—Have you had—Mollel pushes himself to the front—have you had a James Lethebridge come here?
—Wait your turn, please, sir, she replies with barely disguised contempt.
—I’m police, he says, showing his ID card.
—You’ll still have to wait your turn. She studiously turns away. An Indian-looking man grabs Mollel’s shirt.
—You’re police, he says. Can’t you do something? I can’t get back to my home. I can’t get my passport to prove that I’m British. And these racists … I’m from Wembley. I’m only here visiting my cousins.
Other people seem to be latching on to the idea that Mollel is some kind of official. In their desperation they paw at him, implore him.
Kiunga comes to his assistance. —Stand back, stand back!
—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, says Mollel. There’s nothing I can do. He and Kiunga walk away from the enquiries window.
—We’ll never be able to raise an arrest warrant before he leaves the country, says Kiunga, downcast. It’ll be an extradition job now, and what chance do you think we have of that?
—None, says Mollel.
They pass another entrance that’s darkened and locked. The sign says VISA OFFICE and lists weekday opening hours. In front of it is a hard metal bench. A private security guard is rousing a huddled figure.
—Come on, you can’t stay here, he is saying.
—Please! implores the man on the bench. I’m British! Can’t you just let me stay here, even if you won’t let me in?
—You’ve been told, sir. No passport, no entry.
The man stands. —Just look at me! he says. He has a white face, white hair. He pulls up his sleeve to reveal pallid white skin. —Do I look Kenyan? Of course I’m British!
Mollel walks over and shows his ID to the security guard. —I’ll take care of this, he says.
—Just get him out of here, says the security guard. He says he’s British, but his passport is Kenyan. That means he must have wanted to be Kenyan, once. I guess he reckons it’s not such a privilege anymore.
The security guard walks away.
—Hello, Mr. Lethebridge, says Mollel.
James Lethebridge looks at him, takes him in. A slow, creeping realization spreads over his face.
—You must be Mollel, Lethebridge says. David told me you were waiting for me, Sergeant. But I didn’t expect to see you here.
Kiunga nods. —You need to come with us. There’s no point trying to resist.
—Thank God.
A rueful smile plays across Lethebridge’s lips. —I can assure you, officers, I won’t resist, he continues. I’d rather go with the sheepdogs than be cast to the wolves.
39
On their way back to the cars, the sound of gunfire makes them pick up their pace.
—That’s pretty close, says Mollel.
—The opposition has called for a mass rally in Uhuru Park tomorrow, says Kiunga. I heard a rumor that some of them were planning to attack the GSU base there tonight. If they do, they’ll have to come right through here.
—We’d better not stick around, then.
Panya and Benjamin are waiting for them beside Lethebridge’s Toyota. George Nalo’s car is gone.
—You guys took your time, Benjamin says. There was a gang of guys here a few minutes ago. Not Mungiki, but regular looters, out for what they could get. Some of them had pangas. They wanted to take both cars, but they were happy enough when I handed them the keys to Nalo’s. I guess the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.
* * *
A casual observer might consider the occupants of the silver Toyota Land Cruiser a strange assembly: two smart young men in front, the passenger dreadlocked; a gaunt, ashen Maasai and an elderly white man in the backseat; and, hunched on the jump seat in the rear, looking out through the glass, a ragged street boy taking his first ride in a car.
But there are no casual observers on the streets on this night, no disinterested parties, no innocent bystanders.
The car passes groups of men—and some boys—headed, it seems, for Uhuru Park. They walk purposefully, lithe limbs swinging, and something—sticks, or clubs, or pangas—bouncing at their sides.
As if to break the tension, Lethebridge chuckles.
—You know, he says, you really managed to wind up Kingori after you interviewed him that first time. He told me to hide up at home, to say nothing to you. But he was genuine when he phoned me from the KICC and instructed me to cooperate. How did you get him to change his mind?
—More to the point, says Mollel, turning to face him, why did you decide to flee? I had the impression that you always obeyed his instructions to the letter.
Lethebridge casts his eyes out the window into the darkness beyond. —I’ve never pretended to be a very brave man, he says quietly. I had the feeling that whatever happened next, David wouldn’t be able to protect me anymore.
Kiunga drives them on a zigzag route through Upper Hill. He wants to avoid the main roads and ill-frequented ones alike, choosing a fine middle passage of routes that are unlikely to attract attention but wide enough to avoid an ambush.
—Let me tell you a bit about David Kingori, continues Lethebridge. He seems to be in the mood to chat, as a reaction to tension, or relief. —Do you know we were at school together? In England. He was the first black African in the school. How the other boys used to mock him! They would steal his jumper, ask him how he liked the cold. But he just smiled and told them he was fine.
—I was the one who was homesick. I’d been told all my life that England was my home, yet when I turned up there, I pined for the African air. No wonder I clung to David. He was all I had.
—We were a strange pair. We’d been raised together. My father and his were in business together. It didn’t start that way. Before I was born, my father owned a six-hundred-acre tea estate near Kericho. David’s father was the farm manager. But when independence came, my father decided it would be politic to appoint a local partner. Somehow, every year, there were reasons that more and more of the business had to be signed over to Kingori. Eventually my father became the employee.
Lethebridge gives a hoarse laugh. —He thought it was so unfair. He never really stopped to question the policy of the old colonial administration that had given him the land in the first place.
* * *
They seem to have outstripped most of the gangs, and the sidewalks are mostly clear as they start to descend the hill that runs down to the park. There, in the darkness, is Orpheus House—or what is left of it. Mollel looks over his shoulder as they pass, but makes out nothing more than a glimpse of the COMING SOON sign. Behind him, in the jump seat, Panya is asleep.
* * *
—David took over the business after we finished school. He gave me a job. I think he enjoyed having a white man work for him. Gave him certain kudos. But more important than that, he knew he could trust me.
—Part of my job, even from early on, was to find him girls. I didn’t mind. I just enjoyed the fact that I was bringing him pleasure. I knew they never meant anything to him. I gave him the unquestioning devotion he needed. They gave him everything else.
—Lucy was different. She had something else that he needed. Information.
—The Nalos were pressing David for the lease of Orpheus House. David wanted the land for development, but with George Nalo’s following and political clout, he did not dare evict them. Lucy had been part of their operation. For a while, when she wanted to get out of the game, she had gone there, been taken in. She knew what went on. She told me about the abortions. How Wanjiku was a fanatic. She thought she was saving the babies from a life of suffering, Lucy told us. Better off dead than on the street.
* * *
Mollel looks at Benjamin. The back of his head betrays no emotion, no indication that he’s even listening. He’s too astute to interrupt Lethebridge’s flow now. The old man had shown no sign of recognizing him from the church. Probably thought he was another police offic
er. Mollel can’t help thinking he would have made a fine one.
* * *
—I didn’t want to trouble David with the details, continues Lethebridge. I knew that this was what we needed to get the Nalos off our back. Their empire would have been ruined if it was revealed. Once they were gone, it would also rid him of this troublesome girl, too. Get things back to how they were. But I needed more than one woman’s hearsay. I needed evidence.
—Then Lucy told me she had something on the Nalos that was dynamite. A friend of hers had got pregnant by George Nalo and had been given an abortion by Wanjiku. Late-term, too. Testimony like that would ruin them. They’d have to do what we wanted.
—Lucy was offering her friend up on a plate. I’d give her enough money to disappear, once I had the girl. But Lucy didn’t trust me, any more than I trusted her. She wouldn’t give me her friend’s name. Wouldn’t tell me where to find her. We had to meet her together.
—She had a plan. I would pose as a john. Her friend wasn’t working at that time. It was still too soon after the operation. But she had agreed to help Lucy. She could do with some money.
* * *
Descending Upper Hill, Kiunga drives through the red light at the junction with Haile Selassie Avenue. As they sweep around a curve, the shadowy fringe of the gardens appears, lined with the imposing presence of GSU. Over their helmets and beyond their shields Mollel can make out the tented field hospital and the command trucks. The car continues parallel to the picket, skimming the edge of the scene of the crime, somewhere behind that cordon. Even at speed, the scraped concrete post is visible as the car that damaged it glides past.
—That’s where you did it, says Mollel.
—That’s where it happened, confirms Lethebridge. That’s where they got me. They got me with the old twofer.
—Twofer?
—It’s a classic hooker’s trick. A good way of earning money if you don’t want to go through with the act.
—I cruised down K Street at a prearranged time. Lucy came to the window. I acted like we’d never met before. She played it by the book.
—We spoke. She looked over at her friend nervously. She was playing it great. Look, she said, there have been some strange characters around here lately. Do you mind if my friend comes along?
—I acted reluctant. Oh, I don’t know, I said. Then she winked and said, We’ll give you a twofer. Two for one. Well, I mean, who could have resisted? I played along. Lucy got in beside me, and her friend smiled as she got into the back.
She was lovely. Tall, slender. My tastes don’t run in that direction, Sergeant, as you might have guessed. But this girl. I might have made an exception if I’d been a few years younger. She had a way about her. Her smile was seductive. It made you want to forget about everything, all the troubles of the world, and just give yourself up to her. Do you know what I mean?
Mollel knows what he means. —What happened next? he says. Honey got into the car, then what?
—Honey? says Lethebridge with surprise. Is that her name?
—That’s her name.
—Honey, repeats Lethebridge softly. Well, Lucy got into the front, next to me, and Honey slipped in behind. The plan was that I’d take them to the park. It was nearby, it was private. Once there, Honey would not be able to run away. And hopefully, we’d be able to persuade her to speak.
—But as we went in through the park gate, I felt a sudden pain. I didn’t know what it was. I thought it was a heart attack. My time was up at last. I could not breathe.
* * *
Lethebridge fingers his neck thoughtfully.
* * *
—You see, the thing about the twofer was that it was all a ruse. The girls would get into the john’s car, get him to drive them somewhere secluded, then mug him. But Honey had obviously decided not to wait for the car to stop. She’d grabbed the seat belt and was pulling it as hard as she could. I was just aware of her knee in my back, pressing through the seat, the stabbing pain. Trying to reach for the buckle … Then we hit something. And I don’t know what happened next.
—When I came to, my face was in the air bag and the girls were gone. I thought at first they’d double-crossed me, but my wallet was still in my pocket. I got out. As my eyes grew used to the dark, I could just see them some distance away, up ahead. I could hear them too. It sounded like they were arguing.
—Honey was screaming. I could not make it out. Something about losing her baby. Lucy was saying no, no. I was groggy. I could hardly walk. By the time I got to them, I couldn’t see Lucy anymore. Just Honey, standing over the ditch.
—Then she jumped in. I looked down. Lucy was in there, sprawled. And Honey was on top. I couldn’t see what she was doing. I thought that Lucy had fallen, that Honey was trying to revive her. I was dizzy. So dizzy.
—I must have collapsed, because the next thing I knew, Honey was leading me back to the car. Her hands were wet on my arm. When I opened the car door and the light came on, I saw that she was covered in blood.
—You say anything about this, she told me, and I’ll do to you what I did to her. You understand?
—I had no doubt she meant it, Sergeant. Her eyes were wild. When David phoned me and told me to cooperate with the police, I panicked. I knew she would come and get me. Do to me what she did to her friend. I just wanted to get away from here, get out of this country. As far away as possible.
—She told me to drop her somewhere. I can’t remember where. All the way she was muttering, They took my baby away, they took my baby away.
* * *
They took her baby away, Mollel remembers Honey saying. Can you even imagine what that’s like, Mollel? Now Faith’s trying to do the same to you. But don’t worry. I’ll never let that happen, Mollel. I’ll never let that happen to you.
* * *
He thinks of Kawangware, of Faith’s house. Where Honey is. With Adam. And with Faith.
* * *
—Stop the car!
* * *
They’re past the park now, on the deserted roundabout at the head of University Way. Barely half a kilometer from Central Police Post. But Mollel’s tone of urgency compels Kiunga to come to a screeching halt halfway around the traffic circle.
Mollel opens the door and leaps out.
—Where are you going? cries Kiunga.
—Take him to Central, orders Mollel.
—You’re going after Honey? Let me drive you!
—You heard what Panya said. The streets in that part of town are blocked off. No car’s going to get through. I just about might.
—Leave her until morning, protests Kiunga, making to turn off the engine. But Benjamin steadies his hand.
—I’ve seen this man jump into fire, he says. You’re not going to stop him.
And he turns to wish him well, but Mollel is already gone.
40
SATURDAY, 29 DECEMBER 2007
He runs.
* * *
Sometimes he passes a group headed in the opposite direction, toward the city center. The boys—sometimes there are boys with them—cheer him as he passes, as though he is running a race. They wave their pangas aloft in support. But the men hardly cast him a glance. They pace on, determinedly. To them he is a night runner, and he might as well be invisible. They have no concern with the otherworldly this night.
He runs through deserted suburban streets. Walls blank and windows barred. Hurlingham, Dagoretti, Lavington—church placards and business signs mark off the names of the neighborhoods, but there is nothing neighborly about them.
I won’t let her take your child from you, Mollel.
He feels no pain, no fatigue. The urgency of his mission impels him: the act of running, too, recalls his youthful days of trotting for hours behind the herd. Perhaps it’s also the Nalos’ miracle cure that gives him the heightened perception now, to see it all so clearly.
Honey wouldn’t know, yet, that he had discovered she was the killer. She still needed him. She needed him b
ecause she believed her baby was alive and had been farmed out for adoption by the Nalos. That was why she had led him to them, Mollel understands now. She thought that if she exposed their racket by blaming them for Lucy’s death, the adoption agency would be investigated. She’d be able to track down her baby. Get it back.
So it is essential that he does not alert her. When he gets to them, he must maintain the pretense. At least until Faith and Adam are safe.
As he nears Faith’s house, where middle-class Lavington merges into Kawangware, he begins to hear the sound that’s become so familiar in the last few days. It’s the sound of breaking glass, of cries, of screams. Of women and children bawling in fear and men boiling with rage.
He hadn’t expected the trouble to spread this far. Kibera and Mathare, sure. They were tinder just waiting for a match. It didn’t take much to set those districts up in flames. But sleepy little Kawangware, with its up-and-coming pretensions?
Then he remembers the good-for-nothings who had been hanging around outside Faith’s house on Christmas Day. They’d skulked off soon enough once Kiunga had sent them on their way, but he had no doubt that on a night like this, they’d be looking for scores to settle.
His heart pounds violently as he realizes it’s not just Faith and Adam in danger—but Honey, too, for that matter. Anyone inside that property would be a Kikuyu, as far as an angry, drunken mob was concerned. And the Kikuyus have just stolen the election—haven’t they?
People are heading past him in the other direction. Not the male gangs of before—these are nearly all women and children. He stops one woman—bent nearly double under the weight of a sleeping child strapped in a khanga on her back—and asks her, —What’s going on?
—The GSU, she answers breathlessly. They’ve bottled up Kawangware.
Mollel picks up his pace. He hopes that somehow the GSU might agree with Faith’s silly snobbery and decide that her house is in Lavington. Place their blockade a couple of streets to the west, with her on the safe side. But he knows they won’t. It would make no sense. The broad strip of James Gichuru Road is the natural defensive position to take. Rounding a corner, he sees with dread that he is right. A heavy line of riot officers, with trucks and armored vehicles, is stationed at the junction of James Gichuru and Gitanga roads, completely cutting off Kawangware. The residents of Lavington might feel grateful for the barrier, but it means that inside Kawangware, anything could happen.
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