by Amanda Fleet
‘Not now. With any luck you’ll have died of blood poisoning by tomorrow and saved me the effort.’
He crouched down and sawed through the cable tie around Patrick’s ankles. Then he straightened up and cuffed him across the face. The lights faded from the edges again and the blackness returned.
***
Summer paid the taxi driver, scrambled out of the car and ran to LB’s flat. She hammered on the door, leaning on the frame. LB swung the door open and stared at her. She pushed past him into the hall, the bright tangerine of fear filling her head.
‘Summer? What the hell are you doing back here?’
She didn’t answer. She wished he sounded kinder. Softer. She stumbled into the lounge and screwed herself into the corner of the sofa, chewing her thumbnail. Within seconds, LB was in the room.
‘Summer? What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
She tried to control her breathing, her shoulders lurching as she drew air in. LB walked around to face her, his eyes full of concern.
‘Summer? What’s happened?’ He crouched down in front of her so that she was looking at him. ‘Summer?’
‘It’s Moyenda.’ She thrust her phone at him.
LB read over the message. ‘Dear Summer. I hope you are well and that you remember me. I know you are in much contact with Moyenda and so I have to tell you he is in hospital. He was beaten up today evening. Police here are investigating. I will text again when news. Chifundo.’
‘Who’s Chifundo?’
‘Moyenda’s wife.’
‘How violent is Blantyre? Could this be a coincidence?’
‘No. I mean, you shouldn’t go out when it’s dark because it is rough, but Moyenda’s too well known and liked. No one would attack him.’ She looked at him over her knuckles, still trembling, her eyes wide. ‘They’ve taken Patrick, they’ve hurt Moyenda… What will they do to me?’
‘Nothing. Nothing.’ He drew her towards him, sliding his arm around her shoulder and cradling her against him. She resisted at first and then relaxed, resting her forehead on his neck. He stroked her neck, his touch gentle. Orange began to mutate into purple and green.
‘How would they know where you live?’
‘How did they know where Patrick lived? In fact, there’s more ways of finding me, because I run my business from home!’
She pulled away roughly, dragging her hands through her hair. Then she leaned on her knees, staring blindly at the carpet.
‘Do you want me to come back with you? Check it’s safe?’
Her face contorted in a scowl and she didn’t reply. LB sighed.
‘Summer, I know you’re scared, but you can’t stay here. I won’t compromise the case any further.’
Summer ground the heel of her hand into her cheekbone. ‘You have a spare room, don’t you?’
LB closed his eyes. ‘I can ring round hotels if you want?’
Summer turned her head away, muttering about bloody rules and conventions.
‘Stop being a hippy liberal. And let me come back with you and check your place is safe. If you stay here, even in the spare, there would be too many reasons to throw away all the research you’ve done and all my police work and I won’t let that happen.’
Cop first. Friend last. She’d been stupid to ever believe he could be different.
‘Summer, I will not risk compromising Patrick’s safety by torpedoing the investigation. You can get in a taxi and go to a hotel or you can get in a taxi with me and I’ll check out your place. The one option that is not on the table is you staying here.’
His voice was calm and reasoned but his position was as malleable as granite. Summer tried to out-stare him for several minutes before giving up without grace. She snatched her bag up.
‘Okay. Don’t you ever call me a hippy again.’
LB caught her gently by the wrists, his face soft. ‘I would love for you to stay. But not as much as I would love to be able to put away whoever has attacked your friend. Please understand that.’
She jutted her chin up briefly, but suddenly all the fire died in her and she nodded. LB drew her into his arms.
‘We’ll check out your place and if you’re still not sure, we’ll find you a hotel, but honestly, I think you’re safe. I wouldn’t even suggest going to your house if I didn’t think that.’
He kissed her temple and rubbed her back, his hands comforting against her. She sucked in a long, shaky breath before stepping back.
‘You’d better call a cab.’
She perched on the edge of the sofa while he called, reading over the text from Chifundo again. She hoped Moyenda was okay. Had she brought this on him with her meddling and questioning? With a start, she realised that LB was watching her.
‘Don’t blame yourself.’ He sat next to her.
‘Are you a mind reader?’
He shrugged. ‘I read people for a job. And anyway, it would be a natural thing for you to do. But it’s not your fault.’
‘Easy for you to say.’
‘People have free will. They chose to do this; you didn’t make them.’ He nudged her gently. ‘Come on. Taxi will be here. I think it’s the same guy!’
It was the same guy, who looked as if he half expected them to go round in another circle. At Summer’s, LB asked him to wait and then took Summer’s keys from her. Summer waited as instructed—in sight of the taxi, on the threshold of the house—while he checked through the rooms.
‘It’s fine,’ he said, when he re-joined her. ‘It’s fine. Put me on speed-dial though and call me if anything happens.’
‘Patrick probably called me on speed-dial.’
He pulled her into his arms. Her head nuzzled into his shoulder and she bit her lips together.
‘Mmm. But with all due respect, one, I know where you are; two, I’m a lot closer; and three, I’m built like a bear.’
She smiled and acquiesced. He kissed her tenderly.
‘I’ll come and pick you up at seven thirty.’ He kissed her again. ‘Sleep well.’
She watched him leave, her hand trembling on the doorframe. Please God, let him be right.
Saturday, Early Morning
Moyenda cracked open his eyes, blinking at the light that streamed into the hospital ward. He was lucky. He had a bed. There were several people lying on rags on the floor in the spaces between the beds. The Queen Elizabeth hospital was always full to overflowing. Between the ravages of HIV, TB and malaria, there were always too many patients.
Outside he could hear the early morning stirrings of the guardians—the relatives or friends of the patients who would bring food to them and who would wash and care for them. He wondered if Chifundo would come for him. Did she even know he was here? His mind flicked to the children. Who would do outreach today? Who was scheduled to man the office? His head hurt with the effort of thinking so he stopped and stared at the ceiling and listened to the flies instead, feeling the fresh air blow over him from the open windows.
The ward round had just started. A gaggle of students from the College of Medicine surrounded a tall, white doctor—one of the many who came to do VSO and then stayed. There was a small, slightly bent Malawian with the throng, acting as both interpreter and clinical officer. Moyenda knew both the British doctor, Dr Charlie Brackman, and the clinical officer, George. The unfortunate confusion between “L” and “R” in Malawian speech regrettably rendered him as Dr Blackman, which had always made both him and Moyenda smile and had entertained the children enormously, as the man was white-blond, blue-eyed with Scandinavian pale skin, even in the Malawian sun. He ran a monthly clinic out at the children’s centre.
His brow furrowed as he approached Moyenda’s bed. ‘Moyenda! Is that you under all that bruising? What’s happened to you?’
‘I do not know,’ said Moyenda, only half truthfully. ‘I was walking back from the centre last night and I was attacked. Someone brought me here but I do not remember who. I need to go. I need to make sure Chifundo is okay. That the children ar
e okay.’
Dr Brackman rested his hand on Moyenda lightly, stopping him from rising. ‘Right now, you need me to check you over. Chifundo and the children will be fine.’
Moyenda sank back and allowed himself to be examined, listening to the medical jargon and explanations for the students. Once the examination was concluded, Dr Brackman stood at his friend’s side.
‘And you’ve no idea who did this?’
Moyenda shook his head.
‘You can’t drive for a few days, but then, you don’t have a car, do you?’
‘No, Charlie. I am not a rich doctor with a BMW!’
‘You can go, but mostly because we need the bed. Is there someone you can call to collect you? I assume Chifundo knows you’re here?’
‘I do not know. Wilson has a car. He could collect me.’
‘Do you still have your phone?’
Moyenda shook his head. Dr Brackman handed him his.
‘Here. Call Chifundo and Wilson. I’ll get it back when I’ve finished this bay.’
Moyenda thanked him. Dr Brackman moved on to the next patient. Two short calls later and Moyenda was ready to leave. He thanked Charlie and returned his phone to him as he passed.
‘Is Wilson coming to get you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay. Take care. I’ll stop by your house when I’ve finished work.’
He shook hands with Moyenda and moved on to the next bay, the stream of students trailing after him. Moyenda gathered his things and went outside to wait for Wilson.
The air was fresh on his face. The scorching heat of October seemed far away. The hospital had small gardens surrounding the building and the vegetation was lush with many plants covered with flowers. Moyenda waited under what was called a flamboyant tree, looking up into its branches. It wouldn’t be long before it would be covered in orange-scarlet flowers, looking from a distance as if it had burst into flames. With a pang, he remembered the time when Patrick had asked him what kind of trees they were and he had told him, only for Patrick to laugh and say how apt the name was. Moyenda blinked painfully and looked down, wondering if he would ever see his friend again.
He was roused from his thoughts by Wilson’s arrival. Wilson greeted him like a brother and ushered him towards a beaten-up, dusty, white Toyota pick-up truck. Moyenda clambered into the front seat, weary to his core and desperate to go home to his wife.
‘I called Chifundo last night and told her you were here.’ Wilson climbed into the driver’s seat. ‘Samson called me. One of the people who brought you in is his brother.’
‘I know. Thank you for calling her. I managed to speak to her this morning. Charlie lent me his cell.’
‘Charlie Blackman?’
Moyenda smiled. ‘Yes. He was on duty at Queen Elizabeth’s. That’s how I called you too. Do you know if anyone is doing outreach today? And who is in the office?’
‘Moyenda, Moyenda. It is fine. I called Manale and Joy and they are making sure someone will do outreach. Joy is in the office. I will take the children for football this afternoon. You must concentrate on yourself today!’
‘Thank you. I think you worry about Samala as much as I do.’
Wilson smiled, driving carefully. As ever, the road was lined with people going about their day; pushing or riding bicycles laden with people and goods, children running in and out of the road, dodging the ruts and the ditches in their paths.
Wilson looked across at his passenger. ‘What happened?’
‘Some young men attacked me for my wallet and cell phone.’
Wilson eyes narrowed. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’
Moyenda looked across, took a breath and shook his head. ‘Let me get home and see my wife.’
Chifundo fussed and clucked when they arrived, appalled at the sight of her husband. Moyenda went to bathe, inviting Wilson to stay. As he smoothed the clean water over his wounds, he thought hard about what to say to Wilson. He owned a haulage business and had negotiated large donations to Samala from the Blantyre Rotary Club of which he was a member. He played football with the children every Saturday and gave his time and money to the project as freely as he could. The children adored him. Moyenda had a sneaking suspicion that Wilson was gay but it was not a topic that would ever easily be discussed and, as far as Moyenda was concerned, it had no bearing on Wilson’s involvement with Samala. Moyenda trusted him as a friend; could he tell him what was going on?
He dried himself carefully and re-joined Chifundo and Wilson who were drinking tea together. They both looked up, falling silent, and Moyenda wondered what they had been talking about. It wasn’t long before he found out.
‘Chifundo has been telling me of your worries,’ said Wilson.
Moyenda shot a look at Chifundo, eyes wide, but he was too tired to keep fighting on his own.
‘I do not want you to get hurt too.’ He poured himself a cup of tea and sank into a chair.
‘I’m old enough to make that choice for myself. Perhaps you can fill me in on the details. Chifundo has not said much but now we know you were not hit for your cell and your wallet.’
‘Maybe for my cell. But I have been changing SIM cards and deleting everything so they won’t find anything.’
‘Start at the start. What is happening with the missing children?’
Moyenda closed his eyes, leaning back in the chair. It would be such a relief to share this burden. He started slowly, trying to be logical, even though his head was pounding and all he really wanted to do was to sleep. Gradually the story unfolded—the missing children, the money, Mzondi Malilo.
‘Mzondi is involved?’ interrupted Wilson. ‘I went to school with him!’
‘He is involved. And he knows what I have found out, so I imagine Moses knows too. Moses Chizuna,’ he added for clarification. ‘I think Mzondi is the middle-man. He gets Moses to sign the papers. Bribes all round and a donation to Samala to make it all right.’
‘Is anyone from Samala involved?’
Moyenda thought for a moment. ‘Isaiah. He must be. He’s seen the accounts and said nothing. I don’t know who else. I hope no one.’
‘How many children?’
‘I think seven. I think that Patrick Forrester had found two of them overseas—Limbani and Mabvuto—but there are five others missing too. And seven large deposits in the accounts. Now something has happened to Patrick.’
‘And to you.’ Chifundo folded her arms across her ample bosom.
Moyenda bowed his head, defeated. ‘What can I do? I can’t bear it but if I expose what’s happening, it could endanger Samala.’
‘We would lose all the funding,’ said Wilson. ‘All the big donors would pull out immediately if there were suspicions of trafficking.’ He sat back, his shoulders slumped but his eyes darting back and forth. ‘Maybe Joseph will help,’ he said suddenly, straightening up.
‘Joseph?’
‘My cousin Dalita’s fiancé. They got engaged in March. He is in the government. He is a special adviser and has the respect of a great many people who would not want to see this happening in Malawi. If he knew, he would try and help. Perhaps he would be able to stop it without Samala being affected.’ Suddenly, Wilson’s face was full of enthusiasm. ‘Let me call my cousin.’ He jumped up.
Moyenda was horrified. ‘Is your cell safe?’
Wilson shrugged. ‘I am only going to invite her and her fiancé for lunch. When they come, we can tell Joseph everything. No one else will know.’
He called his cousin quickly. Moyenda listened with Chifundo, barely able to breathe. After the introductory pleasantries and exchange of family updates, it was agreed that Dalita and Joseph would come down from Lilongwe the following weekend to have lunch with Wilson. Moyenda prayed that Joseph would be able to stop the sale of children and still protect Samala, but he still couldn’t see how. He sighed. No doubt the people at the top would manage to walk away unblemished, but they had to try and do something.
Saturday Morning
‘Merde alors!’
LB threw the covers back and scrambled out of bed, still cursing as he hit the shower. In two minutes, he was washed and standing in the middle of the room, towelling himself roughly. He put his glasses on and dressed rapidly. In the kitchen, he flicked the radio on and poured himself a glass of orange juice. He’d just taken a first gulp when he nearly choked, spitting the juice into the sink.
‘Returning to our main headline this morning, Kate Hampton, who resigned as minister for health in the Scottish parliament yesterday, was rushed to hospital last night after a suspected overdose. Her condition is said to be serious but stable. Her husband is by her side.’
His mobile started ringing and he snatched it up. ‘You heard the fucking news?’ demanded Andy Watson on the other end of the line.
‘Yes. Just now on the radio. What’s happened?’
‘Hoped you might tell me. Far as I know she tried to top herself last night then called the hubby who took her to hospital. I don’t imagine anyone will be allowed near her today and certainly not you or me. This is a fucking disaster! I can see the fucking headlines now. Health minister tries to top herself after being questioned by the police!’
LB stared at the clock. There was nothing he could do about Kate Hampton and if he was going to collect Summer and make it to his appointment with Helen Wright on time he needed to leave now.
‘Your call. What do you want to do?’
‘I want you off this fucking case. If it comes out that you questioned her about taking fucking drugs…’