga said.

  “When did you arrive?” Sanse asked.

  “I found Mwangi and the others inside the house,” Nyaga said. “Wira had fresh earth on his hands and boots. But for him and two neighbours Bob would be dead. To him Bob cannot harm a fly. He engaged Elizabeth in a lengthy shouting match.”

  “When did the police arrive?”

  “After half an hour,” Nyaga said. “Jimia fetched them.”

  They were now in town. Sanse gave Mwangi and Nyaga his business card.

  “You might recall something useful,” Sanse said.

  “There is nothing to recall,” Nyaga said.

  “You can never be too sure with the brain,” Sanse said.

  Mwangi was lost in reading the card. “Hey, it says here that you are a private investigator.”

  “That is right.”

  Mwangi regarded Sanse with admiration. “Do you know what I think? Bob is pure nuts. As they say, there are many ways to kill a rat.”

  “So they say.”

  After the two had left Sanse sat in the car lost in thought. Of late he had taken fancy to watching people go about their business wondering whether they knew how vulnerable they were. This woman's bottom danced with such careless abandon it seemed foreign to the rest of her. Two men bumped against each other, their eyes fixed on the erotic dance. No man was strong enough to avoid a glance. The tenth commandment certainly asked too much of men.

  This woman had a reason to smile; she was home safe and sound! What with the hijackings and road carnage. The ramshackle minibus had come through somehow. The tout whistled for the driver to roll then gave chase. He dived for the metal bar at the door, slipped and landed flat on the tarmac. Sanse closed his eyes then opened them expecting to see a flattened skull. To his amazement the tout was still in one piece. Eager to mend his pride, the tout collected his bulk and charged. He got the metal bar clean.

  This boy stopped to enjoy his lollipop just as a brightly coloured Audi rolled past. The boy waved and swayed to the boom-boom oozing from the car. His mother looked back only to realise that he had fallen far behind. She bellowed at him to speed up. The boy bolted but tripped and fell flat on his face. Sanse jerked in his seat at the sight of the lollipop that had landed several paces from the boy. He dashed out of the car, collected the crying boy, searched his pockets and handed him a twenty bob coin. The boy’s mother looked on dumbfounded.

  “There you go,” Sanse said. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” The woman wanted to know.

  “For falling."

  Sanse ran past the woman after Mwangi and Nyaga. He found the two chatting with a tall man.

  “Can I have a word?” Sanse said. “You said the hammer was near Bob’s hand, right?”

  “No, I said he was holding it,” Mwangi said.

  “He had a grip on it,” Nyaga said.

  “Sorry for the disturbance,” Sanse said. He took off the way he had come.

  ***

  Senior detective Cosmas Pai walked with the reluctance of a man who has been forced to wrestle his brother. He had never anticipated the day his ex-partner would be his competitor. That Sanse was an exceptional detective was undeniable. If Sanse was the yardstick by which to tell a good detective then most detectives were dismally under par. Sanse saw and heard things nobody else did. He made subtle deductions that fitted the broken pieces together in the most astounding way. However, his career was marked with many missteps. The first time he pulled the trigger he shot so wide the bullet caught a bystander, an eight-month pregnant woman. The incident affected his confidence so much he hesitated during a stakeout and cost his partner his life. To his colleagues he became a black sheep who valued suspect’s life more than his partner’s. He stayed without a partner for months until Pai offered himself. As it were, partnership wit
h Sanse had been trying enough. Their union collapsed after two years when Sanse drew a gun at him. Pai took a transfer to escape it all. Now Sanse was in his backyard harassing his witnesses.

  Just like Grace Pai cursed the steep staircase. He had a jolt on stepping into the tiny office. Apparently, Sanse was committing suicide using an ineffective, time-consuming method. He was taller, he was aged, he looked lost. However, the cat-eyes still danced inquisitively. As was his mode while in deep thought he was running a jolly comb through his hair. Pai smiled in an attempt to veil his shock.

  “Look at what fate just dropped off his hat,” Sanse said.

  “It has been ages,” Pai said dropping on a chair.

  “Here we are!” Sanse said trying hard to sound cheerful. “Who said we would die young? What brings you over?”

  “I handled Gitonga’s murder,” Pai said. “You know, private investigators and the police cannot co-exist without some toes being trampled on.”

  “Am I stepping on your toes?” Sanse asked.

  “Elizabeth complained of harassment.”

  The two men sized up each other. Together they had solved many cases. Their wives had been best of friends. Now the two were widowed. While Sanse hit the bottle hard Pai lost himself in his work, work that Sanse had come to disrupt.

  “Pick a different pond to do your fishing.” Pai tried hard to sound tough. “I am not always this friendly.”

  “I know,” Sanse said. “But I don’t scare easily.”

  “I know.”

  Pai studied his host as he clicked his knuckles. The stage was set for a supremacy battle which, Pai assured himself, Sanse had already lost. Bob had it coming to him; a mammoth motive, opportunity and means. Throw in a harmonious choir of witnesses and Prosecutor Ponyi to complete the picture. Pai concluded that there was little harm, if any, in indulging his ex-partner. He doubted Sanse still had his mental balance.

  “I will be seeing you around,” Pai said and walked out of the tiny office.

  Chapter 5

  Early Sunday Sanse printed a poster for the position of a secretary. He needed someone keen and curious. Many interviewees meant much work hence he glued three posters on electricity posts. Spotting one and attending the interview next day at nine was the first leg of the interview. He arrived at Gitonga’s homestead at nine hoping to find Wira home and Elizabeth gone to church. He was happy to find the walk-through gate open. He followed the constant thudding coming from the right side of the big house to see a man chopping maize stalks at the cowshed. Everything about him was big; big hands, big nose; a big man. Sanse offered his hand in greetings and regretted it immediately as it disappeared in an iron vice. Judging by his radiant face the farmhand meant no punishment; the grip was a reflection of a warm, clean heart. After an eternity the grip loosened.