The Lollipop Flew Away: Detective Mike Sanse # 1 (Mike Sanse series)

by Anthony Mugo

  “That is right.”

  “At what time did you arrive at Gitonga’s?”

  “I didn’t check time on arrival. I left Ikeno bar at a quarter past eight.” Jimia increased volume on the radio. “I stopped at the gas station to fuel and check pressure.”

  “What did you see on arrival?”

  “It was total confusion. Everyone was running and shouting.”

  “How many people were there?”

  “Three, maybe four,” Jimia said. “There was Elizabeth and some neighbours trying to force entry through the front door. It wouldn’t budge. We gained access into the house through the back door which stood ajar. Bob lay in a coma a few meters from the door. I should have taken him seriously.”

  “Exactly where was the hammer?”

  “Bob was gripping it.”

  “Was he gripping it or was it nearby?”

  “You heard me.”

  Jimia pulled up outside First Mercantile Bank. “I hope I helped.”

  “You did.”

  Chapter 7

  Sanse went to First and Last Bar. He sat at the counter and ordered for a glass of Medusa. He had been to similar joints half a dozen times. The joints were the first-stop for anyone who was after anything alcoholic that went for the least price possible. They were the last-stop for those who valued etiquette. The air was stuffy. Caricatures graced the soiled walls; of a woman with a man on a leash; of a man carrying a donkey. The thumb rule was to drink straight out of the bottle to avoid your drink being spiked with sedatives. The look on the bartenders said it all: you needed muscle and brains to survive here. One-man band, locally known as one-man-guitarists because they mainly used a box guitar, were the craze. Man Irosh, the resident singer, was rumbling Wanganangu’s Ngurumo ya Sabasaba.

  A man two tables away was staring at Sanse like a robot.

  “Does he ever blink?” Sanse asked the bartender.

  “Rarely.”

  “That is interesting.”

  “The joint was robbed three years ago,” the bartender offered. “Makao sketched the faces of the five thugs so well the police had them in custody within hours. The owner prescribed booze for him since in gratitude. I think he wants Makao around when things go wrong.”

  A young man in a suit walked up to the counter, opened his portfolio, handed the bartender a document then hurried out. The bartender dashed out to serve a client leaving the document on the counter. Sanse took the opportunity to skim the document.

  “Thank God the place meets health standards,” Sanse told the bartender on his return who smiled knowingly.

  “I feel selfish drinking when someone is staring so hard,” Sanse said. “Give him a glass.”

  The bartender served Makao. Makao was halfway through his drink when Sanse joined him at his table.

  “You are not a long lost brother,” Makao said in a flat, deep voice. “You are not a childhood friend either. What will it cost me, a kidney?”

  Sanse placed Jimia’s pamphlet on the table. “Is this man a regular?”

  “Why me?”

  “You are the local CCTV.”

  “I am a painter,” Makao said displaying a set of rotten teeth. “They lie to make the place feel safe.”

  “The man,” Sanse pressed.

  “No.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Everyone knows Jimia. He dropped by once.”

  “When?”

  Makao drained the glass down his throat and placed it in front of Sanse. “I forget.”

  Sanse started clicking his knuckles. He stopped halfway and signalled the bartender who hurried with a tube of Medusa.

  “About two weeks ago,” Makao said. “He sat at the corner table. I unnerved him; I unnerve many fresh faces, you know. I have learnt to change my angle of focus.” He trained his eyes straight ahead but proceeded to describe a man sitting ninety degrees to his right. “So I use this trick and I discover that Jimia is not so much into drinking. He concentrated a lot on something from under the table. A phone or something. From the way he was surveying the room he was waiting for someone. A while later a guy joins him at his table, then another, and another. He drinks two beers only. A scuffle at his table forced him to leave. ”

  “Tell me about the guy who joined Jimia first.”

  “He was young, frail. He dominated the talking. He was loud.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That he is the son in Gitonga and Sons. He promised to kill Gitonga,” Makao blinked for the first time in realisation. “Is this about the murder?”

  “At what time was the frail man kicked out?”

  “Eight,” Makao said.

  “Who kicked him out?”

  “Bonnie. Who are you?”

  “I am the guy who just bought you two glasses of Medusa,” Sanse said getting on his feet. Bonnie, the waiter at the counter, confirmed kicking out a noisy man about two weeks before. The man wasn’t buying, only disturbing other clients. The time was about eight on the dot.

  Sanse walked out of First and Last. Now he knew why Pai was giving him a leeway. Bob had worked himself into a tight spot. He had a reason to kill his father after the latter disowned him. He had displayed a strong predetermination to kill. He was found at the scene of crime with the weapon of murder. Motive, predetermination to kill, opportunity to kill, means to kill; the ingredients of a cut-and-dried case. But then there was his grip on the hammer. The grip appeared trivial but it could make all the difference. It could mean the difference between freedom and jail term for Bob. It could also mean life or death for him. To Sanse, it could mean keeping or losing his home. Sanse knew that to redeem himself he had to redeem Bob. The two were joined by Fate.

  Chapter 8

  Early Tuesday Sanse received a call from Grace telling him that he should pick his retainer at The Ark since she was down with a cold. On arrival he was welcomed by Grace and a young boy who hid behind her.

  “The Ark was built by an Indian eager to please his nostalgic bride,” Grace explained. “He so named it in the hope it would rescue his marriage. When he returned to India Gitonga bought it.”

  “That is interesting,” Sanse said. “The will provided that you own Gitonga’s house. How does it feel to be stuck here after such a possibility?”

  “At the moment all I can think about is my husband. Please tell me you’re through.”

  “I am not.”

  “Good Heavens!” Sanse was afraid she would break down again. “I went to church on Sunday and asked for a special prayer. Have you met Pastor Peter Munderu? If you haven’t you should. When you see Pastor Munderu you see the hand of God. He promised a miracle. I am seriously considering fasting.”

  “Were you ever husband and wife?”

  Grace’s eyes widened. “Elizabeth poisoned your mind, didn’t she? I hired you to exonerate my husband not to pry into my personal life!”

  The framed pictures hanging on the wall caught Sanse’s eye. He moved from one to the other studying them. In the first picture Grace was in a whiter-than-white net. Pure, Sanse thought and frowned. Bob stood to her right - a healthy youth clad in a pinstripe suit, a white shirt and a black bow tie. The net’s tail snaked down his right shoulder. He was looking at the camera dead in the eye. His lips were pursed to form a line; his hands were dangling lifelessly on his sides. Sanse felt the photo was too wooden for a wedding day. The photo was dated 14th May 2005. The next photo could have belonged to any healthy one-year kid: puffy cheeks, morning-sun eyes, scanty hair and an innocent smile. The narration read: Happy 1st birthday Dan Gitonga, 5th November 2006.

  “Marvellous,” Sanse said turning to Dan. “What a surprising turn of events! Who would have thought he would become so healthy after so many problems at birth?”

  Grace raised her eyebrows. “What problems?”

  “Premature birth, underweight…” he let it trail.

  Grace was puzzled. “You have the wrong kid in mind!”

  “Good grief,” Sans
e said. “My memory must be failing me! They say it comes with age. That smells like tea. I can do with a cup of tea.”

  Grace studied him for a long moment. “You are so unpredictable, Mr. Sanse. I thought one is either a beer person or a tea person.”

  “Now you know better.”

  Grace poured him a cup of tea.

  “To what extent should a will be damaged for it to be judged not binding?” Grace asked.

  “I have no idea. My knowledge of law is limited.”

  “I thought...”

  “What you need is a lawyer.”

  Dan squatted and embarked on dismantling his toy.

  “Were you Gitonga’s lover?” Sanse said.

  “I am sure you have heard the answer to that before.”

  “Not from you.”

  “Yes, before I married Bob.”

  “After?”

  “No,” Sanse sensed hesitation in her voice which could have meant anything. “I once thought I loved him. He was too old for me.”

  “He claimed your heart.”

  “Elizabeth cooked that up,” she said venomously.

  Dan managed to dismantle the wheels of his toy. He presented it to Sanse who re-assembled it and handed it back.

  “Did Gitonga replace you?” Sanse asked.

  “No.”

  “You sound so sure.”

  “He never hid it,” Grace said. “I believe you have formed an opinion about my husband.”

  “Bob could be telling the truth.”

  Grace beamed. “How long will it take to prove his innocence?”

  “An investigation takes as long as it takes. I am doing the best I can.”

  “What have you come up with?”

  “Nothing solid,” Sanse said.

  “Mr. Rumu said you are the best.”

  “Of course he did.”

  Grace got a wad of notes from her purse and handed it to him. Sanse stashed the money in his pocket.

  “Remember I am willing to pay anything for results.” She put emphasis on ‘anything.’

  Dan was back with a dismembered toy. “You are good at taking apart,” Sanse told him. “Why not learn to assemble? Good luck.”

  When Sanse left The Ark he visited his mechanic at the garage and told him about the Mazda’s morning seizure. In his characteristic way, Jemmo talked probabilities: it could be the battery, the carburettor, the starter; it could be several objects. Jemmo accompanied him home for yet another attempt to resurrect the Mazda. Even as the engine roared to life Sanse knew that it was not so much the carburettor that Jemmo heaped blame on but the entire damned ramshackle.

  Chapter 9

  Having seen Elizabeth in the BMW in town Sanse travelled to Gitonga’s homestead hoping to find Wira. He was just in time to witness a quarrel between Eunice and Wira. Eunice’s onslaught and frantic gestures had Wira transfixed. Overcome by anger, Eunice searched for a weapon in vain. She took three steps, spat in Wira’s face, whirled around and marched to Gitonga’s house. Wira stood dazed for a while then, as if released from a binding spell, started towards the gate muttering to himself.

  “You are hard to find,” Sanse addressed Wira who stopped dead and studied him intently. Sanse offered his hand for greetings. “Mike Sanse.”

  Wira brightened up a bit. “You are that detective. Bob didn’t do it. You should squeeze it out of my sister.”

  “You think she killed your brother?”

  “She would readily kill for a morsel of bread,” Wira said. “The bloody holier-than-thou!”

  “Why kill him after all these years?”

  “First she stole his money...”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Even the blind can see.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “I don’t need to,” Wira said. “There is no greedier person in the world. Who moves into her brother’s house before his burial?”

  “Can you prove that she is the murderer?”

  “I am working on it.”

  “Where were you during the murder?”

  “I was asleep,” Wira answered fast, too fast it sounded like a rehearsed answer.

  “At what time did you go to bed?”

  “Seven.” He avoided eye contact.

  “Do you usually go to bed at seven?”

  “I was tired.”

  “Can anyone vouch for you?”

  “I was alone.”

  “Who woke you up?”

  “There was this noise…,”

  “How did you get fresh soil on your hands and boots?”

  Wira closed his eyes and shook his head. “What has it got to do with anything?”

  “Gitonga had bought a tidy sum of shares in your name.”

  “So what?”

  “They are worth a fortune. You had just transferred them to him.”

  “Are you accusing me of anything?” He lifted his shoulders and dropped them. “Well then. Prove it.”

  Wira brushed past Sanse and out of the compound just as Eunice emerged from the house carrying a bag on her head. “Morning, Eunice,” Sanse greeted her when she neared him. She ignored him.

  “Wira sent me,” he lied. “He regrets his actions, his words...everything.”

  Eunice placed the bag on the ground and regarded Sanse, her arms akimbo.

  “The senile old sack!” She exploded. “No wonder he clicks with immorality with every step.”

  “You shouldn’t be so hard on him. He isn’t an angel, but he isn’t that immoral either.”

  “What do you know about immorality? Wira dwarfs the Devil! I wish he burns in hell!”

  “What’s so hard to forgive?”

  Eunice look turned suspicious, “Why you?”

  “I asked him the same question,” Sanse said. “Moving out?”

  Eunice nodded. “I am running away from theft charges.”

  “The thirty thousand? Did you steal it?”

  “Do I look like a thief to you?”

  “Who would press charges?”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “Of course you know Bob claims he was framed as well.”

  “My heart bleeds for Bob,” Eunice said. “I brought him up. In fact he calls me Mother. I just can’t help him.”

  “Why?”

  “It was my day off. At twelve I visited a friend with whom I attended overnight prayers at the church.”

  “How long have you worked for Gitonga?”

  “Twenty-four years. I grew up at my aunt’s who had a turbulent marriage. She divorced when I was sixteen. She had three kids and I decided not to burden her any more. I left in search of a job. Saul had just been born when Gitonga hired me. Eric came two years later. I had been with the family for three years when Elizabeth and Wira joined us.” Her voice became icy.

  “You sound like it didn’t auger well with you.”

  “You bet.” She was rueful. “Youth is rush. Wira turned my world upside down. His being several years my senior didn’t bother me. I guess I needed someone to father me. One day one of the cows ran loose. The farmhand was not within so I decided to solicit Wira’s help. The door to his house was open and I let myself in. I shouldn’t have. Wira and Sharon were in bed making love. I was so shaken I just stood there staring at them. Sharon warned that if I shared what I had witnessed she would kill me. I have never told a soul. I’d have left but for Gitonga. He was like a father to me. He had helped me so much I felt obligated to continue serving him. Months later Sharon would die in my arms. There were only the two of us when she went to labour. Gitonga was on a week-long business trip far off. It is a miracle that Bob survived. I must be going. I would have wanted to attend the funeral but I can’t.”

  Eunice took her bag ready to go. “He didn’t send you, did he?”

  “No.”

  “I guessed as much. He should to go to hell.”

  Eunice walked out of the compound. Sanse’s hand went for the jolly comb but changed its mind half-way. He took in the compound. It felt
like everything had died with Gitonga. He strolled to the rear of Gitonga’s house and took time inspecting the spot where bob was found in a coma. The surface was rugged which raised the possibility of stubbing one’s toe. The rear door was not any lighter than the front one since both were metallic. However, the urgency of the moment could have led to the false notion that smaller is lighter.

  The perimeter wall stood ten metres from the house. Sanse got to the back gate and undid the latch. The gate led to the garden. Just after the gate, to the left, was the family graveyard. There were three graves in total. Two had huge gravestones. The third had a simple cross. It belonged to Sharon Gitonga. It was newly weeded.

  Sanse received a call from Naomi telling him that Grace was waiting for him in the office. When he arrived Grace was pacing the corridor. She was in her signature cling-on-me, low-cut top, a miniskirt and high heels. She was beautiful, there was no denying that. She followed him into the office.

  “Your services are hereby terminated,” she said.

  “Excuse me?” Sanse said.

  “I am sorry to have involved you in this. I cooked the ambush story.”

  Sanse smiled despite himself. “Are you telling me that you cooked up a story and hired me to investigate it?”

  “I am sorry.”

  “No you’re not. Did Bob admit to killing Gitonga?”

  “Bob doesn’t recall much.”

  “Only yesterday you were ready to give anything for his freedom.”

  “I was in denial,” Grace said. “I feel for him but there is nothing anyone can do. You have done your best which, unfortunately, almost cost me a family.”

  Sanse looked at her finger and sure enough the ring was missing. So long for the ring that outgrew the finger.

  “You can keep the retainer,” Grace said, turned and rushed out.

  “Why the sudden change?” Naomi asked.

  “She found a shorter route to the sugar pot,” Sanse said clicking his knuckles.

  “She can’t denounce her husband!”

  “She just did.”

  “Where does this leave us?”

  “Unemployed.”

  Sanse got a wad of notes from one of the drawers. He gave Naomi five thousand, pocketed a thousand then returned the rest in the drawer. “We have earned it.”