White Sand Blues
Page 7
“Another dead woman,” he said.
“Damn.”
Deng put the truck into gear and we pulled into the traffic. Think you’ve seen traffic chaos? Come to Juba. The city’s mostly dirt roads. Uncovered manholes, open drainage ditches and piles of rubble. Potholes you could lose a family in. Trucks, 4x4s, cars, boda bodas, pedestrians, goats, chickens and the occasional small child. Every one of them fighting for space, jostling to push another inch through the crowds. The roads have no street signs and few traffic signs. Which no one pays attention to anyway.
We drove toward the river. The White Nile. The goal of Burton, Speke, Baker, the great Victorian explorers. The river’s wide here, moving fast. It’s not white for sure. More the color of warm American beer. Full of twigs and branches and whole trees trapped in the current. Plus a lot of other things that I don’t want to think much about.
The old settlement’s called Juba Town. Disintegrating white buildings, cracked and broken sidewalks, mountains of rubbish. A crumbling blue mosque in a dusty square. Small shops selling anything and everything alongside outdoor markets hawking goods.
In daytime, the streets are crowded. Soldiers in green camouflage uniforms. Police in blue camo. Adults going about their business. Bare-bottomed babies. Schoolchildren with scrubbed faces, clean uniforms and wide, friendly smiles. Honking horns, shouting men, chatting women, music and laughter.
Now, at night, all was quiet. A handful of fires burned in trash piles that had spilled into the streets. Men sat in circles drinking beer. Women watched from open doorways. Above, thick clouds blocked moon and stars.
A water station had been built close to the river. Blue water trucks lined up there during the day to get safe water. The street was a mess of deep puddles, red mud, rocks, ruts and trash. Not as good as some, better than most.
Deng stopped our truck at the bend. Where the road turned sharply to run parallel to the river. He left the vehicle lights on and we got out. I pulled my flashlight out of my belt. Flashlight and a night stick. That’s all I carried. No weapon. This was a training mission, remember. I was here to observe. To offer comments and helpful ideas when needed.
A year without the Glock, and I still felt like I had a giant hole in my side.
Deng carried an AK-47. He was former army, SPLA—Sudan People’s Liberation Army. At first a band of guerillas, fighting for independence from Sudan. Now the army of South Sudan. He’d spent his time in the bush during the war, doing things I couldn’t imagine. Things I didn’t want to imagine. The long and brutal civil war had made these people hard. Some of them didn’t handle it too well. Deng did. He had a quick smile and a hearty laugh. He wanted to be a good police officer. I’d asked him once if he had a wife and children. A mask settled over his face. He yelled at the driver of a scooter who hadn’t come at all close to us. I never asked again.
The woman was lying at the side of the road, up against a concrete wall. Her skin was as black as midnight. Blacker. An earring made of red glass hung from her right ear. A short tight black dress and red stilettos were clues to her occupation. Another dead hooker in the dusty red streets of Juba.
This was the fourth. If she was a hooker. If the same person had been responsible. The fourth in three weeks.
Deng snarled at the security guard who’d found her. The man quickly stepped back. He knew his place.
I used my Maglite to illuminate the scene. A white ribbon was wrapped around her neck. Wrapped very tightly around her neck. As white and pure as the snow on Kokanee Glacier in midwinter. Same as the others.
“What do you see?” I asked Deng. That’s the training part of my job.
“A white ribbon.”
“Yup.”
“Do we have a serial killer here, Ray?”
“I’m beginning to think we do.”
MORE FROM
VICKI DELANY
2013 Arthur Ellis Award Nominee
“Well done, Ms. Delany. Another home run!”
—Donna Carrick
“A fast-paced, easy-to-read, contemporary story...highly recommended.” —CM Magazine
When rookie police constable Nicole Patterson discovers a body on the edge of town, she’s drawn into a murder investigation that’s well beyond her experience and expertise.
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