Those Who Love Night (41 page)

A small truck laden with watermelons was just being allowed through. Three of the officers had stepped into the road to wave them down. “We're expected,” Abigail said.

Yudel brought the car in slowly and stopped at the side of the road, as directed. The officers approached Yudel's window. One came right up to it and the others stopped just behind him. “Driver's license, sir.” Yudel got the card from his wallet and handed it over. “South African?”

The driver's license made that clear. Yudel saw no reason to answer the question.

As for the officer, he gave the impression of studying the license before asking his next question. “Is a Mrs. Abigail Bukula traveling with you, sir?”

“Have we committed some offense, officer?” Seated behind him, Rosa was wondering how serious an offense it was to knock out a senior member of the
CIO
, using a garish plaster ornament.

But Abigail was already getting out on her side. She walked briskly around the car, holding out a hand of greeting. “Good morning, inspector.” She had read his rank on his shoulder badge. “I'm Advocate Abigail Bukula.” Her manner was both friendly and businesslike. To Yudel's astonishment, despite having had only an hour's sleep in the relative discomfort of the car's backseat, she looked as fresh as she had the previous morning in Harare. “I suspect you're looking for me.”

The inspector took the offered hand. He swallowed as he shook it. “Ma'am, I've been instructed…”

Abigail waved a hand dismissively. “I can imagine, inspector. You don't need to tell me. I'm on my way to the police station. Perhaps you'd like to follow us.”

The inspector seemed to be a reasonable man. If his orders were to bring her in, but she was going in of her own accord, there was nothing more to say. “All right, I'll drive behind you,” he told her. Then he added uncertainly, “You are going directly to the police station?”

“We have no other stops, inspector.”

In the car, Helena was sitting forward on the edge of the seat as was her way, her chin almost touching Yudel's shoulder. “Jesus, she's got style. I'll give her that. What are we going to do when we get there?”

“We're not going to do anything,” Yudel said. “Abigail's going to do it.”

*   *   *

Plumtree police station was housed in an old single-story building, and had not seen maintenance for many years. It had the spacious veranda, wide doors, big rooms and broad passages of those times, but it had never been much more than a fairly humble dwelling. Most of the guttering was missing, only the brackets intended to secure it remained in place. The result was a chain of shallow pools of water along the walls of the building. A wire fence of more than head-height surrounded the property. The police station was in the center of the loose scattering of shacks and old houses of which Plumtree consisted.

A line of four officers was waiting on the veranda. Yudel drove through the open gate and stopped the car in the unpaved parking area. In the rearview mirror he saw the police truck arriving, but they parked in the street outside. The car had barely stopped moving when Abigail was out and advancing on the four officers, briefcase in hand. “I need to speak to the commanding officer.” She approached them in the same businesslike manner she had used at the roadblock.

“I'm in charge,” a young officer said. He glanced in the direction of the other officers, but took a step back as she reached the veranda.

“Good. Let's go to your office.”

“This way,” he said, backing into the charge office.

Abigail feigned surprise. “You don't have your own office? You just told me that you're the officer in charge.”

“Look, ma'am. I have instructions…”

“Don't tell me about your instructions.” She was already taking the court order from her briefcase. “They don't interest me. Here is an instruction from the High Court.” She handed it to him.

The officers who had been on the veranda had followed them in. Two more were behind the counter. Yudel, with Helena following, was forcing his way between two officers.

The young officer was reading the court order, doing his best to look and sound like a man in authority. “Who says these people are here?” Around him his juniors frowned, their jaws clamped tight. They were, after all, the law in Plumtree.

Abigail did not seem to have noticed them. “I say so, Judge Mujuru says so, and Director Jonas Chunga of the
CIO
says so. By the way, are you Inspector Marenji?”

His retreat was sudden and complete. “Yes, I'm Marenji. I'll have to call the sergeant.”

Abigail adopted her surprised look. “You said you were in charge here.”

“I am, but the sergeant…”

Having seen the first signs of weakness, Abigail instinctively went on the attack. She pointed a finger at the officer. “Do you know what you're holding?”

“Yes, I understand…”

“Then deliver my clients to me immediately. This court order does not leave any room for you or your sergeant to make decisions on the matter.” Yudel was close behind her now, trying to look as angry and determined as Abigail sounded.

“Yes, I know, but my sergeant is the one who must decide.”

“There's a telephone number on that document. Call it and speak to Judge Mujuru.”

The inspector had probably never in his life addressed even a single word to a judge of the High Court. “My sergeant…” he said and let the thought trail away. To one of the officers behind the counter, he said, “Get Sergeant Mafuta on the line and tell him to come.”

The man started dialing the number. But Abigail was not yet through with the men of Plumtree police station. She waved a hand in a circular motion intended to take in all the men around her. “Do we need all these people in the room? Don't these officers have anything to do with their time?”

The number of officers in the room started to thin out immediately, apparently having decided that they did indeed have other things to do with their time. The officer at the counter succeeded in making contact with the sergeant. The young inspector took the phone from him. “She's got a court order, signed by Judge Mujuru, saying those prisoners must be released.”

Thank you, Abigail thought. At least you seem to understand.

Inspector Marenji hung up and looked worriedly at Abigail. “He's coming.”

“I hope this is not going to take too long,” she said.

The inspector's chin lifted noticeably. He looked straight into Abigail's eyes. “Look, ma'am. I've done my best. I've treated you with respect, and my sergeant is coming. I've done everything in my power. I can't do more.”

Having taken her authority act as far as it would go, Abigail turned to her other major weapon. She smiled and took a step closer to the inspector. “I know you have. Thank you for your efforts.”

“The sergeant lives close by, very close. He won't be long.”

From a corner of the room a radio crackled into life. “Plumtree. Come in, Plumtree.”

The sound of the voice was overlain with static and there was too much treble in the sound, but Abigail recognized Jonas Chunga's voice immediately. She tried to distract the young inspector. “Yes, I do appreciate what you're…”

But this time her intervention was not effective. “Excuse me,” the inspector said. “I have to get this.”

“Come in, please, Plumtree,” Chunga called again, the noise level rising around his voice.

“Plumtree here. Over.”

“Who's that? Who'm I speaking to?”

“Inspector Marenji here. Over.”

“Listen, inspector, this is Director Jonas Chunga of the
CIO.
I am well-known to your sergeant. You have…” The noise level rose again and engulfed what remained of the sentence.

“Bad reception?” Abigail suggested.

“It often happens. It just depends where you are. If you're in a dip, you sometimes lose contact.”

Out of the corners of her eyes Abigail saw Yudel moving forward. “What's its range?” The question sounded innocent, even to Abigail.

“Thirty, forty k's—no more than that.”

Twenty minutes, Abigail thought. Half an hour if we're lucky. The crackling from the radio started again. Maybe not as long as that, she thought.

“Plumtree, damn you…” And then Chunga's voice was gone again.

The inspector looked at the offending radio as if it were responsible for the problem. When he turned back to Abigail, his eyes widened. “Here's Sergeant Mafuta.”

The sergeant, a broad-shouldered man carrying far more weight than he should have been, was coming laboriously up the veranda steps. He paused to catch his breath. By now, the only other officers in the charge office, apart from the young inspector, were the two behind the counter. He went past Abigail to his inspector, and took Judge Mujuru's order from him.

Abigail could not know about his talking to Tony during the night, or how well he knew Tony. She saw him as the kind of African man she had known all her life, taking charge, sensitive about others invading their territory, wanting recognition, but equally ready to give it. She said nothing. It was just possible that this man might be an ally. But it was only a possibility. It would be a rare police sergeant who dared stand up to a
CIO
director.

Sergeant Mafuta read the court order. He spoke to the inspector. “Have you established the authenticity of this?”

“No, sir, I have not…”

“Phone the number of the judge's office and do it immediately.”

And how long will this take? Abigail wondered. Silence was now not possible. “Sergeant, my name is Abigail Bukula. I am an advocate of the South African High Court and a barrister of the Zimbabwean High Court. I…”

The sergeant looked sternly at her and held up a hand to stop the flow of words. “If this document is genuine, you may have your clients. This will not take long.”

“Thank you, sergeant.”

Behind the sergeant the two-way radio again burst into life with Chunga's voice. “Plumtree, come in immediately.”

The inspector started toward it, but the sergeant grabbed hold of an arm, stopping him. “And this?”

“It's Director Chunga. I think it's about these people.”

“Plumtree, where the hell are you?”

Sergeant Mafuta went to the radio and turned the volume down to zero. Chunga's demanding tones faded, then disappeared. He tapped the inspector on the chest with a thick finger. “The judge's office.”

“Sir.” The word was a verbal salute. The inspector keyed in the number of the judge's office. The sergeant's arms were folded across his chest. His face seemed to be puffed up by some inner pressure. “May I speak to Judge Mujuru?” the inspector said into the phone. “It's Inspector Marenji of Plumtree police station. I need to talk to him about some prisoners we're holding. He has issued an order for their release.” He turned to the sergeant. “They're calling him.” The sergeant nodded.

Abigail turned to look through the open double doors of the charge office. It gave them a good view of the police station yard and the dirt road beyond the fence. There was still no sign of the two
CIO
double-cabs. Could they possibly have been on their way to some other place? But the range of the radio was no more than thirty or forty kilometers, the inspector had said. Bulawayo was the nearest town, and it was over a hundred kilometers away.

“Good morning, sir. Inspector Marenji of Plumtree police station here. We are trying to verify the authenticity of a court order that has your signature on it.”

“Speakerphone,” the sergeant grunted. “I want to hear the old bastard.”

The inspector activated the speaker phone, and the judge's voice burst into the room. “… court order is this? When was it issued?”

The inspector told him. “Shall I read the names? Joyce Mawere, Petra Jones…”

“I know the matter,” the judge cut in. He cleared his throat. “This is a particularly delicate matter. I would appreciate you calling the office of Director Jonas Chunga of the Central…”

The pressure inside the sergeant seemed to have increased since he first heard the judge's voice. “Are you saying this court order is invalid, judge?” he roared.

“Who's this? Who's this? This is a different voice.”

“This is Sergeant Mafuta. All I want to know—is this a valid court order? Is this your signature?”

“Yes, yes. But I'm saying all I want you to do is…”

“I want to know if this order is valid, that's all.” The sergeant's chest was rising and falling with indignation. To Abigail he was reacting like a man from the Ndebele minority who had put up with too much from senior government people. “Did you issue it?”

“Yes, of course…”

“And have you issued another order countermanding it?”

“But what I'm saying is—this is a delicate matter. You should discuss it first with…”

The sergeant's voice dropped to a lower level. “I'm not a politician, judge. You've given me a court order, and I'm going to act on it.”

“I think it would be wise…”

“Goodbye, judge.”

“You need to consider the repercussions for your career.” The judge was trying without success to hide his anxieties.

The sergeant hung up. It could be that all his life he had considered too many repercussions, and that now it was impossible to consider any more of them. “Release the prisoners,” he said to the inspector.

The inspector took a step toward the entrance to a passage that led deeper into the building. “Shouldn't we call Director Chunga?”

The sergeant pointed toward the passage. “Get the prisoners.” He waved the court order. “This says they must be released. I've got nothing to do with the
CIO
.”