Boss Takes All (29 page)

The tour was brief. The party proceeded slowly into the large field where most of the patients congregated after breakfast. Most of them were preoccupied with what was happening in their own internal worlds. Some waved a friendly greeting. One or two tried to initiate a conversation but were ignored.

‘Papa, why do you think they are all wearing these absurd little green tunics?'

Simon interrupted with an answer.

‘They like them. They are easy to put on and it gives them a sense of unity.'

Abel was shocked by the sight of so many odd-looking characters gathered in one place.

‘This is disgusting. What good does it do to lump together so many misfits. Give money to a place like this? I'd close it down and send them back to their families where they could receive some proper care. This is not the African way!'

‘But, Abel, most of them have no families. That's why they are here in the first place.'

‘I won't accept that European talk, the rubbish you can expect to hear from those … idealists, to use a kind word, who have joined up with irritating groups like Serena.'

Abel fixed Simon with a challenging glare. ‘Simon, where do you stand on this? Have you crossed over?'

‘Become a traitor!'

‘Reuben, shut up!'

‘You don't trust me? I've given forty years loyal service to this party. I was working for KANU before you were born. I'm shocked, insulted.'

‘Papa, I don't want a turncoat like this taking me around this town.'

Simon was playing a dangerous game and Abel had deep suspicions. While he admired Simon's bold defiance, it was not an attitude he could tolerate. Small infections could fester and spread quickly. But with the sergeant, an unknown quantity, present, he might have to cut his losses to prevent himself losing face. Simon had shown his hand by not denying a connection with Serena. Simon Nyache had sealed his fate. Abel could tolerate a brief delay. Yes, that was the way it would be. He announced a change of plan.

‘So we will put off the tour. I have other business in the district. Thank you, Simon, for your help. I now have a clearer perspective on one or two important issues. We will talk soon, Nairobi next time. Just let me know when you're in town next. Thank you, too, Sergeant. You seem to run a good station. Well done! If you will excuse me, I must speak to my boys in the second car.'

Abel was away less than five minutes. On his return, Simon Nyache was nowhere to be seen. The old fellow had outwitted him again.

‘Sergeant, which way did he go?'

‘He usually takes the back road which brings him straight out on the A104.'

‘Have you got any cars out there that could pick him up?'

‘Why would I want to pick him up?'

‘Fool, I want him picked up!'

‘Oh yes?' The tall, burly policeman sneered before striding away back to his office.

When he spoke to his boys a second time, Abel barked his instructions quickly and in a businesslike way.

‘Get him! When you join the main road, there's a coach stop. Ask which way the red car went. Make sure you get this right. Nakuru, probably …'

Abel had guessed wrong, but the driver of the Mercedes was soon on the right track in pursuit of the terrified old man who was driving too fast and was praying aloud that he would reach his safe haven in Londiani along these rough back roads. ‘Stop looking in the mirror, you old fool. Hit one big stone and you're finished!'

Meanwhile Abel was enjoying the ride along a familiar road. His mood was mellow. Those three boys were among his best and they would not fail him. He expected that he would soon be listening to a short item of news on KBS: ‘We regret to announce the death of the popular and long-serving MP for Nakuru South. It seems that he was on his way to Naivasha when his car struck a tree. It is thought that no other vehicle was involved.'

And the old exhilaration was back. He presumed that hunters out on safari had something of the same thrill when they were on the trail of a dangerous animal. All the better that he never got his hands dirty. He considered that his kill was more practical, the elimination of an enemy who displeased him, rather than the execution of an innocent, often beautiful, creature.

‘Papa, this isn't the quickest way home.'

‘I thought you would like to look around part of your territory. What do you think, boy?'

‘It's messy. The buildings are a shambles, but, okay, it's Kenya.'

‘When your mother and I first came up this way, Gilgil was a lot smaller.'

‘Why are we going back to Pembroke?'

‘Got it at last.'

‘Papa, why do you enjoy making out I'm a fool. I hate it when you call me “boy”!'

‘You know, I never should have sent Julius to this place. I hope the headmaster will be around. Got some business to finish.'

* * *

‘It's like this, Mister Foster. Those brass plaques on the wall in the chapel.'

‘Memorials to boys who died before their time. Almost all violent deaths.'

‘Got a hardworking girl to look after them? Shines the ass off the metal. I want her to shine a plaque in memory of my boy, Julius. Murder counts as a violent death, I suppose?'

‘We never include the cause of death. Too painful for relatives. Morbid, too.'

‘I'll pay extra.'

‘Mister Rubai!'

‘Thought not. Squeamish Europeans. Don't like the blood and guts, but that's all right. I want whatever you'll allow. Looking for closure. My wife and I have a new Julius, just a few weeks old. Perhaps you think that's morbid as well. Death, never pleasant but sometimes necessary, don't you think? Forgive me. My mind is elsewhere. Time to go home.'

* * *

Simon was on the downward slope and travelling even faster. The strain of concentrating so long was giving him a headache. ‘At least you've still got a head to have an ache. Thank the Lord for a few trees. Ten k to go and still no sign of them. What if they aren't there at all?'

He decided to cross a narrow verge onto the main road. There were less than five kilometres to the turn-off. He looked behind to see that the road was empty, was empty until in the distance that black shape appeared, coming up fast. Without even thinking, he pulled out behind a truck loaded with charcoal spluttering along towards Nairobi. Simon whooped with delight as he slipped by safely well out of the way of the coach approaching him speeding to its destination up-country. How would the speedy black boy deal with that?

When he glanced in his mirror next, the Mercedes was coming up on the inside of the charcoal truck. The turn-off was just ahead, but so was the line of traffic completing its descent of the Escarpment. Two matatus sped by. Was there a safe gap in front of the lumbering milk truck? Hardly bearing to keep his eyes open, Simon swung the wheel hard.

The squeal of his skid as the car glided sideways towards the verge of the local road impressed the crowd standing around the crossroads, but the explosive thud of metal smashing into metal two seconds later did not.

ertie Briggs, with the MP for Nakuru South sitting dazed at his side, arrived at Londiani in the early afternoon. His Pajero had Simon Nyache's car in tow and he drove straight to a newly restored motor pool on the farm side. John Marang who had steered the car in had been waiting in line with Bertie to join the A104. They had witnessed the crazy turn of the old man. How had he missed the bulk of the speeding milk tanker? That image was wiped out by the shocking sight of the full-on collision that happened a moment later when a black Mercedes was flung into the air and landed on the opposite verge to Simon.

Bertie and John leapt down onto the road and ran to the car that had been tipped on its side with the engine still being revved furiously. John reached across through the open window and switched off. Half a dozen young men righted the car. Just months before, a few kilometres up the Escarpment, Bertie had witnessed a semitrailer sliding out of control into three loaded matatus with the resulting horrific deaths of thirty-seven men and women. Body parts were scattered everywhere. Here, the three passengers, unconscious and probably dead, had suffered no obvious injuries. The front door opened easily for John.

‘Bwana, look at this car! Hardly damaged. These boys could be just sleeping.'

‘Bloody amazing! They almost got away with it.'

‘Hey! See the driver of the other car. I think I know that man. Bwana Nyache, he don't look too good, bending over his car like that.'

‘Go and check, John. Be there in a second. You chaps, help me get these three boys out. I know a bit of first aid. Perhaps we can do something to help. Then I'll phone the police.'

The last of the three smartly dressed young men was being laid out in the shade of a tree. ‘Any of them still alive?'

‘We don't know, Bwana. They are warm but …'

‘Let me take a look.'

Bertie tried to find a pulse, then bent over to look for a heartbeat. He could detect nothing.

‘Anyone recognise them, any of them?'

‘Nairobi men working for some big boss down there.'

Bertie sat on the grass and dialled a number on his phone.

‘Naivasha police station … There's been a bad accident on the edge of town … Any chance of an ambulance, just in case … okay. You'll be twenty minutes? Listen, Sergeant. I can't stay. Simon Nyache is across the road. I'm sure he was involved in the smash … Just shaken this time, I think. I know how careful you are about fingerprints, but I can't leave possible evidence lying around, can I? Okay, I'll do that and see you at the station later. I think we can't do anything to help.'

John was back and smiling. ‘He's fine. He asked me to check if he was still alive. And he saw you had the four-wheel drive. He wants a tow.'

‘John, get me a bag from the back of the vehicle. Make that two. Oh, John boy, what we do we do here?'

Bertie made one more stop before driving home. He bought a couple of cans of oil at the Shell station and dialled another number.

‘Caroline? Bertie Briggs here. There's been a shocker of an accident on the road, just opposite Delamere's. You're at Londiani? No, it's all right. Your people are on to it. I've got something to show you. Afraid I've bent the law a bit. Anyway, see you in a minute.'

Simon had got used to being alive again, but his legs were unsteady when he slid down onto the concrete apron where Bertie had parked. He was breathing hard but happy.

‘Look at these hands. I don't think they'll stop trembling for hours. God knows what my heart is doing.' He leaned against Bertie's car. ‘I'm too old for these tricks. Look, I need some air. Can we walk over to the house?'

‘If you feel up to it.'

At times it was more a stagger than a walk. Simon held tight onto Bertie's arm, moving slowly and thanking out loud a long list of beings, human and otherwise, for saving him, ‘delivering me from evil!'

As they rounded the corner from the laundry garden to the front of the house, there was a surprise waiting. Bertie recognised the Welshmens' car. They had been due to set off for Gilgil a few minutes behind him. No doubt they had turned back when they saw that the road ahead was blocked at the crossroads. It was not the sight of the car that was the surprise but its additional two passengers. Two heavily-built young men were being carried up the veranda steps and laid out on two trestle tables.

‘Almost Doctor' Iolo was in charge. He was shouting orders and constantly moving from one table to the other.

‘Why can't you find a decent hospital when you need one? It's a miracle that these two are still breathing, Come on, Iolo boy! Just give it your best shot. Two volunteer nurses, please! Angela and Lydia, come around here! Thank God they were wearing their belts.'

Darkness was falling before the stories of the day's events were pieced together into a coherent whole. Inspector Caroline had been shuttling between Big House, her station, the accident scene and Naivasha Hospital.

‘One sad piece of news. The other young man in the Mercedes is in the hospital morgue. The driver of the milk tanker has a few bruises and a sprained wrist. A big thank you to Iolo. You can drop the “almost” from now on! And to Angelo Conti, for coming down.'

‘Lucky I was still on the Escarpment when I got the call. Another awful mess on our roads. That young man saved two lives with his very last action on this earth. Those other two? They'll live if we can get them to a decent operating theatre soon. David Daniels is willing to take them. I think we'll have risk travelling in the dark. But I understand that this is no straightforward story.'

An exhausted Simon Nyache lay back in an armchair with his head in his hands.

‘My fault. One dead for sure and these two … Doctor, I hope you are right.'

‘Nonsense, Simon. Those three characters weren't after you to invite you out for a drink. Speaking for myself, I'm damn glad that you're here and not lying out on some hillside, another name ticked off on Rubai's hit list.'