The Abacus Equation

by Peter Stremus

  Chapter 29

  They were met by Ian in the lobby.

  “I have just heard the news. Tragic. Something like that has not yet happened here. Such a tragic accident. The Somali police will be here at five. They want to question all of you.”

  “The Somali police? Isn't here a head of security in this place?” Pieter asked.

  Ian looked at him. “Head of security was Jonathan. He relieved his predecessor who returned some days ago to his home country. Regardless, the accident happened outside the borders of Abacus. With the Somali officials we have a gentleman's agreement that everything that happens inside our borders remains our business. Outside, they are leading the investigation. Of course we will give them all the support that they require. The last thing that I want now is trouble with the local police. Or worse, the army.”

  “I assume that the body has been taken to the hospital to define the cause of death?” Pieter asked.

  “Indeed and I expect quick results from the autopsy. For me it is quite obvious that he did not stand a chance in a stampede.”

  “That is a fact. But it does not mean it is the cause of death. A man like Jonathan does not let himself be killed by a bunch of cows. Francesca, may I ask your help again to take me to the hospital?”

  She looked at Ian who nodded: “of course, if you suspect that there is more going on here, by all means you need to look into it. I will alert the hospital that you are on your way and have to share all of their findings.”

  Iveta had returned in her role of personal assistant and was already on the phone with the hospital.

  “Pieter,” Jane started, “if you don't mind I will go and see my parents. They have not heard from me since last night and I don't want them to be too worried. Certainly not after this incident.” She pointed at her cheek and eye colouring a deep purple. “I'll see you later, ok?” She kissed him on the cheek and whispered: “be careful. Don't run into two ditches at a time. One is silly enough. And put on some fresh clothes, you smell like cow.”

  Ignoring the fresh clothes remark, he said to Francesca: “Thanks, let us leave immediately, we need to be back around five.”

  Ian, who had overheard Pieter's last sentence, shouted at them: “at five o'clock, not around five o'clock.”

  The hospital was a large building that appeared to be more sterile and functional than the rest of the architecture in Abacus. It did not differ from any other modern medical facility in the rest of the world. Except that it seemed to be deserted. A doctor and a nurse were already waiting in the hall when Francesca pulled up in front of the entrance.

  “I'll wait for you here.”

  “I'll be fine. I can take a taxi back to the hotel,” Pieter answered automatically. He had already taken enough of Francesca's time. “You said that you still had a bunch of work to do, I don't want to keep you from that.”

  “You will have to wait an awfully long time to grab a taxi. We don't have those here. That's why you need to make car reservations, I'll teach you as soon as possible how to do that. But you can ask dr. Kitwaela to take you to the hotel. I assume that he will also be asked to come at five to be questioned about his findings after the autopsy.'”

  Dr. Kitweala and the nurse, who simply introduced himself as Gordon, shook Pieter's hand and together they went to the cold morgue hidden in the cellar of the building.

  “As you can expect, I am afraid that there was little to find. The vital organs in the abdomen were crushed. Also his back showed severe trauma from being hit by legs and hoofs. Lungs and heart were undamaged, but a man needs more to stay alive. He also had fatal injuries on the left side of the head resulting in severe skull and brain damage. Frankly I am surprised he was still alive when they brought him to the farm.”

  “So you did not find any gunshot wounds?”

  “Gunshot? No. The body displayed the typical trauma from someone who has been caught in a stampede. Believe me; I have seen enough of these to know.”

  Pieter gave him a questioning look and Dr. Kitwaele explained: “I have not always worked here. I have been living in the Serengeti for years where I was a member of the flying doctors of Africa. Originally I am a Masai from Kenya. But from a young age I decided to heal instead of hunt or dance for tourists. So, why your question of a shot wound?”

  “I just cannot accept that Ian died because of a stupid accident. It is so unlike him.”

  Dr. Kitwaela answered with patience: “The African jungle is quite different from a military base. Each day stupid accidents happen, even with the local population. That is why they call it an accident.”

  He continued to look through his papers. “If there was foul play and he was shot in the abdomen, than there would be little hope to trace anything back. The wounds are far too severe for that.”

  “No gunpowder traces on shreds of clothes?”

  Dr. Kitwaela shook his head. “That's not my shop. That's for a forensic researcher and has to be ordered by the police inspector or Ian Summerton. We don't have the equipment for that kind of investigation. It has to be sent to Nairobi and I think that for the moment they have other worries”

  “What do you mean?” Pieter asked.

  “You haven't heard it yet? Kenya has proclaimed martial law after Ugandan troops have taken Kisumu. It is almost ironic that the traditional rogue state Somalia is keeping as one of the few its neutrality.”

  He put the file back on his desk. “That's it I think. I feel sorry for him. Just arrived and already ending up like this. Shall we now make our way to the hotel? Or is there anything else that you want to see or know?”

  Pieter looked at the body that was completely covered with a white cloth. “No, to see is not necessary. To know more, absolutely.”

  They left the hospital at the back side where on a large parking lot only a few cars were to be seen. “As you can notice we don't have that many ill people. Most of the patients are locals. Few have a car. From time to time we have a tourist who gets bitten by a snake or a scorpion. Quite honestly, the most common illness is a tourist's dehydration caused by excessive alcohol intake during a safari. Very exciting”

  A couple of minutes before five o'clock, Dr. Kitwaele and Pieter entered the lobby together with an elderly man and two policemen. The old man did not wear a uniform, but a simple dark suit and a starch-white shirt. He did not wear any rings, watch or bracelets. This in contrast with the two policemen, whose heavy gold watches and wrist chains drew everyone's attention. Dr. Kitwaele greeted the old man and shook his hand long. Apparently a joke was told because the four men started to laugh.

  Pieter decided that they had neglected him long enough and squeezed himself in the group. “Pieter Van Dyck. And you are?”

  The man let loose of the doctor's hand and took the one from Pieter in a short and powerful grip. His face was no longer laughing. “My name is Abdi.”

  “Abdi?” Pieter expected an “Abdi, James Abdi” answer but that did not come.

  “Indeed. Mister Abdi. I am the chief police inspector for this district.”

  Precisely at five, Ian entered the lobby and went straight to Abdi.

  “Welcome Mr. Abdi. How are the grandchildren? I have heard that they are among the best of their class.” Also here Ian's talent to inject a personal note in his greetings did not miss its effect.

  Abdi's eyes lightened proudly. “Indeed, Mr. Ian. Both the boy and the girl are doing very well. They will have a great future.”

  Ian took Abdi gently by the shoulder and let him politely go first into the small meeting room at the back of the reception area.

  Pieter sat opposite Abdi and took a close look at the inspector. He was a small, fragile man with a dark furrowed face and grey short frizzy hair. His hands shook slightly when he slowly took a pair of reading glasses from their black leather case and put it carefully on his nose. He thumbed for minutes, without saying a word, through the file that one of the policemen had spread in front of him. Pieter could not estimate the man's ag
e. The fact that he apparently was already a grandfather did not necessarily imply he was of an old age. He had to find out via Ian once the man had gone back.

  Abruptly Abdi looked up from below his reading glasses pulling Pieter away from his thoughts. The eyes of the man were sharp and vivid. It made Pieter conclude that in the worn out body there housed a young mind.

  “Zo, meneer Van Dyck,” he spoke with the correct Dutch pronunciation. “Would you mind telling me how good you knew the victim?” His English was perfect.

  “I have known Jonathan for about three years. He was the commander in chief of the American naval base at Diego Garcia. I lived about hundred miles away on one of the other islands in the Indian Ocean. We met about once a week. Sometimes he came to stay at my place, with some of the others who were stationed there. Mostly we met on the base because I needed supplies. He was an outstanding serviceman, who hated paperwork and computers. However, I misjudged his dislike of computers taking the events from the past days into account.”

  Pieter stared at Ian, but he was just helping a waitress carrying a service tray with a pot of tea and some small cups.

  “Mister Abdi, I cannot believe that Jonathan has died just like that.”

  “And why do you think so? I understood from Mr. Ian that you did not end as friends. Actually that you were quite upset about what he did to you and your fellow travellers. Apparently you did not know your friend that well.”

  “Maybe. And yes, I was not in a good mood when I found out about his role. But I would not kill him for that reason, if that is what you want to suggest. And, since Ian painted me the big picture I understood why he acted the way he did.”

  “It is not because we understand the why that we accept the how,” Abdi answered, suddenly adding: “why were you so fast to run back to the place of the accident?”

  “First of all, I was not fast. And I just followed my first reaction. Maybe there was a chance to find something before the returning herd destroyed all possible evidence.”

  “So you believe that we are not capable to conduct a proper investigation?”

  A bit annoyed Pieter answered: “nooo, I believed that you would never be able to arrive on time to that place before the herd had returned. By the way, did you find anything?”

  “Mister Van Dyck, you know very well that I cannot tell you that. Not as long as the investigation is ongoing. It is not because you are currently in the middle of nowhere that we don't adhere to the processes of investigation and justice. So, allow me to bounce that question back to you. Did you find something?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes I did,” Pieter said while he pulled out his mobile phone from his pocket. He scrolled through the menu and showed one of the pictures he had taken of the pastures. Mr. Abdi held the device at arm's length and studied the small screen.

  “I suggest that we download that picture onto one of your computers so you can properly check the details.”

  “That is indeed a good suggestion” Abdi answered. He said something to one of the officers who opened a laptop. “My assistant will upload the pictures to our computer.”

  Pieter poked him triumphantly, on the edge of being provocative: “I am sure that your people did not find that, right? Or those of yours, Ian?”

  Abdi looked at Ian who nodded unnoticeably. Abdi made a sign to the other policeman who took a small plastic bag out of a cardboard box. Abdi threw the small bag in front of Pieter on the table.

  Dr. Kitwaela shouted: “really!”

  Pieter took the bag and looked closely at the large copper shell. In the meadow he had spotted one, glistering in the sun in a spur and had quickly taken some pictures.

  “A serious calibre,” he finally said.

  “You know something about weapons?”

  “No, actually I don't. But I can distinguish whether the shell contained a small or a big bullet. And that looks like a really big thing.”

  “To be precise, it is a point forty five. Before the First World War very popular in this region during the English colonisation. They were liked because it provided protection against attacking natives. Does it look familiar to you?”

  “No, the only ammunition that I have seen was in the weapons used on Diego and those were certainly not that big. Do you believe now that Jonathan has been shot first?”

  Abdi did not answer but moved his attention towards dr. Kitwaela: “why did you just now yelled really?”

  “Because Mr. Van Dyck asked me specifically whether I had found any bullet wounds on the body. Or whether there were traces of gunpowder in the wounds or on the clothes.”

  “And were there?”

  “The body was too traumatised to tell with certainty whether or not a fire arm had been used on him. On the less affected parts of the body I can be formal that no bullet impact or other suspicious wounds could be found. Concerning the investigation of the clothes for spurs, that is up to you to decide, Mr. Abdi.”

  “Precisely,” Abdi answered and started to study the file again. There was a silence in the meeting room which was interrupted by Ian: “another cup of tea, Mr. Abdi?”

  He answered with a big smile: “yes please, the tea here is the best of Somalia,” and added in the same breath: “I have no further questions for you, Mister Van Dyck. Neither for you, doctor. I will study your medical report at home tonight. I thank you.”

  He stood up but Pieter protested: “but I have further questions, Mr. Abdi.”

  Abdi smiled affably: “that will have to wait, Mr. Van Dyck. We have other people to interrogate. May I assume that you will be staying for a while?”

  “Well yes, but...”

  “Than it is arranged,” interrupted Ian. “Pieter, we can come back to the subject later tonight, but now we have to let Mr. Abdi do his work.”

  Pieter left the room with Dr. Kitwaela. They shook hands at the glass sliding door of the entrance. “See you later. I am sure we will meet again - soon.”

  “I am afraid so,” Pieter answered. “Before I forget, have you already met a Miss Oona De la Fayette?”

  Kitwaela was thinking: “no, but I had expected her today in the hospital. As far as I know she did not turn up.”

  “Ok, well, thanks again for the ride.”

  A heavy black pick-up stopped before the entrance door and missed Kitwaela by a whisker. From the car descended a familiar figure who, with wide open steps, made his way across the lobby to the meeting room.

  From the corner of his eye Pieter saw the large heavy revolver hanging. Now he remembered where he had seen those shells before.

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