Juba Good (6 page)

I ripped the sheets off my bed. I bundled them into the laundry basket. I remade the bed with clean ones.

Chapter
Thirteen

Sleep didn't come. I lay awake wondering who had it in for me.

As a warning, it was a good one. No injuries, no violence. Just a message. Joyce had tried asking Olivia who'd brought her here. The girl didn't understand. Wouldn't have helped anyway. She wouldn't have been able to describe him with any accuracy. “They all,” Joyce said, “look the same to these girls.”

Since coming here, I hadn't made any enemies. Far as I knew. No one had ever tried a stunt like that on me or anyone else.

It had to have something to do with the events of the last two weeks.

Was someone trying to warn me off the investigation into the murder of the girls?

Why? It wasn't as if I was getting anywhere.

The people at the Blue Nile didn't like me much. Clearly, they'd rather I stopped poking around. That something funny was going on there wasn't in doubt. It might be nothing more than overcharging for drinks. It might be selling drugs on the side. It might just be that the manager was a weak guy who thought he was tough. They'd know where to find girls like Olivia.

Would they be able to get her into the compound? And into my room?

Possibly. With a few hefty, well-placed bribes.

Easier, though, if they had help from the inside.

It was no secret I was interested in the killings of the women. Everyone in the UN police and most of the South Sudanese knew. I'd been asking questions. Trying to open an investigation.

Was someone telling me to butt out?

I gave up trying to sleep. I had planned on making myself a special lunch that day. A big bowl of pasta. Might as well have it for a late breakfast.

I'd managed to score some butter at the store and arugula at the market. A woman who grew fresh herbs in her small patch of garden had given me a huge bunch. Fresh cream was unavailable. The milk would be out of a
PVC
pack. But you can't have everything.

I crossed the yard, dreaming of homegrown cherry tomatoes eaten warm from the sun. Nigel was heading toward me, dressed for work. He saw me, turned and walked away.

I called after him. He shouted over his shoulder, “I'm late, Robertson.” He kept walking. I broke into a jog and soon caught up to him.

“What'd you do to your face?” I asked.

“Street brawl. You should see the other guy.”

“You weren't working the last couple of days, were you?”

“I didn't say I was working. I said I was in a street brawl. Are all Canadians so bloody nosy?”

He stalked off. I let him go.

I'd seen enough.

Two long deep scratches ran down his right cheek. From the corner of his eye almost to his lip. Nasty. Half an inch over and he might have lost the eye. The injury wasn't fresh. Two days old, maybe.

Nigel was a hothead. It was entirely possible he'd been in a fight.

But he hadn't gotten those injuries in a punch-up. More like the result of a thin knife. Or a woman's long nails.

Nigel would know they didn't have the resources here to analyze blood for
DNA.

But he would also know I'd try to secure the evidence anyway. As it was, I'd labeled the bag with the knife. I'd taken it into the police station and told them to keep it safe.

Tomorrow, my shifts switched to days. Nigel was working days also.

As I cooked lunch, I thought long and hard.

I scarcely tasted the pasta.

Chapter
Fourteen

Nigel was a lot younger than me. By the end of the fourth day, I was getting mighty tired. I worked with Deng during the day. I watched Nigel at night.

There isn't much of what we consider nightlife here. Police patrols come out around midnight. Roadblocks are set up. Cars are stopped by armed police for no reason at all. Most foreigners like to be home early.

Nigel was dating a British woman. He took her out to dinner one evening. I sat in the parking lot in my borrowed vehicle, watching the restaurant door. They went back to her place.

The other nights, he went out with male friends for dinner or a few beers. I showed the security guards my
ID
. I told them I was on a secret undercover mission. Whether they believed me or not, they let me wait in a dark corner of the parking lot. When Nigel left, I followed. He went straight back to the UN compound.

Sunday evening, the fourth night of my surveillance, Nigel went to a rugby game. Africa versus everyone else. He drank a lot of beer, chatted to women, didn't pay much attention to the game.

I lurked in the crowd. Feeling like a fool.

He never seemed to sense my presence. He didn't act like a man with anything to hide. There had been no further killings.

Everyone knew I was going back to Canada in a few days. Maybe he was waiting until I'd gone.

Or perhaps I
was
a fool, and Nigel had nothing to hide.

It was a slow, boring game. The score was tied. Only one player had been carried off the field on a stretcher. Nigel threw his beer bottle into a rubbish container. He slapped his buddies on the back and headed for the exit. I followed.

He hadn't driven himself. He'd been picked up. I wondered how he was planning to get home.

He exchanged greetings with the security guard at the entrance to the stadium. He crossed the parking lot, heading for the back where the lights were dim.

It was neatly done. If I hadn't been watching, I wouldn't have seen it.

A sharp jab to the driver's window. Probably with a rock he kept in his pocket. Then the door was open and Nigel was inside. A quick duck under the dashboard and the engine started up. It was an older car. A battered Toyota Rav 4.

Nigel drove away.

I made it back to my own car in record time. I tore out of the parking lot after him. It was dark, not much traffic on the streets. I followed his rear lights at a distance.

He was driving fast, and I matched the pace. I bumped over rocks and into ruts. I careened around parked cars. Pop cans and water bottles crunched beneath my tires.

The car ahead turned onto a side road. I spun the wheel and followed. The road was unpaved, pitted with deep ruts alongside mounds of earth. Boda bodas swerved among the cars. I honked, telling them to stay out of my way. I kept my eyes fixed on the rear lights of the Rav 4. Easy to make out among the scooters and Land Cruisers.

This car needed new shocks. My back teeth rattled and I bounced up and down in the seat. It was like riding the moguls at Whistler.

Finally, the Rav 4 returned to a paved road.

Nigel stepped on the gas. I followed.

Then, out of nowhere, a pickup truck loaded with goats pulled out of a side street. I slammed on the brakes. I was driving too fast for road conditions. My car skidded, and I struggled to keep it under control. I jerked to a stop inches from the front of the truck. It had stopped square in the middle of the road. On either side, the ditch was deep. I'd never get around.

I rolled down my window. I shouted and waved my arms.

The truck driver waved back. Not in a friendly way.

The goats set up a chorus of
baah
.

The driver yelled insults that no doubt mentioned my parents. At last he shifted into gear and lumbered away.

I passed him, kicking up dust.

The Rav 4 had disappeared.

First I swore. Then I pulled out my phone. I called Deng.

“What's up?” he said. I heard a woman's low voice in the background.

“I've got him. Meet me at the Blue Nile. And make it fast.” I snapped my phone shut and tore around the next corner. What Deng would make of that summons I didn't know. Would he come? If he was in bed with a woman?

I'd never been to Deng's house. I didn't know where he lived. I didn't know if he lived with anyone. I'd told him about my wife and daughters. I'd shown him pictures of them. He'd been polite and said they were beautiful.

We'd never sat down to have a meal together. We'd never socialized over a beer after work. He'd never been inside my container. He never so much as set foot out of the truck when he came to pick me up.

I knew almost nothing about him. But I trusted him. As a good man and as a good cop.

I couldn't search the entire city for Nigel. The Blue Nile was the only lead I had.

At least one of the dead women had worked there. They did not want me poking around. If the place had the reputation of hiring out its employees as prostitutes, Nigel would have no trouble getting a woman to leave with him.

But did it go further than that? Slip money to the owner. He wouldn't report that the woman never came back.

The country was in flux after twenty years of war. Refugees were returning. Foreign workers poured across the borders in pursuit of jobs. Villagers came to the city in search of better lives. Many would soon turn around and go home. They had no ties here. No reason to tell anyone they were leaving.

If a prostitute didn't turn up at her regular spot again, no one would care.

Until one dumb Canadian cop started asking questions.

Traffic was less chaotic after dark than during the day. Most of the children and animals were off the streets. I shifted gears as I rounded a corner and sped up.

The parking lot of the Blue Nile was almost full. I drove slowly, trying to look as if I was searching for a spot.

Then I saw it. Parked close to the guard hut. A battered blue Toyota Rav 4.

I circled around and drove away. No point in trying to go in. If the guards were the same ones who'd thrown me out on my previous visits, they'd recognize me. I couldn't sit there watching Nigel's car either.

Chances were the guards were paid not to notice men leaving with women. They wouldn't want me interfering.

My phone rang.

Deng. “I'm almost there. Where are you?”

The restaurant was at the end of a long dirt road cut through the bush. A scattering of tukuls were shrouded in darkness. I pulled to the side of the road. A single headlight came my way. I flashed my lights.

Deng pulled up. He was on a boda boda.

I explained the situation. Nigel had stolen a car and he'd driven straight here. I was willing to bet good money that he was even now negotiating for a woman's favors.

I couldn't go into the restaurant. They'd throw me out in a heartbeat.

But Deng could.

Nigel knew Deng. But if Deng kept his head down and stuck to the shadows, Nigel wouldn't notice him.

Deng gave me one of his looks. Then he drove away in a spray of exhaust fumes and dust.

I turned the engine off. The thick hot air filled the car.

I listened to the night. Small yellow eyes glowed from the bush. Foliage rustled. Something screamed. The shriek was cut off in mid-note.

The occasional car went past, heading back to town. Laughter from the river. In one of the huts, a baby cried.

I waited a long time. Then I heard men shouting farewells and the roar of a motorbike. Deng stopped beside me.

I smelled beer on his breath. Not much I could say about that. I had sent him undercover into a bar.

“He's there. Drinking with a woman. A South Sudanese woman. Young, pretty. Her smile is very false. You think this is it, Ray?”

“Yes, I do. I'm sure of it.”

My gut churned. I was sure, all right.

“What do we do now?”

“That, my friend, is the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.”

“The what?”

“Never mind.”

“This is the only road out,” Deng said. “We wait. We follow.”

“Suppose we lose them?”

“We know where he is going.”

“Suppose, this once, he changes the routine?”

Deng shrugged. “You in the car. Me on the boda boda.”

“I don't want to split up. He's going to be dangerous if cornered.”

I thought for a long time. The bushes rustled. No matter what was out there, it was not the most dangerous animal in Africa.

“I won't use the woman as bait,” I said at last. “Get in.”

Deng pushed the bike off the road and into a clump of ragged bushes. It might be there when he got back. It might not.

I turned the vehicle around and headed to the Blue Nile.

I parked the car by the gate. Blocking the exit.

Deng and I climbed out. Lights were strong overhead. The guard swaggered over. “You are not allowed here. You must move your car.”

“Tough,” I replied. “This is police business.”

He opened his mouth as if to argue. Deng growled. The guard changed his mind.

“We'll wait.” I gestured to the guard hut. Just a shack to keep the rain off their heads. “You'll wait with us.” I didn't want him sneaking away to tell his boss. I could see only the one guard. The others must be patrolling the grounds. It was late. The car park was almost empty now.

The three of us went into the hut. There were two blue plastic chairs. I took one. I gestured to the guard to have a seat. Deng leaned on the wall by the door. He crossed his arms over his chest.

We didn't have long to wait.

A burst of female laugher had Deng and me glancing at each other. I got to my feet.

Nigel and a woman came down the path. Her secondhand dress was too tight for her lush figure. She tottered on her high heels. Nigel's hand gripped her arm. “Steady there, Ella,” he said, and she giggled.

I held up my own hand. Telling the guard to shut up. Telling Deng to wait.

Wait and watch.

Nigel and the woman crossed the parking area. They reached the Rav 4. Ella staggered. Nigel opened the passenger door for her.

I signaled to Deng, and we stepped out of the hut.

“Nigel Farnsworth,” Deng said. “I am arresting you for car theft.”

“What the hell!” Nigel spun around. “Christ, not you again, Robertson. What, you're a vice cop now?”