Boss Takes All (11 page)

‘Yeah, right. Just another adventure for a middle-aged couple on the look out for a dose of pneumonia. Shall we move on? You must be itching to see Ewan.'

‘Damn right, but I'm holding back. I love the idea of having him just a few hundred yards away. See, there's no light on this side of the house. He must be asleep.'

‘Bertie, in a previous life you must have been a fish-eagle and they've let you keep your eyes. I can't even see the house properly.'

‘Practice, old chap.'

More stillness, more looking up, more stirring of happy memories of schooldays long ago in Gilgil.

Bertie began, ‘The owl looked up to the stars above as he sang to a small guitar …'

Alex took up the line. ‘Oh, lovely pussy, oh, pussy, my love, what a beautiful pussy you are. Annie Brown, form R. Haven't forgotten a word.'

Bertie chuckled. ‘Ewan is learning the same poem in Hippo House. I was testing him, well, the other day, I suppose. Cracks up when he got to that bit. “But, Daddy, an owl can't marry a cat!” Sad, isn't it? They're trying to ban fantasy from a boy's life.'

They stood up and stretched the stiffness out of their limbs before moving on to Rusinga.

If they had been ten minutes earlier, it probably would not have happened. They discovered this later.

Bertie, alone now, crept up the carpeted staircase, guided by the blue light on the outside of the open door of Ewan's bedroom. He stood over his son for a very long time, watching every movement, listening to every sound. At last he found himself a blanket, kicked off his shoes and snuggled into the big armchair within touching distance of the bed. It was a full three hours before he found sleep to be irresistible.

A little before four o'clock in the afternoon of that same Sunday, a telephone call had gone out from the Pink Palace in Karen to a second floor appartment overlooking Mama Ngina Street.

‘Uchome?'

Patrick Uchome threw down his newspaper. He had recognised the boss's voice. He was afraid that he was in for another tongue lashing but could not think of any blunders he had made in the previous few days.

‘Yes, Boss?'

Abel Rubai chuckled. He had picked up the panic in his boy's voice. He liked the sound of that. ‘Calm down, man. Got a job. Naivasha. Take your wife with you.'

‘Margaret?'

‘Yes, Margaret. You've been to this place before …'

Fortunately the boss could not see the grimace of pain on Uchome's face. Rubai had no interest in Patrick Uchome's emotional state as long as it did not interfere with his competence on the job. After all he was giving his Nairobi man the chance to make up for the blunder he had made last time he had been sent with a big crew to do this same simple errand.

‘Listen. Certain things are happening that I don't like. When I move away from the table, I want to be in profit. Do this right and there will be profit for you, too. And a bonus for Margaret.'

Abel was a man who was deeply annoyed and just a little bit uncomfortable. The threats of the two joke lawyers had caught him off balance. The control of a situation had been taken out of his hands - temporarily. He swore to that. He needed to strike back straight away. Almost at once a possibility presented itself. Three phone calls raised his hopes. His scheme could be a winner. The girl no longer had any real importance, but to have her in his power, that would be a big blow to those who thought they had Mister Abel Rubai, the next president of Kenya, trapped in a corner.

So what if in the planning of the move he had not had time to cover every angle? He knew that there was more risk involved than he liked, but he would build in precautions.

‘Uchome, take a small car, one that has seen a bit of life. Park back from the turn-off down to the farm. From six o'clock only she and the kid will be in the house, the big house this time. Come up from the shore side. Are you getting all this?'

‘Every word, Boss.'

‘Make like you are a couple out on an evening stroll. Wait around close to the house. Plenty of trees for cover. Any doubts and come away. Use Margaret to get you into the place. Take your gun but don't use it. Got it? Bring her to the farm. Only phone when the job is done.'

The first attempt to kidnap Lydia Smith had been a mess. Uchome had half convinced himself then that the boys were right. There were evil spirits hanging about that place. This time he made up his mind that if a twig snapped in the wrong place, if the breeze blew in any suspicious sounds, he would be on his way home.

‘Boss, like you said, if things look bad …'

But things were not bad. In fact, getting the girl out of the house and up to the road ranked as the easiest job he had ever done. He must take Margaret out more often. It was as if the Smith whore had been expecting them. One glance from him up the stairs to where the kid was sleeping and she was ready to go anywhere. Margaret had been surprised.

‘Patrick, this kid ain't scared of us. My God, she's a pretty thing. What's he going to do to her?'

‘Sweetheart, let's just get her to the car. I'll feel a whole lot happier when we get to the dual carriageway on top of the Escarpment. You go in the back with her and …'

‘No gun, if that was what you were thinking.'

It was three am on Monday when it was discovered in Londiani that Lydia was missing. Rafaella had returned to Rusinga and gone straight to her room, assuming that after putting Ewan to bed, Lydia had done likewise. The jangle of her emotions made it difficult for her to sleep. After one long doze, she woke with a start, realising that she had not seen her house companion since she had set out for Nakuru many hours before. With a sense of foreboding she tapped gently on Lydia's door. The bed had not been slept in.

The hastily gathered meeting of friends threw up only one strong speculation.

‘The cunning bastard!' Alex's words summed the opinions of everyone sitting around that veranda in that chilliest part of the night.

‘He's got her. The poor child. Where can he have taken her? Not that bloody farmhouse again!' Maura was wide awake, burning with anger, mainly at her own, all their carelessness. She dismissed the first lapse into an ‘if only' before it could reach her lips.

Bertie was openly in tears. ‘My bloody fault. You should have left me in there. I'm not worth it.'

‘Rubbish, Bertie.' Tom's tone was quiet but forceful. ‘A kick in the guts for us all, but you, my friend, have no blame in this. Look, we've been through this before. And we are going to get her back. First job, I'm going to let Caroline know.'

Rollo agreed. He was in favour of some action.

‘But, son, headless chickens, blue-arsed flies don't get things done.'

If they had but known it, all that could be done had been done. Neither Alex McCall nor Abel Rubai could change any of that. Everything had been accomplished within the narrow confines of that ordinary small car that had seen a bit of life.

* * *

On the wide open plain beyond Naivaisha to the turn-off to Narok, Patrick Uchome had relaxed at the wheel. The land to his left sloped steeply until it reached the A104 where it topped out at nine thousand feet and he felt protected by its dark bulk. The whore was giving him and Margaret no trouble. In less than an hour he would be handing her over and collecting a wad of notes for his efforts.

‘Why you do these things? Why you work for this wicked man who loves to kill people? Don't you have kids of your own?'

‘My, the little dolly girl has a voice. And no, we don't have kids and glad of it.'

‘Leave it, Margaret. A silent drive is a safe drive, believe me.'

‘But, Patrick, show a little kindness here. We may be the last people this kid will ever have seen.'

‘Margaret, cut it!'

‘What are you so afraid of, fat man? I can't hurt you. I got no gun. I been in trouble before, lots of times.'

‘And you shut it, too, or I'll —'

‘Open the door and throw me out. You won't get your blood money then. My blood. I like my blood. It is such a lovely colour. One time I saw my uncle kill a goat. One sharp knife. Over in seconds. All that lovely blood. Do you know that a goat's blood is also red?'

‘Shut the hell up! We could have an accident here.'

Lydia laughed mock hysterically. ‘Why would I worry about an accident? Why would I want to make it easy for you?'

‘I'll put a gag on you. Margaret, try to shut her up. I'm going to start climbing soon. I think we took the wrong car. The gears are useless.'

‘I know this place. Mister Briggs brought me down very steep hill. Twists like a snake. There is a church. He called it “the Italian Church”. Said we could visit one day. I want to visit now. Stop the car when we are close by.'

‘You crazy bitch, what would you do in a church?'

‘Pray for forgiveness, of course. You could come with me. And I would thank God for reminding me to bring my friend. See!'

Lydia slid into the corner of her seat and waved her knife.

‘Give me that!'

Uchome's lunge caused him to swing the car very slightly. It was enough. The skid gathered momentum. The car ran off the road and plunged into the undergrowth. The trunk of the tree was not thick and strong, but it was enough. Silence.

Fifty metres directly below in a house on a lonely track off the main road there was a party going on, celebrating a homecoming. Even though the scream of the skid and the thud of the crash had been muffled by the forest trees, the host heard enough of the noise to know that someone was in trouble up there. He groaned and called out to his brother.

‘Alan, give us a hand. Another bang on the top road. Got to go and check. Got the stuff. Come on.'

They were soon speeding on their way in the Land Rover. ‘Don, how many times is this? Sell the place and come back to the city.'

‘You're getting past it. Can't say that I enjoy this kind of nonsense, but I've got my bit to do … Oops! Always take that corner too fast. And you'll have a story when we get back. Look, over there. Something's knocked the stuffing out of those thorn bushes. Thankfully it's not a truck.'

On foot, and with beams of their power torches lighting the way ahead, they were soon up to the small Datsun with faded orange paintwork. Every window had been shattered.

Donald Dawson knocked away the few remaining jagged bits of glass on the driver's side, lowered his head and peered in. His assessment was swift.

‘Three poor bastards, probably a family and probably on their way up to the top.'

‘All dead?'

‘Think so, but I'm no doc. Daughter was a looker.'

‘So what do we do? Get onto the cops?'

‘Sure, but first we tow them out.'

‘That's illegal. Scene of the crime and all that.'

‘Let's grab the rope. Hope this old banger won't fall apart on us when we start to pull. Alan, come on. I've done this before. Just watch an old pro at work.'

Alan Dawson took very little part in the recovery of the Datsun which his brother pulled out of the undergrowth and then manoevred into a parking position in the open space in front of the Italian church.

‘We can go home now. Have a shower, phone the police and back to the party. But I want you to meet some people first.'

The shocked expression on his brother's face sent Don into a burst of loud laughter.

‘You thought I meant … No, they are over by the church door. Alan, meet Peter and Gloria Katami, my collaborators, partners in crime to you.'

The caretaker had opened the doors of the church in readiness for their part in the gruesome business and was not unhappy when the two brothers climbed into their vehicle and drove off down the road. While Peter examined the car and looked in at its occupants, Gloria entered the church, lit the altar candles and took down three linen sheets from the cupboard next to the organ.

In the half hour that passed before the police car arrived, the old couple was busy. Tenderly they removed the bodies from the car. They made no effort to tend wounds or clean away any mess before wrapping them in the sheets and laying them in the space in front of the altar. When this was done it was their usual practice to sit in the dim light and let their thoughts wander. They rarely spoke.

This time was different. A small observation had far-reaching consequences.

‘Peter, the girl's face, there was warmth in it.'

‘She is young. The warmth is slower to leave.'

‘I will listen to the heart.' She lifted the sheet and bent low. ‘Peter, feel her hands. And there is breath. The child has life. What can we do?'

‘Wait, and pray. It is out of our hands.'

* * *

‘So is that two or three for the morgue? The old woman says there is life in the young one.'

‘You been on too many of these accident call-outs, Naluki. Your heart is turning to stone.'

‘Sergeant Leah, this is your first one. I know that.'

‘You are right. I wanted to see for myself. And there are surprises. For instance, who brought all the evidence over here? You are not going to tell me that these unfortunate people conveniently rolled their vehicle into this little area …'

‘Okay, okay, it is not the proper legal way, but in the end it works. Nobody suffers and the police save money.'

‘But who did all this … organising?'

‘Don't know.' His reply was too pat.

‘We talk about this later. First thing, get this girl to a hospital.'

‘The ambulance, I can hear it coming. She can travel with the stiffs. I'll drop her off somewhere on the way down to the city.'

‘But where?'

‘First one we come to. I know a few. They never survive.'

‘That's it! I'll take care of her. I know a place where they'll give her a chance.' She turned to the old lady. ‘I want you to come. Help me to lift her into the car. We must hurry.'