Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) (26 page)

‘He has not
mentioned any pain,’ Katana said, looking at the blanket wrapped
body.

‘Ok Detective
Katana, release him on my authority, I will take full
responsibility. I want to talk to him as soon as possible.’

Katana snorted
in derision. ‘Release him, this is not possible! I have no idea who
you are. I can only suggest you send someone down from Nairobi, or
better still come yourself, and then we can discuss the
custody.’

‘Now listen
here,’ Rubia said menacingly, ‘Detective Katana, you are
unwittingly interfering in a matter of national security. Be a good
fellow and do as I say. I can assure you if I have to come there
myself, you will regret having met me.’

‘Oh, pity, you
sounded like such a nice man,’ replied Katana and switched the
mobile off.

He turned to
his constable. ‘That was his boss,’ he pointed at the body. ‘A big
shot cop. Our friend here was working undercover.’

‘Well now he is
under blanket sir.’

Katana laughed.
‘Alright, let’s get back to the station.’

*

Cyrus and his
team turned in at the Voi petrol station in a black Landcruiser and
spoke to an attendant by a fuel pump. ‘Hey you, where is the cop
shop in this town?’

The attendant
gave him directions and at the police station Cyrus called Rubia.
‘Hello boss, we’re here in Voi. What do you want us to do?’

Rubia glanced
at his watch, they had made good time. ‘Go into the station,
introduce yourself and talk directly to this Katana fellow. I have
explained that Loda is with us and is on a special assignment. It’s
imperative that you talk to Loda and find out what happened. Is the
saloon at the station?’

Cyrus looked
around him. ‘No, I can’t see it,’ he replied.

At the
reception Cyrus handed over his police ID. ‘I believe you have one
of our men in your custody. Loda?I need to talk to him, and also to
a detective Katana.’

‘Ok, wait here,
I will find out.’ In a few moments he was back. ‘Follow me,’ he led
Cyrus into an office where a man sat behind a large desk studying
the ID. A triangular name board on the desk read, “Detective
Katana.”

Cyrus held out
his hand. ‘You have spoken with my boss Joe Rubia?’ Katana ignored
the hand and waved him to a chair with a dismissive gesture and
with eyebrows raised, stared hard at him. ‘So you will be aware
that Loda was working with us on a highly sensitive case. I
understand he has had some sort of accident and that you are
detaining him?’

Katana lit a
cigarette, blowing the smoke at Cyrus. He fingered the ID. ‘What’s
so special about your case, Mr. Special Branch?’

‘I’m afraid I
can’t divulge the details to you.’ Cyrus waved the smoke away
trying to hide his irritation.

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m
not authorised to do so by my boss.’

And who is the
man you call your boss?’

‘Yes sir, Chief
Inspector Joe Rubia is my boss.’

‘So there is no
point in talking to you then, is there? ‘You may go.’ Katana
pointed at the door with his cigarette, tossing the ID at him on
the desk.

‘Sir, I have
just driven all the way down from Nairobi. It’s vital that I speak
to Loda.’

‘That will not
be possible,’ Katana said.

‘I will tell my
boss you refuse to co-operate,’ Cyrus stood up.

‘You do that.’
Katana, busied himself sorting papers.

Cyrus, barely
able to contain his anger picked up his ID and walked out of the
office. At the reception he asked. ‘Where do you keep the
prisoners? Do you have cells here?’

The cop nodded.
‘Yes, at the back.’

‘Can I see
them?’

‘What for?’

‘I’m looking
for someone.’

‘They are
empty.’

‘Empty? Then
where are you holding Loda?’

‘There is no
one called Loda here,’ the cop replied. Cyrus studied his face for
deception.

The cop
returned his look. ‘We have no prisoners today.’

‘You had better
not be lying to me,’ Cyrus said darkly as he stalked off to the
car. He called Rubia. ‘Sir, Katana will not let me talk to Loda.
Perhaps he is injured, maybe in the hospital?’

‘Shit!’ Rubia
swore. ‘Get me the telephone number of the cop station. I will talk
to Katana myself.’ Rubia called, taking a deep breath as he did so,
suppressing his anger.

Katana
answered. ‘What can I do for you, Mr. Chief?’

Rubia spoke
plainly. ‘This man Loda was pursuing some terrorists and now with
his incarceration, the trail has gone cold.’

‘I see, Loda
has not explained this to us, perhaps you can elaborate?’ Katana
replied helpfully.

Rubia paused.
‘It would be much easier if I spoke to him directly.

‘Well you
can’t,’ came the flat reply. ‘Tell me more about these terrorists.
Perhaps I can help?’

Rubia barely
concealing his contempt said. ‘Listen to me, I can’t give much
detail, but Loda was in pursuit of three people. An Indian man and
woman, and a
mzungu
man driving a white range rover. He was
to follow them and report back to me. I last heard from Loda when
he was between Mtito Andei and Voi.’

‘What car did
you say Loda was driving?’

‘The white
saloon of course,’ Rubia responded.

‘A white
saloon, what is the registration number?’

‘Didn’t you
tell me he had been involved in an accident?’

‘Just tell me
so I can verify your information is correct.’

‘I can’t
remember the number off hand. We use many different cars, it was a
Toyota corolla saloon. Surely it’s in your custody?’

‘I see, so you
can’t remember the number?’

‘No. If you
really need to know, ask one of your subordinates, perhaps one that
can read.’ Rubia retorted.

‘I might do
that. You say these terrorists were driving a white range rover and
heading for Mombasa? Loda was following them?’

‘Yes.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes, it’s
vital that we don’t lose these terrorists.’

‘Was Loda
armed?’ asked Katana.

‘Yes of course
he was, and what do you mean was?’

‘He has no gun
on him now,’ replied Katana. ‘Do you have anyone else pursuing
these terrorists of yours?’

‘That’s not
your business, I have tried to be reasonable with you detective,
your obstructive attitude is really trying my patience. I repeat
myself. Let me speak to Loda, if we lose the trail due to your
idiotic attitude, I will hold you personally responsible. Do I make
myself quite clear?’

‘Yes sir chief
you do. You can’t speak to Loda because he has been shot dead, and
is now part of a murder investigation.’

‘What! Shot
dead? How did this happen?’ Rubia exclaimed.

‘Your man was
found by a goat herder in the bush, about twenty kilometres outside
Voi. There was no vehicle with him that’s why I asked you if he was
alone.’

‘Shit!’ Rubia
shouted. ‘You told me he had been in an accident, you lied, why the
hell didn’t you tell me he had been shot?’

‘He may have
been shot accidentally and you didn’t ask.’

‘Detective, you
call yourself? You have not heard the last from me!’ He slammed the
phone down. Rubia banged his fist on the desk and swore loudly. A
moment of pure fear gripped his guts. ‘Oh shit, what a mess!’ He
reached into his desk drawer and taking out a half bottle of
brandy, took a large swig to calm his nerves. Loda dead! Where the
bloody hell was Nicholls now? He had to find him, and those damned
Indians! He had revealed more than he had wanted to Katana. How on
earth did Loda himself get shot?

He took another
swig from the bottle, smaller this time, composing himself and then
called Cyrus. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘are you still at the police
station? Loda has been shot dead. Yes dead! I don’t know what
happened. Titus took the range rover and now must be out of mobile
range in the park, on his way to Malindi.’

‘Now listen, we
know the
mzungu
was on a bike. He must have stopped for
fuel. Go to the main petrol station and ask if anyone saw him and
also look for the saloon car. Don’t call me till you have picked up
the trail again.’

It didn’t take
long for Cyrus and his team to find the taxi driver and piece
together the missing trio’s movements. He left one of his men -
Musa in Voi - to look for the saloon car and then called Rubia with
his news.

‘Good. Keep
going to Mombasa,’ Rubia instructed. ‘I will call the Mombasa
station and get the bike stopped before they get into town. I will
let you know what to do after that.’

*

Musa set about
looking for the saloon car by employing a gang of street kids to
scour the area, while he waited in a bar and flirted with the
bargirl. After an hour, the gang leader hissed at him through the
open doorway, deftly avoiding a stick waved at him by the
askari.

‘
Toka
!’
the askari shouted at the kid menacingly.

Musa yelled.
‘Wait! I need to talk to that kid,’ and walked over.

‘We have the
car, but the front number plate is missing.’ The little thug
said.

‘Oh good, where
is it?’

‘Not far,’ came
the reply, ‘give me the money.’

‘Let’s see the
car first.’

‘No money, look
for the car yourself.’

‘Ok, half now.’
Musa held out a hundred shilling note.

The kid shook
his head. ‘Five hundred, I show you the car.’

‘Listen you
little bastard, I can get you thrown in jail like that,’ Musa
towered over the child menacingly.

‘Good, I’m
hungry,’ came the defiant reply.

The askari on
the door idly watching, started to laugh in admiration, but was
silenced by a menacing look from Musa. The kid and Musa stared at
each other. The cop gave in, took out a five hundred note and
handed it to the street boy. ‘Let’s go.’

The kid
snatched the note and made off down the street. Musa gave the
askari a nasty look and went in pursuit; four other small boys fell
in step with him. They did not look at him or speak, but maintained
a grim determined escort. The eldest could not have been more than
eight years old. ‘He has the money,’ Musa said, pointing at the
older kid. This statement went unacknowledged as the four
maintained their silence. When they reached the abandoned saloon,
he quickly went through it looking for clues, finding only a blood
stained T-shirt on the back seat. The urchins crowded around him
watching his every move.

‘Fuck off,’ he
told them, ‘you have been paid.’ They ignored him.

He called
Cyrus, and told him his news. ‘It looks ok,’ Musa told him, ‘but no
car keys. I will have to hot-wire it.’

‘Ok, let me
call the boss and ask him what he wants you to do.’

Musa took out a
penknife from his pocket and in a well-practiced move inserted it
into a joint in the plastic housing around the ignition, levering
one section off, exposing the wiring. The older kid hissed at him
through the window, and held up a set of car keys.

‘Where did you
get those? Give them to me.’

‘Money first,’
the kid said moving away out of reach.

‘I’m not joking
with you anymore,’ Musa got out of the car holding his hand out and
shouted. ‘Give me those car keys!’

As he did so
the other kids moved in to shield the key holder. One of them had a
knife and pointed it at Musa’s stomach. He stopped and looked down
incredulous. ‘You little bastards,’ he pulled a gun from his
waistband. ‘Want to play with me do you?’

At the sight of
the gun the kids ran, ducking and weaving behind other parked
vehicles. ‘Dangerous little fuckers,’ he chuckled to himself,
relieved they had gone. He returned to the car and continued with
his work on the ignition. In next to no time, he got the car
started. His mobile rang it was Cyrus.

‘The boss says
you are to drive back to Nairobi. Did you get the number of the bus
the Indian woman got on?’

‘Yes I did.’ He
lied.

‘Ok, you are to
follow the bus and arrest the Indian woman. When you have done
that, call me. Good work, speak to you later.’

Musa filled the
car up with fuel. Even if he knew the number of the bus there was
little chance he could catch it up now, let alone recognise and
apprehend an Indian woman he didn’t know. On his way back to
Nairobi he would turn off to his hometown of Machakos and spend
time with his wife and kids. Happily he switched off his mobile and
set off down the highway, radio blaring.

*

Cyrus stopped
at the police check outside Mombasa. There were three motorcycles
parked on the side, with their disconsolate riders. He identified
himself to the commanding officer.

The officer
peered at the ID with interest and then with envy at him. ‘These,’
waving at the bikes, ‘are the only ones that passed through since
we got the order.’ Cyrus thanked him and then waited for a call
from Joe.

‘The boss is
going to be really pissed off when you tell him the news.’ His
companion said.

Cyrus snarled
at him. ‘You want to call him eh?’

‘No, not me,
listen I’m tired why don’t we just drive on to Mombasa, you can
call him later.’

The phone rang.
‘Have you found them?’ Rubia demanded.

‘No sir. We are
at the police check. There has been no sighting of the
mzungu
and the motorbike.’

‘Shit, where
the hell can they be? You’re sure they headed to Mombasa from
Voi?’

‘Yes, Sir, they
were seen leaving Voi.’

‘They must have
turned off somewhere,’ reasoned Joe, ‘or stopped off on route. ‘Ok
the two of you carry on to Mombasa and find somewhere to stay. I
will call you in the morning once I have more information.’

‘Thanks boss,’
said Cyrus hanging up.

*

Joe Rubia sat
at his desk, his head in his hands at a loss as to know what to do
next. It was too late to withdraw the notice in tomorrow’s paper.
He was confident he would find Nicholls, but for now, who knows
where he might turn up. He sat and brooded, this simple operation
was going really sour. Other operations were beginning to back up
that needed his attention. As far as Nicholls was concerned, it was
time to clear the up loose ends.