The Abacus Equation

by Peter Stremus

  Chapter 33

  Although traffic signs alerted drivers for two kilometres that the smooth ride would soon be over, the tidy asphalt road still ended abruptly. It took Pieter by surprise. He slowly slalomed between the many pits and pot-holes in what was supposed to be a road. Left and right grew some bushes with thick thorns in which small birds apparently had found a way not to spear themselves. Pieter knew the typical dry savannah only from documentaries seen on National Geographic. Some skinny camels and goats grazed at the dry grass that grew in patches in the arid reddish soil. The picture was quite a contrast compared with the big healthy cattle moving around the dark green meadows.

  Pieter looked at the display that gave his exact position. Soon he should see the dusty ruins of some long deserted settlement. According to the directions provided by Ian, that is where an even smaller road would lead to the village of inspector Abdi.

  The broken mud walls of some houses built around a destroyed tower appeared right of the the road. Pieter slowed down to almost waling speed not to miss the turn to the village. Ian had told him that from time to time there was a traffic sign. But that disappeared regularly or kids turned it into the wrong direction.

  This time he got lucky. On a crooked pole a sign was mounted with Somali and Arab writings. Although Pieter could not understand any of it, it was for him the indication to turn onto the small road. The road became narrower and narrower, with two deep tracks from cart wheels. It looked as if this road was not often used by modern transportation. Slowly he continued zigzagging till he reached the first small houses of a village. It was remarkable that although the building style was classic, the houses were spacious and well kept. Most of the huts had solar panels and occasionally he could see the external unit of an air-conditioning.

  Pïeter increased his speed cautiously as the road became wider again. He had to take care not to receive a goat or pig under his wheels. He stopped in what he assumed to be the centre of the village. Some children on their way to school came curiously standing around him as he parked the car at the village square. Small stalls with fruits and vegetables, clothes and kitchen utensils were frequented by colourfully dressed women. A man yelled at the children who ran to a narrow gate and disappeared in the school building. The man waved and smiled and said something incomprehensible. Pieter smiled and waved friendly back till the man disappeared behind the gate and entered the class room without doors or windows. He heard a class chanting a prayer to start the day.

  He stepped towards the largest building of the square. A discoloured Somali flag hung from a pole. Some jeeps were parked nicely in front of the staircases. Either someone had just washed them or they were not used very often. Ian had described the building as a mixture of townhouse, administrative centre, bank, post office, central bus stop and police headquarters. Pieter entered via the open double door and came in a dark, stale smelling corridor. Some people sat on a bench along the wall, solemnly holding in their hands official papers. A bunch of small children played with flat pebbles on the floor. Above the doors there were wooden plaques with hand painted texts which did not give away their meaning to Pieter. A nervous man carrying a bundle of files rushed out of one of the doors. Pieter tackled him and asked: “inspector Abdi?”

  The man pointed at the rickety stairs and gestured to mount it. He disappeared into another door.

  The corridor above was darker and staler than the one downstairs. It reminded Pieter of a deserted school corridor with left and right classes. On her knees, a chubby woman was scrubbing the floor.

  “Mister Abdi?” Pieter asked her.

  She looked up with her sweating face and pointed at the other side of the corridor. In broken yet clear English she said proudly: “Mister Abdi is left. Last door.”

  Pieter knocked but nobody answered. He entered into the smoked office where men patted on old fashioned typewriters. It reminded him on how Hollywood wanted us to imagine a NYPD office from the nineteen thirties. In the corner of the room stood a computer, nicely protected with a plastic cover. Next to it he saw Abdi sitting. He was looking outside the window and observed the crowd on the square. Pieter concluded that the man must have seen him arriving. He might have had the courtesy to meet him halfway.

  “Mister Abdi?”

  Abdi looked up and smiled. Pieter thought: “finally a smile. Now I must be one of the good ones.”

  “Thank you, Mister Van Dyck to be so kind as to pick me up here in our little village. I am ready, we can go now.”

  He put some files under his arm and stepped speedily outside.

  On the square Abdi was greeted and spoken to by practically everyone so it took a while before they arrived at the car. Abdi took his time. Especially when he was approached by some young women who giggled and pointed at Pieter. He said something and they burst out in laughter, leaving arm in arm but regularly looking behind them.

  “What was that all about? What did you tell them?” Pieter inquired. He did not like it to be the laughing stock.

  “Those girls? Oh, they were only interested whether you were rich and single. In that order of importance.”

  “So what did you answer? They thought it was very funny.”

  “They are looking for a good catch. Preferably an old man who has a lot of money and will die soon. For us it is difficult to estimate the right age of a white person. You could well be their grandfather. On the other hand they promised you to give you a good last couple of years."”

  “You're not even close,” Pieter answered insulted.

  Abdi continued to wave at people as they left the village.

  “Ian convinced me to include you in this investigation. Normally I refuse that. But since you are not a police man, but only a journalist, I have agreed. This time. I can imagine that Ian wants to get answers soon. And apparently he thinks highly of you. Let us start with going over the list of people who have seen Jonathan the last hours of his life. Than we can reconstruct his day.”

  He went through the file, his arms lifting up and down when Pieter could not avoid bumping into a pot-hole.”

  “If your ability to think is as good as your ability to drive, than I will prefer to work alone after all. At least it will be a lot healthier.”

  Pieter did not answer and drove deliberately in a deep pit making the suspension crack dangerously. Abdi heaved a sigh in disbelief.

  “After the meeting with Ian in which he was informed about his new role, Jonathan left the hotel. A patrol car was waiting for him, driven by a Randy Gonzales. He brought Jonathan to his first appointment, with Vladimir Tikhonova. He is one of Ian's right hands. According to Randy's testimony that meeting lasted for about an hour and then they made their way to the head office where Jonathan had a lunch meeting with his staff. That is where he got a call from Jonathan to say that he was going to spend the whole afternoon with his team and to pick him up at six. Yet, after the lunch the receptionists claimed that they have seen Jonathan walking outside and getting into a car.”

  “Signal mobile phone?”

  “No, no signal since he left the hotel. The receptionist remembered that Jonathan asked for a charger for his mobile phone. Apparently he had misplaced his charger and the battery was dead.”

  Pieter shook his head: “that is not fitting Jonathan's profile. He might have had a dislike for administration but he was a maniac when it concerned his mobile phone. He was one of those people who always wanted to be reachable. I remember that even on the flight he asked Karum whether there was a socket. At that time he had the charger in his hand.”

  “And was there a power outlet?”

  “Yes. As far as I can remember Karum took care of it.”

  Pieter thought for a moment: “Was there a signal when we landed?”

  Abdi searched through his papers. “Yes, the signal disappeared from the one and only cell in Abacus at exactly five twenty three yesterday morning.”

  Abdi went silent for a moment: “We did find his mobile in one of hi
s trousers. It was switched off. There was nothing weird about it. All calls had been made from Diego Garcia and the last roaming came from the Maldives. He has not used the phone ever since the moment he landed here. And then it switched off.”

  “Switched off after a whole night of charging in an airplane? No, I don't believe that.”

  “He might have switched it off manually. There is an off button you know.”

  “At that hour? A bizarre time to switch off your phone. Knowing Jonathan he probably had gone to bed on time to make sure he did not miss the meeting with Ian. And furthermore, he had a breakfast appointment with Oona. One more reason not to oversleep. But that was a word not in Jonathan's dictionary."

  “Did he have something going on with Oona De la Fayette?”

  “No certainly not. I am sure about that.”

  “And how can you be so sure?”

  “Well, I cannot. I just know it, I have no clue why. No, they did not have a thing going on. I suspect that Oona was seeing another guy, a Bruno Castellini. But it could not have been that serious since she is here alone.”

  Abdi seemed to doze off over his papers when he suddenly put out his hand and shouted: “turn here! Let's pay Kik a visit.”

  Startled Pieter steered the car away from the road and they drove in a dust cloud over the savannah, from time to time tearing away the solitary bushes. To his surprise they suddenly arrived at a large fence. Behind the fence he could see a large grass field surrounding an impressive farm house. The gate was guarded by three men wearing the uniform of a private security firm. When they saw Abdi's head appearing through the window, they hurried to open the gate. Abdi nodded friendly to the three men as they drove up to the estate.

  “So this is Kik's modest shed?” Pieter asked.

  He did not have to wait long for an answer. Kik was already rushing out of the house. With open legs and arms in fists at his hips he stopped waiting for the car to come closer.

  Kik did not make it into a secret that he was not pleased with the unannounced visit. Even before they stepped out of the car he already was shouting: “Abdi. Still no arrests?”

  “Mister Von Wielligh,” Abdi answered cleverly, “was it not an unlucky accident with your sweet little cows? At least that was yesterday's testimony if I can believe my own notes. Can we come in? I would like to cover a couple of points with you.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  He turned around and went ahead of his visitors into the house and took a seat on the large covered patio. The ebony furniture was rough and hand made. The wooden deck gave a panoramic view over the vast savannah. At the horizon Pieter thought he saw some giraffes searching for high trees and their foliage. A slim woman in colourful, European, clothes and decorated with numerous bracelets, came swinging to the men and served without asking each a cup of tea.

  Kik looked at Pieter.

  “So you are present also. Who were you again?”

  A bit disturbed he answered: “My name is Pieter Van Dyck. I help Mister Abdi with his investigation.”

  “More people looking over the shoulder, just what we need. I have recently told Ian again that he has to stop running his project as a consultant. We need entrepreneurs now. Abacus is full of theorists and I cannot even find one person who has ever milked a cow.”

  Abdi placed the cup carefully back on the table. The small tick was enough for the woman, who had moved away to the other side of the patio, to stand up and replenish his cup.

  The men drank in silence. The heat was physically present and a soft breeze created mini whirlwinds tossing up dust, leaves and small branches. Pieter looked in fascination to this little spectacle.

  Suddenly Kik said: “it will soon rain. It's about time.”

  Abdi nodded in agreement: “we can certainly use some good rain. It has been very, very dry till now.”

  Pieter examined the clear blue sky. Apart from the breeze there were neither clouds nor anything else that indicated a forthcoming weather change. The two gentlemen probably felt it in their knees or other worn out joints.

  Abdi put the box that he had taken with him from the office on his lap. He drummed with his fingers on the lid and passed it on to Kik.

  “It is your revolver. Our analysis confirmed your testimony that you have not used the weapon for weeks, if not for months.”

  “Of course not, Abdi. You know very well that I carry this thing out of folklore. And just a little bit as a sign that I am not to be fooled with. Did you really believe that I would bet my life on a piece of iron that is over a century old? I don't think so.”

  He put his heavy booth on the table and rolled up his cotton trousers. On his muscled calve a pistol was attached that smoothly slid out a special holster. Kik removed the magazine from the grip and opened the bullet chamber by pulling the slide. With the opened slide he put the gun on the table and gave the magazine to Abdi.

  “This is the one I depend on and you may examine it also. Shot a cobra with it yesterday, it is very precise.”

  Abdi did not even bother to look.

  “I cannot explain the shell that was found near Jonathan's last place. It does point loud and clear into your direction and your weapon's.”

  Abdi fiddled out of the file another piece of paper. “This is the analysis of the shell. Your fingerprint is very prominent on the shell.”

  Kik was amused: “someone believes that I am a real idiot.”

  “Or someone plays games because that someone knows that every single trace will be investigated,” Pieter interfered, “if one creates enough dead end traces, the investigators will get lost and loose valuable time.”

  “Do you know anyone who has a similar weapon?” Abdi continued.

  Kik shook his head. “There is no doubt that it is one of my shells. I have them made especially for me in England and I assemble the bullets myself. Shells are easy to import. Bullets have the tendency to disappear when coming into the country.”

  “So who has been in your house and had access to bullets or shells?” Pieter wondered.

  “That's a difficult one to answer. A bunch of people come and go in this house every day. Tens of them, easily. People from the farm, my security staff or Ranja's family.” He pointed at the woman. “But than again. All is behind locks. Let me show you.”

  They stood up and went to his office. From his pocket he pulled a bunch of keys, searched for a particular one and unlocked the door to a small, windowless, workshop. There were cupboards with different guns and rifles. Some shields and spears in flashy colours hung against the walls. A work bench containing precision tooling stood in the middle of the room, leaving about a meter around to manoeuvre.

  “This is where I make my own stuff and experiment with new kinds of ammunition. As Abdi knows I am a rather keen hunter for big game. Especially crocodiles are not my best friends. The robots have difficulties in detecting them. In that case, nothing beats a good old fashioned patrol.”

  Pieter took some of the lead bullets with different points. “Do you also make full metal jackets?”

  “No, that is too difficult. You really need other tools than a mould and a burner. And why would I need it? A lead bullet penetrates the armoured skin of a crock and I know that there will be no chance for survival. A full metal jacket may have a higher penetration power, but will just make a small hole and the crock will still angrily attack me. And that is something that I don't really like. No, I need unfaltering stopping power.”

  Abdi looked through the enforced glass of one of the closets. “When is the last time you went on a safari or hunt. And who was there also?”

  “That must have been a week ago? Yes, some new people from Ian's staff had arrived and they wanted to organise a safari before work caught up with them again.”

  “What kind of ammunition do you normally use at a safari like that?”

  “Depends, mostly a mixture. Point thirty eight, point forty. Even point nine if we want to shoot birds.”

  “Also
the same calibre as your revolver?”

  “Similar, yes. Can I have a look at that shell you found?”

  Abdi pulled up the small plastic bag again. Kik checked it from all sides: “what I suspected. This is not the ammunition of my Webley.”

  He opened a drawer in the workbench and tipped over a box of bullets. Randomly he picked one and gave it to Abdi. “You see the collar here? It is thinner for the Webley. I need to slice the collar slightly to make them fit into the cylinder. The other bullets have a somewhat thicker collar and are used for these guns.” Kik searched for another key and opened one of the closets. He threw a heavy looking rifle at Pieter who grasped for breath when the weapon hit his chest.

  “Here catch. That's one to stop elephants, hippo's, buffalo and rhino. Animal is dead before it hits the ground.”

  Abdi looked at Pieter. “You might be right. Now we not only have additional weapons to check. We also have received a whole lot of new suspects whom we need to interrogate. And that all because of a shell that we cannot place.”

  He addressed Kik: “can you provide me with the names of the people present at your last safari?”

  “Sure. I never thought this admin shit would come in handy.” He rummaged in another drawer and opened a pile of papers that were tied together with a piece of string. “Let me have a look, that list must be on top of this pile. Yes, here it is. It contains signatures and everything.”

  Kik handed over a crumpled up piece of paper with about fifteen names and their signatures beside them.

  “It is the accident waiver. Standard process. But I need to have my paperwork done for our administrative mill, right, Mister Abdi?”

  Abdi pulled a face in agreement, “it has indeed become a true paper mill. But since each year a dozen of trigger happy tourists shoot each other, we need to be covered towards their embassies who still believe we are a bunch of savages."

  Meanwhile his eyes flashed over the names, humming with surprise and pulling up his eye brows.

  “Interesting companions you had that day, Mister Von Wielligh. We will no longer keep you. Thanks for your time and hospitality. Say hello to Ranja and don't forget to tell her that her tea is still the best in Somalia.”

  “Don't we need to confiscate those weapons?” Pieter asked as they stepped outside.

  “No, that will not be necessary. Let us now quickly go to the hotel. That tea has wetted my appetite and I am already looking forward to one of those delicious lunches.”

  Back on the main road, Pieter pulled out his mobile phone from his shirt pocket and checked the signal. The four little boxes confirmed that he was within reach of the powerful antenna of Abacus. He put the mobile to his ear.

  Abdi looked up from the list with names and wiggled his finger in alarm. “It is not because we are here in Africa that there are no traffic rules. You are not allowed to drive and be on the telephone at the same time. I will have to fine you. And I must warn you, those fines are serious.” He took a small book and licked his pencil.

  Under protest Pieter produced his hands-free adapter and plugged the small microphone in his ear.

  “Hi Oona, this is Pieter. Where are you now?”

  “Hi Pieter. I am with Doctor Kitwaela in the lab. We have improvised as good as possible to examine some tissue samples for traces of lead, burns or gunpowder. All results are negative. I think we can conclude with a high level of certainly that Jonathan has not been shot. And that it must have been a tragic accident.”

  “Thanks. That's all I wanted to know. But I don't agree with your last conclusion.”

  He pushed the phone off. “Doctor Kitwaela's report has been confirmed by Oona de La Fayette. No traces of bullets.”

  Abdi nodded: “that is also the reason why we did not need to confiscate Kik's small army. The shell had been used a couple of days ago. And I have to be very mistaken if the name of the murderer is not staring at me from this piece of paper.”

  He tapped confidently on the list, made himself comfortable in the humming car and dozed off.

  Pieter parked the car in front of the hotel and shook Abdi awake. He opened his eyes that immediately turned sharp. “Ha, lunch. What a powernap can do for an old man. I suggest you adopt the same habit, Pieter. You will feel younger. You may even be considered as a good match by our African women.”

  Although it was still early, some families with small children had already taken place in the restaurant. Pieter and Abdi took the same corner from Pieter's last night solitary dinner. The same waiter came with the menu; he greeted cordially Abdi who inquired who the chef was today.

  “It is Mister Guido, Mister Abdi.”

  “Aha, Guido Lacroix,” Abdi exclaimed enthusiastically. “Very well, my good man. Tell Mister Guido that Mister Abdi is here and would commit murder to taste his famous grilled Tilapia. And you may bring me a glass of your dry white wine.”

  “You can double that order, will make life easier for you,” Pieter added.

  “Back to our case,” Abdi said hawkishly. “Here we have fifteen names. And it includes some interesting ones....”

  “Cabdikarum Sucri, our good Doctor Kitwaela, Vince Smith,...”

  “Who is Vince Smith?” Pieter asked.

  “He is Francesca Venti's boy friend, I think you have actually seen him yesterday at the border. He had service that day.”

  “A big guy with a dark full beard?”

  “Precisely, that is him. Than there is Robert Holden. He was the former head of security. It was well known that he would leave within the week. So for him it might have been a kind of a farewell party. Smith was always in the neighbourhood of Holden. It was for everyone obvious that he wanted to succeed him. And I cannot blame him. Smith has worked to get promoted for more than four years and someone from a god forgotten island is bumped above you and shatters your dream.”

  Pieter looked sideways at the list: “who is Marsha King?”

  “Marscha King is Vladimir Tikhonova's personal assistant. She arrived a couple of days before. Probably to arrange a couple of things before Vladimir's arrival. He has a rather big ego. On the other hand he is one of the driving forces behind Abacus.”

  A loud, deep voice vibrated from the restaurant. “Welcome, welcome again, Mister Abdi. It is my honour to have you here again. It's good to see you in such a good health. I have prepared especially for you my Tilapia à la façon du chef.

  With a theatrical gesture he placed the two plates in front of Pieter and Abdi. Irritated he snapped his fingers to the two waiters in his wake to make them pour the wine faster and serve a series of additional dishes, salads and sauces.

  Abdi clapped his hands like a happy child and complimented the chef in his local language. The cook replied in the same language, accepted the compliments humbly and returned, bowing backwards, to the kitchen.

  Abdi sniffed at his dish and visibly enjoyed the mixture of aromas. “I have a tremendous admiration for people who at least attempt to learn our language and in the meantime can create such great food.”

  “Next person?” Pieter asked, ignoring deliberately the hint.

  “That would be Jan Von Wielligh, Kik's brother. And below him is....” he tasted loudly from the grilled fish. “This is an absolute delicacy.”

  Abdi started all over again: “below Jan Von Wielligh stands, interesting, Randy Gonzales. The driver who toured Jonathan around that day. Than there is Rick Steward, a doctor in quantum physics. Niels Pedersen is one of the new engineers on the farm. Sia Pedersen-Stockholm is his wife, if I am not mistaken. Mario Delprez works as a bio-mechanical engineer on the water purification and production. Holger Bein leads the research team to optimize batteries in the energy research centre. Kasper Grotto is a well known researcher on laser applications. Don't ask me too much about it, I did not understand a lot about it. And look, our good chef was there too. We might grill him later.”

  Abdi laughed loudly with his own joke: “grill, you get it? Anyway, I would like to have anothe
r glass of white wine.”

  He beckoned the waiter who topped up his glass.

  “Why don't you read further, Pieter. I want to enjoy this good food.”

  “And drinks,” Pieter thought. He continued aloud: “the next on the list is Doran Szappanova.”

  “The little Doran. A programmer at the computer headquarters.”

  “The last but one is Emma Vandenbergh.”

  “A Dutch nurse. Apparently she is good friends with Doctor Kitwaela.

  “And finally the last one is Gordon McNeal.”

  “We stay in medical circles. He is the assistant of Kitwaela. I did not realize that those doctors and nurses were that blood thirsty. I hope to stay out of their hands for a while.”

  Again he laughed with his own remark.

  “A pretty extensive list of possible suspects. I suggest we spend the afternoon to trace them and talk to them.”

  “The question is how and where we can find these people.”

  “That should not be a problem.”

  Abdi produced a smartphone from his pocket and after a couple of minutes, during which his reading glasses went up and down, he looked contently at the display. “Abacus has its own white pages on line. You can find everyone. So, you can start.”

  He passed the telephone on to Pieter and continued peacefully with his meal, only interrupted by some approving little noises.

  Guido came back to check whether all was according to their wishes. Pieter invited him to take place at their table.

  “Have you already heard about the accident with Jonathan Stratford?” Pieter asked.

  “Who hasn't? Everyone is talking about it. This is like a small village, news travels very fast.”

  He leaned forward to Abdi and Pieter: “the rumour goes that he has been murdered. I assume that is the reason why you are digging into this case, right?”

  “That is indeed the case, my dear friend. But we first have to find out whether he has been murdered or whether he is the victim of an unfortunate accident. That still remains to be seen. In each case, we want to talk to all of the people on this list.”

  Curiously Guido peeked at the list. “I recognize that piece of paper. It is the mandatory waiver when you go on a safari with Kik. He calls it his alibi in case one of use gets devoured by a lion. But why exactly that list? I don't see the connection and should I be worried?”

  “We have found a shell close to the place where Jonathan got trampled. That shell has been put there to direct us into Kik's direction because he is the only one with this kind of bullets. The shell does not fit his revolver but does fit in a couple of his rifles that have been used during the hunt that day.”

  “Kik is a lout. An unmannered boer, but he certainly would not kill anyone. Give someone a good beating, yes.”

  “Did you notice anything special during that safari?”

  “It was a very pleasant party, I remember that. At the end we have all come together in Kik's ranch. I have cooked together with Ranja. She is a very good cook, I have to say.”

  Guido stared beside Pieter and Abdi. It was not clear whether he was still thinking about the question or he was mentally again enjoying Ranja's cooking art.

  “Nothing out of the ordinary comes to my mind. We had a fantastic day; everyone had the opportunity to shoot. Even with the heavy calibres. I recall that Marsha had a painful shoulder because of the recoil. She handled the weapon quite clumsily but on the other hand she was the one who shot a buffalo. She was very proud of herself. But also Sia and the nurse, I cannot remember her name, have been shooting. I have deboned the buffalo on the spot and returned to Kik's house to prepare it for that evening. I did not want to have it covered under the flies. So I filled the ice boxes and returned with one of the jeeps.”

  “Anything else?” Abdi continued to drill down.

  “Kik had brought some spears and we organised a little competition. Precision and distance.”

  “And who won?” Pieter asked.

  “That is quite easy to guess, Doctor Kitwaela of course. Kik was not too pleased with the result because he is always the one claiming that he can kill an animal like the Masai and that he does not need a gun. He took it personally and it lead that evening to a hefty discussion after Kik had a whiskey too much. Kitwaela left the party after that. That was the only incident, if one can call it an incident, that day. Look, there they are.”

  Abdi and Pieter saw Oona and Kitwaela making their way to the terrace via the swimming pool. Abdi put his hand in the air to invite them to the table.

  “If it continues like this than we don't even have to go on the road to talk to the people. They all come to us spontaneously,” Abdi remarked.

  Guido shook the hand of Kitwaela and kissed courteously the one from Oona. Pieter had to agree that she had gradually changed while being here. The stern military appearance of her tightly knotted hair had made place for free hanging dark curls. With difficulty Guido tore himself away from her hand and disappeared again in the kitchen, but not without insisting that she should come back often. The waiter arrived as usual with the menu.

  “Dr. Kitwaela, we have a couple of questions for you. More specifically about the safari you attended some weeks ago. I understood that your evening ended in a minor key?”

  “Minor may be a bit exaggerated. Kik started to behave a bit unpleasantly and I decided to leave and go back home. The next day I had surgery scheduled, so I could do with an early evening. He was drunk, that's all. And than his frustrations appear to the surface.”

  “Where were you yesterday between ten AM and two PM?”

  “I must have been at the airport. A patient was flown in and I had to collect him.”

  “And that took four hours?”

  “The plane had an unexpected delay. Something with the landing gear. The tower for one or another reason was not aware of that. Sometimes their communication is really bad.”

  “Were you with someone else?”

  “I was there with the ambulance driver, Jason Blond. We cleaned up the small infirmary at the airport and did some paperwork.”

  “Are you aware that Oona tried to call you several times?”

  “In the meantime yes. I had left my mobile phone at home and only picked up my messages that evening.”

  “A bit strange for a doctor who needs to be available all the time to forget his mobile.”

  “Well, I was not the doctor on call. Besides that, we have our own internal communication system in case of an emergency. It works alongside GSM so we are not dependent on it.” He showed Pieter the small device attached to his belt.

  “She also talked to Gordon who promised to pass the message. Would he not have used that beeper to alert you?”

  “The process is that we only use the beeper as you call it, in real emergencies. Confirming or forgetting a meeting does not reside under the emergencies.”

  “Coming back to the incident with Kik that evening. Maybe you were looking for revenge to let the anger out?” Pieter asked.

  Kitwaele looked puzzled at Pieter and tried to find support with Abdi. The latter explained: “we still have no clue why and how that shell got in the meadow. That is why Pieter has been nagging all along about a shot wound."

  “So how should I ever get that shell over there?”

  “We are talking to everyone. Maybe Gordon has placed it there?”

  “Gordon may from time to time act strangely, but I vouch for my team's reliability.” Kitwaele was clearly getting emotional.

  “Did you know that Gordon and Emma have something going on?”

  Kitwaela looked surprised: “no, I did not know that and honestly I doubt it.”

  Abdi laughed, “Well, now you know it and please no longer doubt it. You see, everyone has their little secrets. But good for now, we need to get going urgently. Bon appetit. Guido's grilled tilapia is a small wonder of the world. So is the white wine.”

  He jumped up and paced to the lobby. Pieter tried to follow hi
m: “who is next in line to interrogate?”

  “Vince Smith. He is high on the list of suspects.” Abdi answered. “You know, maybe it is better if I stay here.” Abdi pointed towards the darkening sky. “We will be in the middle of a shower. I suggest that you seek out Vince. In the meantime I will check whether Marsha King is available.”

  A sharply aligned bolt followed by a rattling thunderclap announced a curtain of rain. Pieter saw how Oona and Kitwaela quickly picked up their plates and fled inside.

  “How did you know about Gordon and Emma?”

  “Pure coincidence. A couple of days ago I was in the hospital with my grandchildren for their inoculations. I just happened to be on the right place at the right moment and saw Gordon and Emma in a posture that was difficult to misinterpret. A bit of luck in my business never hurts. So let me see what miss King has to say. Send me your report tonight. Here is my card with my e-mail.”

  Pieter took the card. “Oh yes, before I forget,” Abdi continued, “here is your fine for driving and calling at the same time. On the back you will find instructions how to transfer the money.”

  * * *