by Anthony Mugo
A swarthy youth stepped forward.
“What is your name?” Boko asked him.
“Aggrey Kiragu,” the young man said.
“What do you do for a living, Mr Kiragu?”
“I am a farmer.”
“Why aren’t you home farming?”
“I need to pay my last respects for my leader, Mr Oscar Ciuri.”
“What has it got to do with the police?” Boko said.
“You are denying Mrs. Ciuri access to the body.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“I was present when the two officers came to see her.”
“And they said Mrs. Ciuri won’t have the body?”
“They talked of a DNA test,” Kiragu said. “We’re satisfied that Mrs. Ciuri identified Mr. Ciuri’s body.”
“What is wrong with making sure?”
“Insurance companies urge you to plan for the rainy day but when it rains they accuse you of causing the rain.”
Boko smiled despite himself. Diana had made the youths believe that the test was a ploy to avoid settlement of the insurance claim. To succeed the body had to belong to someone else.
“Go farm, Mr Kiragu,” Boko said signalling the uniformed officer. Several colleagues had joined him. “You have two minutes.”
Chanting resumed. It was succeeded by running and shouting as the police charged.
Boko was hardly settled in his office when Pai walked in and handed him a letter. The letter came from Ngere, Muthee and Company Advocates. It stated that their client, Ms. Diana N. Ciuri, had an inherent right to dignity embedded in the constitution and that a DNA test on her daughter and late husband would be an affront to her privacy and decency. It would subject her to psychological torture.
Boko hated lawyers. He hated their use of big words. He hated their arrogance. He hated them for defending criminals. But now he hated Diana more. How dare she? Did she have something to hide?
Boko tore up the letter and threw it in the dustbin.
“Get the sample at once,” Boko ordered.
When Pai and his team arrived at Ciuri’s compound Diana was still in a nightgown. Her tiny legs were thrust in clear-plastic sandals.
“Didn’t you get the letter from my lawyer?” Diana demanded of Pai.
“We get letters from lawyers all the time,” Pai said. “We ignore them all the time.”
“I will sue you for this.”
Diana dialled her phone rapid-fire and talked for a while. She gave the phone to Pai who terminated the call and handed it back.
“Why are you treating me like a suspect?” Diana asked.
“If only you could stop acting like one,” Sanse said.
Diana was on the verge of tears. “You can’t do this to me. The test will…” she stopped to pick the phone. Stacey appeared at the door calling her mother. The forensic officer gave her a chewing gum which she chewed happily. A while later he gave her two more chewing gums and told her to drop the first one inside a specimen bag.
“Good girl,” the officer said. “We are good.”
Diana was still talking on the phone when they drove away.
***
At one Sanse walked into Boko’s office to inform him that he had a date with the bank at two.
“Our lunch date comes first,” Boko said switching off his laptop.
“Sir…”
“Haven’t you heard the rumour? I bully those who turn me down when they shouldn’t. Sorry for the interruption. You were saying?”
“Nothing,” Sanse said.
“Good.”
The two got in Boko’s car.
“Did you serve in Meru?” Boko said. “I did. A very interesting place. People kill then hand themselves in expecting a pat on the back.”
“That is interesting.”
“It leaves the police with cold feet,” Boko said. “I mean, how do you deal with someone who doesn’t bow to authority? In contrast, when I see youths challenging the police in this place I pity them.”
Boko pulled up outside Moonlight Hotel. “Poverty is to blame,” he said. “Poverty and ignorance.”
They ordered fried beef and ugali.
“Do you ever loosen up?” Boko said.
“I am loosened up,” Sanse said.
Boko chuckled. “Most of us would be shouting on rooftops if they had half your reputation.”
Sanse started cricking his knuckles.
“How many times do you do that in a day?” Boko asked.
“That is a good question. Have I done it since we got here?”
“Twice.”
“For crying out loud!”
“When did it start?”
“Forty-three years is such a long time,” Sanse said. “Come to think of it, I am hazy about the year I faced the knife.”
Boko laughed heartily. “Then there is the jolly comb. You rarely have a strand out of place.”
“I know of a man who sticks a finger up his nostrils every five minutes. Another one swears as regularly. I would happily settle for a comb any day.”
“It has been claimed that great detectives are inspired by tragic events in their lives.”
Sanse stared at him. “What inspires you?”
“I am not great.”
“You are to me. I wouldn’t have made DCIO in ten lifetimes.”
“You flatter me,” Boko said. “Okay, here we go. My grandfather was butchered after a land sale in which he didn’t receive a penny.”
“That should inspire anyone,” Sanse observed.
“When I see a murder victim I see a demented wife, child, relative. What about you?”
“To me detective work was an occupation like any other,” Sanse said. “I am retired only that paupers don’t really retire.”
“Do you mean you didn’t know you had it in you?”
“Well, I am the guy who located misplaced shoes and keys.”
“In regard to your family and home do you think God let you down?”
“Let God be,” Sanse said. “I am sure He will have an explanation when we meet.”
The two concentrated on their food for a while.
“How many cases have you solved this far?” Boko said.
“I don’t know. I stopped counting when I realised that a list of solved murder cases is itself an obituary registry.”
“What would be your estimate; two hundred, five hundred?”
“Essentially, ‘I don’t know’ means I can’t estimate.”
“Now I know,” Boko said. “Mastery at asking questions means mastery at evading them.”
Sanse’s eyes were two saucer pans. “Is this a questioning?”
“It is a chat over fried beef and ugali,” Boko said.
Sanse got on his feet. “I should get to the bank.”
“Is it something I said?” Boko said. “How silly of me!”
“Thank you for the lunch.”
Sanse walked out of the hotel. He was half an hour early for his appointment at the bank. He hung outside the bank and walked in at two on the dot. He nudged the door with the tag ‘Manager Credit’ but it wouldn’t bulge. A young man approached him in a hurry.
“Hello,” the man said. “How can I help you?”
“I have an appointment with the manager.”
“The manager is in a meeting.”
“I will wait.”
“He could be tied up for the rest of the day.”
“Then I will visit another time,” Sanse said turning to leave.
“You are Samuel Sanse, right?”
Sanse stopped in his tracks.
“The manager briefed me on your case,” the man said.
“And?”
Sanse was invited to a desk. The man took a file from a drawer, flipped through it and settled on the last demand letter Sanse had received from the bank.
“You were supposed to clear the arrears within fourteen days,” the man said. “The deadline fell on 30th October but you paid on 31st. Technically
you didn’t honour the deadline. Nonetheless, we still value you as our client. To this end the management offered you a redemption.”
“What the hell is that?”
“It is a chance to pay off the entire contract balance and charges thereof.”
“How am I supposed to do that? If I could I wouldn’t have come to you in the first place!”
“Unfortunately that is the best we can do.”
“My heart aches for good persons who work for thieves. It hurts, doesn’t it?”
“If you will excuse me,” the man said getting on his feet. Sanse started cricking his knuckles. The security guard who he had slapped on his last visit to the bank hovered a few metres away. Sanse got on his feet, ran his hand through his hair, perched the trilby hat on his head and walked out. He went straight to Busy Bee and handed Pewa a two-hundred shillings note.
“Keep it flowing,” he said.
Chapter 10
Kelvin arrived at the station some minutes after eight accompanied by a sullen Stacey. Boko pushed the laptop aside as the two walked into his office.
“Mrs. Ciuri didn’t come home last night,” Kelvin said.
Boko leaned back on his chair, a barrage of questions running through his mind. Was Diana kidnapped? Did she bolt? He wished he had put a tail on her.
“Her phone is not going through,” Kelvin said.
“Her phone rarely goes through,” Boko said bitterly. “It is too early to be alarmed, son. She probably slept at a friend’s and…”
“I brought Stacey because I am leaving,” Kelvin cut in.
“You can’t leave.”
“You don’t understand,” Kelvin said. “I have to.”
“What is going on?”
Kelvin hesitated. “I just want to leave.”
“Give me a moment to sort this out, okay?”
Boko called Pai who arrived accompanied by Sanse. He updated them hastily.
“May I talk to the boy?” Sanse said.
“Sure.”
Sanse approached Kelvin and Stacey who sat at the waiting bench.
“Have you had breakfast?” He said. “I haven’t and I can’t wait any longer. Who wishes to join me?”
“Me,” Stacey said.
“Kelvin? Come on.”
The three walked into the Police Canteen where Sanse ordered mugs of steaming tea.
“There is nothing like a cup of tea,” Sanse said cheerfully. “So you want to leave. Why now?”
Kelvin studied his mug. “I will have to one day. I don’t belong.”
“Where would you go?”
“Anywhere.”
“You can talk to me freely. I am not a police officer.”
Kelvin did not even look at him. The three drank their tea in silence.
“I will talk if only to kill time,” Sanse said. “I was your age years ago. I still recall how tough it was, you know, wanting so much and getting so little. That hardly means I know what you are going through. Anyway, I grew up. I married. I got kids. I even bought a car. Mazda, it was.”
The boy lifted his eyes then.
“Looking at you one question jumps to my mind: what if I had taken the wrong step? Well, perhaps I would be in prison. Or dead.”
Sanse was surprised by his own words.
“And now I am back in the trenches. I have no home. I have no family. The Mazda is no more. Kindly don’t ask for a sconge or a doughnut because these mugs of tea is all I can afford.”
Sanse sipped his tea wondering where he was going with all this.
“A wise lady once told me that I am as gone as I am willing to admit,” Sanse said. “I agree with her. Totally. You should meet her some day. Looking in your eyes I can tell that it has been tough. I can also tell that you’re tougher. You are still young and so much can change for better. Damn, you can be president some day. The trouble with the future is that you can’t know what it holds until you get there. But it depends on whether you give in or hang in there. What do you choose?”
“I choose to go.” Kelvin’s voice was hard.
Then it occurred to Sanse; he was attempting to exorcise the demons in the boy. He wanted to snatch him out of his abyss. Where would he be if someone had not snatched him from his abyss? He was happy to be working on his resolve to stand with the less fortunate. But then words without action were nothing. He was willing to help, but then he was a sinking ship himself. And so he chose to compel Kelvin to stay put so that if he ever was in a position to help him out he would know where to find him.
“You can’t leave,” Sanse said. “If you do the police will come after you.”
“They can’t do that.”
“Try them. Ciuri is dead and someone killed him. Listening to you something tells me you didn’t like him that much.”
Kelvin’s eyes were two full moons. “I have done nothing wrong!”
“Where were you on the night Ciuri went missing?”
“I was asleep.”
“Alone?”
“I always sleep alone in the kitchen.”
“There you go,” Sanse said. “You can’t prove that you didn’t kill him.”
“Didn’t you hear me? I said I was asleep!”
“Of course I heard you. Nevertheless, there is truth and then there is the law. The law is about what you can prove. Sometimes it is about whom you can buy.”
Kelvin’s lips were now shaking. “Why are you threatening me?”
“I am sorry if you feel threatened. I meant to tell you the truth.”
The two fell silent. This is new, Sanse told himself.
“I saw you addressing a political rally,” Sanse had actually heard people narrate this.
The boy said nothing.
“How old are you?”
“Thirteen.”
Kelvin could not hold eye contact. Instead he studied his shaking fingers.
“In what class are you?”
The boy stared at Sanse with dead eyes for a while. “I was enrolled in mechanics but I don’t attend.”
“At the rally you said you are schooling.”
“I said what I was told to say.”
“Here is my number if you ever need someone to talk to about anything.”
Kelvin took the piece of paper and nodded.
Once they were through with their tea Sanse sought audience with Pai and Boko.
“That boy is hurting,” Sanse said.
“Hurting from what?” Boko asked.
“He wouldn’t say. Someone should watch over the two.”
“Claire will come over tomorrow if Diana doesn’t turn up,” Boko said.
The forensic officer who was charged with the DNA test walked in holding a bundle of papers.
“The results are in,” the officer said. “The test turned negative.”
Boko’s mouth hung open. Pai collapsed on a chair. Sanse took his comb and began working on his hair.
“Damn!” Boko exploded. “Whose body is it then?”
“Don’t you wish we had a DNA bank?” The forensic officer said.
“I need Diana like yesterday,” Boko said. “Send an all-station APB. Turn every stone and every pebble. Just get her!”
Pai was dumbstruck. Now he knew why Diana had harassed him so much. Still, he hoped that she had an explanation because the results were a score in Sanse’s favour.
Chapter 11
The minibus prying Zimmerman-Nairobi route screeched to a halt outside St. Peters Claver Catholic Church along Race Course Road. The tout all but pulled the passengers out. Diana brought in the rear earning herself the fiercest glare from the impatient tout. On a normal day she would have joined fellow passengers in mouth clicking and name calling. But today she was a fugitive and fugitives keep a low profile. They hide behind dark goggles and headscarves and hope that no one looks at them twice. She joined River Road to avoid the police officer listening in on his walkie-talkie.
Diana wondered what River Road had been up to during her absence. She had
made a tidy sum here selling pirated movies and music. The street housed all manners of counterfeiters; of world currencies, of educational certificates, of letterheads. This was one street that had killed the talents of many actors, musicians and authors.
Interestingly, this is where she had started a lie that was haunting her.
She entered Delux Club cursing her decision to do so seven years ago. With luck she would find Willy today. The day before she had visited six bars and found no one who knew Willy. Not that she could recall much about the man she had met six years previously. Brown, handsome, twenty-something – that was all. She sat at on a high stool at the counter and asked for a Malta Guinness. She drunk and surveyed the bar. None of the faces rang a bell. She ignored a wink or two. Men came and went. She started as this man walked in and settled at a table. I have seen you before, she told herself. She recalled her distaste at the possibility of getting a kid by a man who couldn’t protect his front teeth. She crossed over to the man’s table.
“May I?”
“Why not?” The man said. “You are new here. I get laid a lot but I’ve never coughed a shilling above a hundred. For you I will throw in a hundred more.”
“Lucky me,” Diana smiled warmly. “Another day. I am looking for Willy.’
“Willy who?”
“I forget his second name. Brown, handsome. He should be in his early thirties. You were drinking together at Keg Club six years ago.”
“Willy the Brute?” The man said. “He is in jail.”
“What jail?”
“Industrial Area Prison.”
“What for?”
“Murder.”
Diana jolted in her seat. “Is there anyone else by that name?”
“What is this all about?”
“It is personal,” Diana said. “What is his other name?”
“The Brute.”
“Why the nickname?”
“If you have slept with him you should know.”
Diana dashed out of the bar. But for a man who supported her she could have tumbled down the staircase. She hurried to her sister’s Salon along Ronald Ngala Street.