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

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

by Anthony Mugo


  “When do you see Mbao next?” Sanse asked.

  “Why?”

  “I ought to chip in.”

  “Mbao found greener pastures,” Naomi said.

  “Lucky him!”

  “A Good Samaritan, Kim if memory serves me right, moved him to Nairobi. Apparently beggars become millionaires over there.”

  “When did he move?”

  “On Thursday. He was on his way out when he called me. Did you talk to him?”

  “No.”

  Sanse had never felt so challenged to stand on his feet again. His house rent was due in a week’s time. Failure to pay would find him in the streets. Now that clients had refused to come to him he would go after them. He travelled to Oscar Ciuri’s home ten kilometres out of town. He alighted at the junction to Gitwe. Oscar’s home was the second one to the left off the junction. Boda boda operators at the junction hooted to attract his attention. He shook his head and walked past.

  The u-shaped house was reminiscent of the seventies when window frames were made of wood. So was the wire mesh grill. Some men sat under the waiting shade chatting. Sanse told one of them he was here to see Mrs. Ciuri. He led him into the house. A covered figure lay in the sofa. On the coffee table was a plate of half-eaten chicken soup. The lying figure stirred and uncovered its head.

  “Sorry for the loss,” Sanse said.

  “Thank you,” Diana said weakly studying Sanse with interest.

  “Mike Sanse of Genius Investigations.”

  Diana struggled to a sitting position. “What can I do for you, Mr Sanse?”

  “The question of who killed your husband must be troubling you more than his death,” Sanse said. “Of course the police are breaking their backs to get answers. Nonetheless, anyone would be concerned by their failure to rescue your husband from the kidnappers.”

  “Would you have rescued him?”

  “Unfortunately we will never get an answer to that. But we can find an answer in regard to his murder. You only pay for results, not a cent before.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Fifty thousand.”

  “Only?”

  “A better offer is most welcome,” Sanse said.

  “I know a busybody when I see one.”

  Sanse removed his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “You have nothing to lose.”

  “I doubt that I stand to gain anything.”

  Sanse’s focus rested on Ciuri’s photo on the wall. “He was a handsome man.”

  An awkward moment took charge before Sanse said, “I will be on the standby should you change your mind.”

  “I have made up my mind.”

  “That is unfortunate.”

  Back in town Sanse stopped to watch men challenge and cajole one another in draughts. To him it appeared there is always a better player in draughts. Everyone was good at chest-thumping though. He studied the moves close to twenty minutes. The champion, an elderly man sporting a goatee, pledged a thousand shillings to anyone who made king. Five men came up short before the rest gave him a wide berth.

  Sanse occupied the challenger’s seat.

  “I doubt this one knows the number of pieces in play,” the champ said getting on his feet.

  Sanse placed his Omex watch on the board. “Would you love to own this?”

  “How dare you fart when you have cholera?” The look on the champ’s face evoked laughter in the audience. He added some notes to the thousand. Sanse was now the centre of attention.

  “If you beat me I will never play again,” the champ said. He moved the pieces with such aplomb he didn’t look at them.

  “You mean it?” Sanse asked.

  “I have never been more serious.”

  The champ’s poise changed on his fifth move. “I didn’t get your name.”

  “The-man-who-can’t-tell-the-number-of-pieces-in-play,” Sanse said.

  The champ took five solid minutes to study the pieces. Whatever the move he made he stood to lose two pieces. Sanse would not only make king, he would trounce him.

  “Your move,” Sanse said earning himself a glare from his opponent. The champ counted the empty boxes.

  “You cheated,” he said. “You moved two boxes at a go.”

  “True champions go down gracefully,” Sanse said.

  “I should know,” the champ said. “I have played this game for fifty years.”

  “Hey, you are that detective,” one of the spectators said.

  “Mike Sanse?” Another one said. The crowd became animated. The champ’s face crowded as spectators ganged up against him. His eyes rested on the bundle of notes then the board.

  “I will win but not as fast.” His voice carried less contempt.

  The game was over in three minutes. The fallen champ gave his hand for a handshake. “I knew I was up against a great mind. Where did you learn to play so well?”

  “I studied your moves and refused to be cowed,” Sanse said. “I would have given you a return match but you just retired.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Well, I took it that way.”

  Sanse walked away.

  Chapter 4

  Inspector Willis Boko had loved books as long as he could remember. His father, a high school teacher, always reminded him that through a book one could see the furthest corner of the world. Boko couldn’t agree more. With time he developed a keen interest in book authors. They seemed to him an interesting subset of human beings. He was fascinated that William Shakespeare commanded so much respect yet he lived millennia ago. Now Boko felt it was time he opened up his corner to the world. Having been a detective for over two decades crime thriller was his default genre. He was dismayed that in the public eye the police were more of a villain than a hero. A well-packaged book would correct that perception.

  Boko glowed with pride knowing that he would be the first person in his circles to write a book. However the going was proving tougher by the day. Before he started out he had been awash with glorious ideas. Now most were the hours he spent staring at a blank page. He always caught his mind drifting to materials he had read. Was it possible that his peers tasted similar inspiration but found the going too tough? He wouldn’t be joining them. His deadline was still six months. He found solace in being the only soul privy to his new venture.

  Boko consulted the word count for the tenth time in as many minutes. Three thousand, one hundred and two words. He got on his feet and stretched. He dropped on his seat, clasped his hands on his tummy and studied the far wall as if inspiration hung over there. He felt awkwardly relieved as Detective Pai walked in.

  “How is Mrs. Ciuri?”

  “She will live,” Pai said.

  “Any useful leads?”

  “Style Jo is still in the wind. I will start on the Kirindi angle tomorrow.”

  Boko smiled as an idea struck him. What if he based his protagonist on a real life detective? He would be half way there!

  “How is your ex-partner?” Boko asked.

  “Detective Kewa?”

  “I mean Mike Sanse.”

  Pai’s look was incredulous. His two-year partnership with Michael Sanse almost ended up tragically. He had transferred to Kathare to distance himself from Sanse. However, Sanse, just like a recurrent malady, had surfaced in Kathare as a private investigator. But that was the tip of the iceberg.

  A year before a waiter at Riana Hotel had filmed clients in one of the rooms for a month before he was caught. Owing much to pressure the police had agreed to terminate the case. Boko had charged Pai with the destruction of the evidence dubbed the List of Shame. Pai, suspecting that his wife was a culprit, switched a memory card which was part of the evidence. However, even before he could get the identity of the bastard rocking his marriage, the memory card fell in wrong hands. People were blackmailed. A number of people, his wife included, died. Sanse was aware of this and had promised to inform on him.

  Pai considered raising his feud with Sanse. That he had transferred
to distance himself from Sanse. However, he reasoned that if Boko really wanted Sanse on the case he would simply allocate Sanse a different partner. Pai had put so much inthis case he wanted to see it through.

  “Sir,” Pai said. “Mr Sanse was discharged from the force because he was considered to be a danger to himself and the society.”

  “Exactly what did he do?”

  Does it matter? “He blandished his fireman in a bar.”

  He won’t be handling a firearm, Boko told himself. “He got the real killer in the Gitonga case. I need this case wrapped up yesterday. The media, leaders, Ciuri’s supporters – everyone is on my neck! Get Mr Sanse.”

  Pai hesitated as unsettling questions invaded his mind. Had his boss lost faith in his abilities? Was he out to frustrate him?

  “Sir…”

  Boko turned to the laptop and embarked on pressing keys. “I will engage the devil himself to get to the bottom of this murder.”

  As Pai was marching out his mind was as occupied as that of a passenger who is considering jumping off a bus that is full of snakes. Just as the passenger discards the thought because jumping itself will kill him, Pai knew that a resignation would be stupid. This was the only job he knew how to do. This was his life. And yes, he loved it. He loved to see defeat in the eyes of criminals. God knew he gave it all he had. Again, he was a widower with two demanding kids.

  Pai drove out of the station considering taking a beer or two. But then he had given Rose his word that he would never drink again. He had to find a way to take his mind off Sanse. A poster outside one of the video halls caught his attention. Several movies were lined up for the evening. He pulled up, bought a ticket and entered the hall without bothering much about what movie was showing. He was lucky because the movie was just beginning.

  The hero was superhuman. He didn’t use a gun because, in his own words, when he did bad things happened. As he kicked and chopped and stabbed Pai wondered what could be worse. The villains, some of who looked nastier and heavier, kicked and chopped and stabbed but not as hard. Or maybe they were not as lucky.

  Pai left the hall because Sanse would not get out of his mind and drove home. He was welcomed by thudding from the stereo. Nonini was assuring his babe that he would be home all day and if she wanted some she could come get some. Ed, his son, stood in front of the television trying to outdo the singer in throwing hands in the air. Pai switched off the television.

  “Where is your sister?” Pai barked.

  Ed lifted his shoulders and dropped them then marched out of the room all puffed up. Pai fished out his phone, scrolled the phone book, dialled and waited. He did his best to control his breath but it still came in gasps. He redialled as his call went unanswered.

  “What’s up Pop?” Norah, his daughter, asked.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “I am hanging out with friends.”

  “At this hour?”

  “It is just nine Pop.”

  “What do you mean…?”

  “See you in an hour!”

  “Hey! You…,” Pai redialled but the call won’t go through. How dare she go dark on him? Did she know the dangers she was exposing herself to? Did she learn anything from friends who had dropped out of school because of unwanted pregnancies? So much for treating her as a grown up because wasn’t! In fact she just got herself grounded. Why the hell did they scrap holiday tuition?

  He paced muttering to himself. Much as he tried, Pai couldn’t arrive at a perfect solution to the problem at hand. Norah was beyond caning. Since her mother’s death there was this disconnect. He scrolled his phone book in search of a suitable person to advise him on the way forward. He stopped at Esther. He had not spoken to his sister-in-law since Rose died. He dialled the number.

  “Sorry for bothering you so late,” Pai said. “You promised to check on us from time to time.”

  “I am as guilty as charged,” Esther said. “How is the going?”

  “I am losing them.” He talked about Norah at length.

  “Is it that bad?”

  “I swore to be their mother-father but I am barely a father.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself. We were wild too in our day.”

  “Not this way,” Pai said. “Again, the world was not this crazy. I think she needs a woman to woman chat. She can’t share everything with me, right?”

  “You should have alerted me sooner.”

  “You make it sound like all is lost.”

  “I just hate to think of you suffering in silence,” Esther said. “I will visit tomorrow. For now just let her be.”

  “Thanks. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

  “Don’t be silly. I am their mother.”

  Pai dropped on the sofa wearily. In the process he disturbed an exercise book that sat on the table. As he bent to pick it the caricature on the open page caught his attention. There were three figures with oblong heads: a girl, a boy and a man who held a gun. The heading read: Meet Gun, his father and two intruders.

  Pai gasped. When did he become the enemy?

  Day 2 Friday

  Chapter 5

  The handwritten tag on Sanse’s office door always amused Pai. GENIUS INVESTIGATIONS, it declared. Naomi sat behind the small office table reading a book. Pai was the very first cop to cross Naomi’s path in this very office. She couldn’t recall being more intimidated before. Of course the muscle-flexing was directed at Sanse. She had gained a lot of confidence on learning that whereas the police had authority and resources Sanse had the brains.

  “Where is he?” Pai asked

  “Out,” Naomi said.

  “Is he on a job?”

  “No.”

  “Where does he put up?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How can I contact him?”

  “If you are lucky you’ll find him at Busy Bee.”

  “Do you think he is up to any task?”

  Naomi glared at him. “Would I be here if I didn’t?”

  “Tell him to contact me.”

  Pai took longer to get to Busy Bee because he had to avoid burning fires and charging police. What had began as a peaceful demonstration against insecurity had turned violent as Ciuri’s supporters crushed with his opponent’s. Opportunists took to looting. Cars were stoned. At the open-air market an ambulance zoomed past whining.

  Pai learnt that Sanse had last been at Busy Bee at three the previous day. No one knew where to find him. He sat on a high stool and asked for a Coke. He would kill an hour or so then return to the office with the report that he couldn’t find Sanse. He watched men come and leave and wondered how they survived. Maybe there was life without employment after all.

  “Sanse is in police custody,” a newly arrived man said.

  “How do you know?” Pai asked.

  “I saw them load him into a lorry.”

  Pai finished his soda and drove to the station. He was just in time to see some men filing into a police Land Rover for court.

  “What is that man in for,” Pai asked one of the Regular Police officers. “I mean the thin one.”

  “Drunk and disorderly,” the officer said.

  “Little wonder he is grinning,” Pai said. “Something heavier should fall on him.”

  “Define ‘heavier’,” the officer challenged.

  “My boss will be happy to.” Pai pulled Sanse from the queue.

  “I hope you were pulling his leg back there,” Sanse said.

  Pai didn’t even look at him. “You will know soon enough. This way.”

  Sanse’s look uplifted Pai’s spirits. For the first time his side part was out of place. His trilby hat was missing. His Kaunda Suit was open at the shoulder. He was like a chicken that had survived a gale. And then he smelt like a brewery. It will be an interesting encounter, Pai thought.

  Despite a spirited effort to stay collected Boko winced. He was an orderly person himself but not as obsessed as Sanse.

  “A bad day, eh?” Boko asked.


  “I would be lying if I said no,” Sanse said.

  “What is left of the day is enough for one to change one’s fortunes,” Boko said tapping the table. “Have you heard about the body at Thiba Bridge?”

  “The mutilated one?”

  “Quite unsettling, isn’t it? I thought you could help find the wacko behind it.”

  Pai and Boko’s eyes bore into Sanse. Say no, Pai urged under his breath.

  “How did you identify him?” Sanse asked.

  “The identity card, driving licence and ATM card were on the body,” Boko said. “His wife identified him too.”

  “I would suggest a proper identification. A DNA test.”

  “Why?”

  “Just to be sure.”

  “We are sure,” Boko said.

  “That’s good to hear,” Sanse said. “What is the arrangement?”

  “You will be a consultant,” Boko said.

  Sanse began to click his knuckles. Pai shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Say no.

  “I will clean up.”

  Pai opened his mouth to speak but thought the better of it. Damn!

  “There is only one condition,” Boko said. “You can’t work and drink.”

  Sanse suspended clicking of his knuckles. “It appears you have a different person in mind.”

  The two studied each other for a long moment.

  “I am sticking my neck out here,” Boko said.

  “Then don’t.”

  Pai’s heart was threatening to break free. This is it. The deal-breaker!

  “Do you love booze that much?”

  “I love my freedom this much,” Sanse said. “Now it is booze, next it will be my beard. Or the way I smile.”

  Boko wondered why the most talented people are always the hardest to deal with. “Don’t make me regret this.”

  Again Pai checked himself just in time. What was wrong with his boss?

  “I will clean up,” Sanse said.

  Boko reached for his wallet and gave Sanse a thousand shillings. “Make it quick.”

  Sanse walked out.

  “Did he have a drinking problem before he lost his family?” Boko asked Pai.

 

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