Darling... I Need Your Corpse: Detective Mike Sanse #2 (Mike Sanse series)

by Anthony Mugo

  Darling... I need your corpse

  A Mike Sanse mystery

  Anthony Mugo

  Published by Anthony Mugo

  Copyright ©2016 by Anthony Mugo

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews – without the permission in writing from its publisher, Anthony Mugo. authormugo2016@gmail.com

  Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Disclaimer

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  About the author

  Glossary

  List of characters

  Chapter 1

  Diana Ciuri came to a stop in front of Senior Detective Cosmas Pai’s desk, her near flat chest heaving rhythmically. Her boyish frame couldn’t have weighed a gram above fifty kilos. Her round face was rendered picturesque by sleepy eyes and puffy lips. As part of her correction to God’s perceived mistakes she had dyed her hair brown.

  “Any contact?” Pai said.

  Diana shook her head.

  “Two days and no contact?”

  “Must I get a call for you to find my husband?”

  “A call would give shape to what we are up against.”

  “You said it’s a kidnapping, didn’t you?”

  Pai wondered how so petite a figure could house so much nastiness. Maybe her husband had bolted to avoid her wrath.

  “Detective Pai, have you ever rescued a kidnapped victim?”

  Pai had succeeded once and failed twice. “Every kidnapping is unique.”

  “In what way?”

  How was he going to make her understand that solving a kidnapping, or any other crime for that matter, was not exactly like fixing a cup of instant tea?

  “You are experimenting with my husband, aren’t you?”

  He was saved from exploding with anger by the ringing of the office phone. His face was grim as he replaced the receiver. “Sorry I have to leave.”

  “What about my husband?”

  Pai lost his patience. “There is a body at Thiba River Bridge.”

  Diana collapsed on a chair. “Man or woman?”

  “They didn’t say.”

  Pai busied himself arranging items on his desk.

  “I want to see the body,” Diana said. “I’ll wait outside.”

  When Pai stepped into the morning sun Diana was at the gate briefing her entourage of about fifteen people. A sea of eyes glared at him as he stopped to let Diana into the car. As they drove through town evidence of previous day’s demonstrations was all over; tree twigs, stones and burned tyres. If a disappearance could generate so much heat the town would go up in frames if it was Oscar Ciuri’s body at the bridge.

  Neither of the two spoke during the twenty-minute drive to the bridge.

  Thiba River was the largest river in Kathare. The bridge was built ten years previously after its predecessor was swept away by the El Nino rains. A sizeable crowd had gathered on the bridge and either side of the river to form a human crime-scene ribbon. A Regular Police officer was barking himself hoarse trying to push the crowd back. Pai ordered Diana to remain in the car and elbowed his way through the crowd wondering what attraction people found in a corpse. His legs grew shy of carrying him further five metres to the body. It lay on its back three metres from the river bank. The head, the legs from the knee and the arms from the elbow were missing. It was not just a murder but the work of a very sick maniac.

  “Someone was really pissed off,” the forensic officer working the scene said, his camera clicking away. “Looks like the killer planned to toss him into the river.”

  “He was killed elsewhere,” Pai said. “No blood. Where is the rest of him?”

  “I think he was decapitated so as to have different parts at different locations,” the officer said. “Let’s hope they are located soon.”

  “Any documents on him?”

  “The whole lot.” He handed over a leather wallet. “Your kidnapping is now homicide.”

  Pai’s heart somersaulted. Have you ever rescued a kidnapped victim?

  “Oh, oh,” the officer said, his eyes trained beyond Pai who turned to see Diana approaching them. The crowd stirred with expectation.

  “Mrs. Ciuri!”

  “Man or woman?” Diana asked.

  Pai hesitated picturing another death resulting from shock.

  “Oh God,” Diana said.

  “I told you to wait in the car,” Pai was fully aware that he was wasting his breath.

  “I am a big girl.”

  “Let professionals handle this.” Diana brushed him aside. Her legs grew less determined as she neared the body. She stared stonily at it for a moment before she turned sharply, her left hand covering her mouth to stifle a scream. When she refocused on the body all confidence had ebbed out of her.

  “Any identification documents on him?”

  Pai mouthed ‘NO’.

  The forensic officer shook his head.

  “May I see his left inner thigh?” Diana stammered.

  The officer tore the trouser to honour her request. Pai got a glimpse of a black mole a second before Diana screamed and collapsed in his hands. He scooped her and rushed towards his car. A news van pulled up in time to capture him bundling her into the car.

  Chapter 2

  Michael ‘Mike’ Sanse had been sitting alone for an hour. Occasionally his eyes travelled with the bartender who did his best to ignore him. To take his mind off the bartender he tried to recall where he had seen himself today a year before. Emma would be enrolling in a boarding school. Twelve was a good age to become independent of her mother. His transfer to a station nearer home was supposed to be in high gear if not complete. Of course Kathare was out since Pai had beaten him to it. Betty’s business was supposed to be operational. A religious opponent of bringing up kids through house helps, she had stuck home until Jack, the last born, was six. An extra shilling in the family basket was welcome considering his loan commitment. He wondered what he would have done differently had he known he would lose his family and his home within the year. Would he have resigned?

  Self-anointed gurus were divided between pointed an accusing finger at God and Fate. But Sanse knew that his predicaments were at best products of human deliberate choices to be evil. To him God was so considerate he let human power of choice take full charge. When a criminal defies change and goes after the person who arrested him it is a human decision. When a rogue bank repossesses a client for the flimsy reason that the client cleared his arrears hours late God has no part in it. Sanse was mad bec
ause he had nobody to blame but himself. He should never have dropped from the teacher’s college.

  Sanse stirred with anticipation as a well-fed man in a well-cut suit walked into the bar, scanned the room and then started in his direction. No hair could be as dark as his without the help of some dye. Sanse thought his see-through specs were an excuse to compensate for the protuberant forehead. He was the kind of man who made everyone at Busy Bee Bar squirm because he didn’t belong.

  “Mike Sanse, right?” The man said. “They said you would be in a trilby hat and Kaunda suit. I am Mathew.”

  “What can I do for you, Mathew?”

  “I’ll dive strain in.” Mathew placed a picture of a young woman in front of Sanse. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

  Sanse’s eyes followed the bartender.

  “When we got married two years ago she would call me at work,” Mathew said. “A welcome-home mind-blowing kiss awaited me at the door. Always. I was honey, darling, sweetie; the works.”

  Sanse moved furthest in his chair as though to distance himself from the dejected lover.

  “It was pure heaven! But it is no more. She is aloof and sulky. She is a living ice block. For the last three days she has only spoken three words, ‘Food, food, food’.”

  Mathew stopped to chew his lower lip. Sanse’s first thought was to inform him that if men sought the services of an investigator every time their women refused to play ball the world would come to a standstill. Then he considered telling him to man up. That perhaps his wife was reacting to the very ineptitude that had informed his decision to broadcast his woes. Sanse could imagine the scenario: a poor boy who studies hard. He heeds his old man’s caution that there is a Delilah in every girl so religiously so that by the time he posts his school’s best results his idea of love is limited to the study of Romeo and Juliet. His hard work is rewarded with a prime job. He thanks his wise father with his first pair of Safari Boots and a stone house. Meanwhile girls are tearing at each other over him. He picks the princess because that is what brilliant men with prime jobs do. Now he was running scared because the honeymoon was over and the centre couldn’t hold.

  “I know she is seeing someone,” Mathew went on. “I want you to gather the facts. They tell me you are the best. I will make it worth your while.”

  “I am sure you will,” Sanse said. “Nevertheless, as a matter of principle, I don’t tackle infidelity. Indeed no one should.”

  “Why?”

  “Wife-husband love life should be left entirely to them. Thank you for showing so much faith in me nonetheless.”

  “Do you wait until we butcher each other to arouse your interest?”

  “Just ask her if she still cares.”

  Mathew could as well have stepped on a landmine. “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “What if she says she doesn’t?”

  “Then she doesn’t.”

  “That is tough. Here is my card should you reconsider.”

  Mathew pocketed the photo and marched out. Sanse studied the business card. Mathew Mithamo, Claims Manager, Afterlife Assurance. He ventured on clicking his knuckles as a girl appeared at the door.

  “Miss Naomi,” Sanse said. “Tell me we have a client.”

  The girl settled on a chair. “The landlord wants to see you.”

  Sanse continued to click his knuckles.

  “We need to find money soon otherwise...”

  “Leave the worrying to me.”

  Silence took charge. Naomi had developed a lot of respect for the boss she had acquired out of desperation. His performance in their last case was something out of a movie. However, she was doubtful that the next case would find them in business. They were already ten days behind in rent.

  “I want you to teach me,” Naomi said.

  “Teach you what?”

  “Detective work.”

  Sanse snorted. “I thought you were level-headed.”

  “I know it is a risky occupation. But so is every other occupation. A doctor risk contracting dangerous diseases: Ebola, AIDS, Rift Valley fever. A driver risks a road crash. A teacher risks...”

  “Where did you see yourself today?”

  “A well-paying job. A car. A big house. A handsome husband.”

  “You are young and beautiful.”

  Naomi smiled. “So?”

  “Your dream is still valid,” Sanse said. “I just can’t tell why the rich, handsome man is late - well, if at all he hasn’t arrived already.”

  “Please, I want this.”

  Heavens, she is determined to be Miss Marple, Sanse thought. He was amused by the transformation Naomi had undergone in a month. Just the other day she was the dutiful office assistant who kept her ideas to herself. Then she had elected herself his shrink. ‘You’re as gone as you’re willing to admit.’ ‘Your loss should but make you more determined, more focussed.’ A week earlier she had made her boldest move: “You should see life through the lens of someone who never had much in life; no home, kids or a wife. Someone who never had the gift of sight. Someone who begs to get by. Someone who, to many, is a burden. But he knows that abundance is not another name for happiness. Mbao is his name. He is Mbao because he doesn’t ask for much, only mbao for a cup of tea. Mbao, Swahili for twenty shillings.”

  “How come you know him so well?” Sanse had asked.

  “Some time back I fantasised on becoming Mother Teresa. I chose Mbao as my starting point. I bought him clothes. I still do his laundry once a week.”

  “And now I have joined him.”

  “You are far from there. You are my boss.”

  Sanse had visited Mbao outside Five Star hotel out of curiosity. True to Naomi’s word, the blind man looked healthy and well gloomed. For the twenty minutes Sanse watched him Mbao sang ‘Thank you Lord’. Sanse dropped a coin in his bowl wondering why he never had the presence of mind to do so before. The only exchange between beggar and benefactor was a ‘thank you’ as Mbao reached for his additional wealth.

  Thinking of Naomi afterwards Sanse decided that she was exceptional for her age. However, she still had a lot of ground to cover as far as the seesaw that is life is concerned. That there were seemingly happy beggars didn’t make loss any bearable, at least not to a spendthrift man who had worked hard and long - a celebrated detective who was living his dream not so long ago. The narrative of a sassy Job losing everything before he got more remained just that, a narrative.

  But now Naomi had moved from saving the ship to grabbing what she could.

  “You sat and passed an interview for the post of a secretary,” Sanse knew he was being unfairly harsh with her. “If a different post comes up you will be the first to know.”

  Naomi walked out of the bar.

  A news item on the radio caught Sanse’s attention. The body of Oscar Ciuri, the outgoing councillor for Kathare Central Ward who went missing two days before, was found early morning at Thiba River Bridge. His head, legs and arms were chopped off.

  Sanse walked to the counter and faced Pewa, the bartender.

  “Please.”

  “No means no,” Pewa said curtly.

  Sanse strolled out.

  Chapter 3

  Sanse walked. He had no destination in mind. Of late he just walked. The guard outside Mercantile Finance Bank glanced at him for the briefest moment. Sanse was dying to know if his cheek still hurt from his slap on their last encounter. Goddamn thieves. Sanse was angered by the level of apathy around him. A man loses his job for no good reason and everyone is happy to see him go. The same man loses his home to a rogue bank and everyone applauds when the said bank announces billions in profits. It was the worst of times to be a small fish.

  The small town was a collage of posters bearing magical rallying calls and heavenly promises. The optimism bubble was at its fullest. ‘Pragmatic’, ‘best’, ‘most qualified’, were among adjectives in season. The voter was a stubborn girl who needed pampering and cuddling. Oscar Ciuri smiled off
one of the billboards. Choose visionary leadership. Well, not any more. Some demonstrators were grouping up to chart their way forward now that their bubble, personified in Oscar Ciuri, had just been perforated.

  Sanse noted that Mbao was not at his usual spot outside Five Star Hotel. He wondered if beggars ever took the day off. He reminded himself to drop something in Mbao’s bowl often. There was a good chance that he wasn’t so blessed because he didn’t give much thought to the deprived. I-scratch-you-you-scratch-me was his currency. He bought a bunch of bananas and munched them as he walked. He hesitated as he came upon a beggar with underdeveloped legs. He would have done anything to court blessings but give the coins in his pocket to the beggar. The good word called upon one to love their neighbour as they love themselves. By surrendering the coins he would be at fault with the prerequisite of loving himself.

  Telling himself that the nearby stone was meant for visitors, Sanse settled on it and handed his host two bananas. The two concentrated on munching for a while.

  “Thank you,” the beggar said throwing the peels away.

  “You are welcome. Are you a local?”

  “Chance hauled me here,” the beggar said. “This guard in Nairobi accommodated us inside the vehicles he guarded at night. Of course he wanted company. On this day the lorry I was in got stolen. I seized the first opportunity to get off the lorry. I would end up in jail if I went back to Nairobi. I spent a week trying to fix Kathare in the map. It has been five years since.”

  “How does it compare?”

  “I had friends in Nairobi but all we shared were miseries. Everyone else was an enemy. If the City Council had it their way they would toss every beggar in the Indian Ocean Idd Amin style. ”

  “It sounds tough.”

  “They raped you in your sleep. One of my friends lost his private parts.”

  “Who would…?”

  “Witch doctors. It is scary.”

  Sanse left feeling as though the world was on his shoulders. He went to his office, his first time since the bank repossessed his home about a month ago. Naomi beamed on his entry.