“Who gave the report?”
“The man who discovered the body. I believe his given name is Solomon Mazrui.”
“Solomon! The chauffeur? The gardener?”
“I believe that would be the man.”
“When did he say this?”
Mr. Patel took the document away from Jess and flipped to the second page. “That particular statement was taken down by the police after they determined that the body bore injuries commensurate with a fall. When Solomon Mazrui was questioned, he confirmed that he had found his employer at the bottom of the stairwell.”
“So what’s all this about murder?”
“Subsequent to the coroner’s report, an autopsy was performed. The results arrived this morning. Apparently, Dr. bin Yusuf ’s skull was crushed by a heavy blunt object of unknown origin. According to the pathologist, such an injury could not have been sustained during a fall. It is believed that someone struck Dr. bin Yusuf in the head, and following that tragic event, he fell down the stairs and died.”
Jess sank onto her chair. “Who did it?”
“A most appropriate question. Not an hour before I left town, the Zanzibar police located Solomon Mazrui and took him to their headquarters. He is being held there for questioning, as I’m certain you can understand.”
“Surely they don’t think Solomon did it.”
“He reported the discovery of the body, which was lying on a settee here in this living room when the police arrived. Mr. Mazrui failed to tell the police about his employer’s accident on the staircase until he was questioned directly. Instead, he allowed the police to make an initial report that he had discovered the artist dead on the settee.”
“But why would Solomon kill Dr. bin Yusuf?” Nettie Cameron asked. “The man had worked here for years. He helped restore this house.”
“It is not at all certain that Mr. Mazrui is responsible for the crime. In fact, I am certain the police will question everyone who had contact with Dr. bin Yusuf. Even you, Ms. Thornton.”
“But I was in London!”
“Of course. Yet you stood to gain a great deal by his death.”
“That’s crazy. I didn’t have any idea I was in Dr. bin Yusuf ’s will. Until you contacted me about the house, I didn’t even know he had died.”
“And of this I will give testimony. I am sure you have nothing to fear.” Mr. Patel pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “All the same, this turn of events may affect you in some way. The police will search the house, of course. And they will wish to interview you and everyone who was employed by Dr. bin Yusuf. Everything you can do to cooperate will be appreciated.”
“Of course.” Jess rubbed her temples. “Whatever they want.”
“What about the house, Mr. Patel?” Nettie asked. “Does the estate go back into probate?”
“The house belongs to Ms. Thornton. Dr. bin Yusuf ’s will was very specific in that matter.”
Jess stared down at her knees. She couldn’t believe this. Murdered. How could her beloved professor have been murdered? Who would have done such a thing? And why?
“Splinter!” The image of her son at the mercy of a killer broke through the numbness in her brain. “Splinter’s on the beach! I have to—”
“Spencer and Hannah are digging clams.” The male voice came from the door. “I just saw him. He’s fine.”
Jess lifted her head to find Rick McTaggart standing inside the living room. One shoulder propped against the door frame, he was staring at her with those blue eyes.
“Jessie, are you all right?”
She squelched a moan and waved faintly in his direction. “Would everyone please leave me alone? Mr. Patel, thank you. I’ll . . . I’ll do what I can to help with the investigation. Nettie . . .”
“Say no more, duckie.” The little woman stood and shook out the folds of her blue dress. “I’ll be going. You’ve had a terrible shock. Terrible. You must go and lie down.”
“I’ve got to see about my son.” Jess tried to think of polite farewells and couldn’t. Splinter was out there. A murderer was roaming loose. “Excuse me.”
She pushed past Rick and fled across the verandah. Kicking off her sandals, she ran through the bare grass to the fence that lined the precipice. If anyone hurt Splint . . . if anything ever happened . . .
As she reached the cliff-side steps, a hand gripped her arm. “Jessie, wait.”
“Let go.” She turned on Rick. “I’ve got to find Spencer!”
“Your son is fine. He’s down there with Hannah digging clams and having the time of his life.”
She took two more steps and spotted Splint and Hannah huddled together at the edge of the beach. They were kneeling side by side, heads touching, as they poked their fingers into the damp sand in search of tiny clams. A tin pail sat lopsided, half-buried in the sand.
Jess stopped and sucked in a shaky breath. She could see her son’s brown-gold hair ruffling in the breeze. A transparent sheet of water left the sea and ran toward the beach, covering his knees and wetting Hannah’s skirt. Splinter laughed and gave the old woman a little splash. Hannah took a fingerful of sand and wiped it on the boy’s nose.
In a moment, the sound of singing drifted upward. “Mungu ni pendo; apenda watu. Mungu ni pendo; anipenda.” God is love; he loves all people. God is love; he loves me.
“Let him keep his childhood, Jessie.” Rick’s voice was gentle. “At least as long as you can. He deserves that.”
She slumped against the cliff wall, unwilling to admit he was right. “Would you just go away?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“No.”
“Yes. God allowed me to find you again. I need to tell you—”
“God? What makes you think he had anything to do with this fiasco?”
“Our meeting again is no fiasco. It’s a gift.”
She lifted her focus to his face. Sincerity was written in his eyes. She had read that expression before. Believed in it. Believed in him. Never again would she trust Rick McTaggart and his lies. Her heart was too strong. She had built the walls around it too thick. And over those walls grew the ivy of her hatred for him. Nothing could breach that. But she also knew from experience how persistent he could be.
“If I give you a chance to talk, will you leave me alone?”
“If you still want me to.”
“I will.” She sat on the stone step, her back to him. “Fine. Talk.”
For a long time he didn’t say anything. She wondered if her harsh words had driven him away. How many years had she imagined a moment just like this? How many times had she envisioned Rick coming after her, hunting her down, begging her to make peace with him? Sometimes she saw herself turning to him, tears streaming down her cheeks as she fell into his arms and accepted his repentance. But most of the time, she pictured herself laughing in his face . . . or slapping him . . . or rewarding him with nothing but silence.
Yes, that would be the best revenge of all—that he should have nothing from her. No pardons, no tears, not even a word of understanding. Nothing but total silence.
When he didn’t speak, she began to wonder if that was all she would have from him, too. Silence. She glanced over her shoulder. He was sitting on the step behind her, his gaze trained on the waves. Arms resting loosely on his knees, he had woven his fingers together.
Rick’s hands. They looked the same—strong fingers, brown skin, white nails. She had loved his hands once. Loved the way he had laced his fingers through hers, squeezing their palms together and swinging their arms as they walked. Loved the way he had slipped his fingers through the strands of her hair. Loved the way—
“I bet I’ve rehearsed this a thousand times,” he began. “Now I can’t even think where to start.”
She shut her eyes, squelching memories. “Well, then.” She made her voice harsh, careless. “I guess I’ll just—”
He cut her off. “You could look at my life the past few years in two ways. The things I’
ve done. And the things I’ve been.”
“Whichever way you pick, make it short.”
He fell silent again, and she knew she’d wounded him. She couldn’t help it. Did he remember the time gone by as “a few” years? How about ten years? Ten long years in which she’d struggled to survive, worked to keep food on the table, labored to bring up her son as a happy, well-adjusted human being.
“What I’ve done with myself can be told without much trouble,” he said finally. “After I left you, I went on the run. I’m not sure how long it lasted—maybe a year. I hitchhiked north into the desert. I traveled west through the rain forests of Zaire. I spent some time down south in Malawi. Mostly I logged a lot of time on the beaches—teaching skin diving to tourists, mostly. Eventually, I worked my way back to Kenya and started looking for you. I couldn’t find you.”
“Surprise, surprise.”
“I don’t know what I expected, but I’m sure I wasn’t thinking too clearly. I was drinking a lot in those days, trying to escape any way I could.”
“Escape what?”
“Everything. Past, present, future. I was angry with my parents for the years I spent in boarding school. Angry with myself for making a commitment to you I couldn’t keep. Angry with God about the way my life was going. I couldn’t figure out who I was or where I was supposed to go with myself. I didn’t want to feel my own emotions — the rage, the fear, the guilt. I had to escape. So I ran . . . and I drank.”
Jess realized her fingers gripping the iron stair rail were turning bone white, bloodless, and numb as she struggled to hold on. She felt as though she might tumble off the cliff at any moment. She didn’t want to hear any more. And she wanted to hear everything.
“Remember my brother, Daniel?” Rick asked.
Jess nodded. How could she forget Daniel? He had been so kind, so gentle, so bewildered by the actions of his older brother. After the initial chaos following Rick’s disappearance, she had lost track of Daniel and the rest of the McTaggarts.
“Daniel’s a missionary in Dar es Salaam now,” Rick said. “I don’t know if you were aware of that.”
Jess shook her head.
“Anyway, a long time before he became a missionary, he decided to track down his big brother, the black sheep of the McTaggart family. I think he finally found me lying on a beach somewhere in Kenya. I was at the end of my rope. Mentally strung out. Physically wrecked. Daniel took me to his place in Nairobi and helped me get my head on straight. I owe him my life.”
He was silent again for a moment. Then he let out a deep breath. “After that,” he said, “I did some course work at the University of Nairobi, and then I moved to Florida and picked up a couple of degrees in marine archaeology. I began to hear rumors that Tanzania was changing after Nyerere’s little experiment with Chinese communism. Tourism was being encouraged, and that meant Olduvai Gorge and other archaeological sites would get some attention. I applied for a position with the Tanzanian government, and I got it. For three years I’ve headed up the marine archaeology team. Actually, the team consists of my coworker, Andrew Mbuti, and me. We chase treasure hunters like Hunky Wallace around and try to keep them from looting the ocean floor. I’ve put together a pretty comprehensive display in the Zanzibar museum, but there’s a lot more—”
“Okay, you’ve made a good life for yourself,” Jess cut in. She could see Splint and Hannah washing the sand from their pailful of clams. They might be coming up the steps any moment, and Jessica didn’t want Splint anywhere near Rick. And she didn’t want to hear the rest of his story. It sounded true and honest—and she was afraid she might start to believe anything he told her.
“I have a good life, too,” she said. “I have a new home, enough money to get by on, work I love—”
“And a son. Whose son is Spencer, Jessie?”
“Mine. He’s my son.” She swung around on the step to face him. “I’ve let you talk, Rick. I’ve given you what you asked. Now do something for me. Leave my house and my life, and don’t ever come back.”
He squeezed his hands together, and she could see his biceps jump. His blue eyes locked on hers, and for a moment she was afraid he could read everything in her heart. He let out a sigh.
“I can’t leave, Jessie,” he said. “I admit that in all the years I’ve known you, I’ve given you nothing and taken everything. But there’s something else I need. Something only you can give.”
He covered her cold hand with his own. His fingers were warm and strong as he stroked them over her white knuckles. “Jessie,” he said, “I need your forgiveness.”
FIVE
Forgiveness.
Like a neon sign on a building in Piccadilly Circus, the word flashed fragments of a hundred Scriptures through Jess’s brain—verses Hannah had quoted when her four totos had been fussing, squabbling, arguing with each other as children do.
Forgive.
“Forgive us our sins, just as we have forgiven . . .”
“If you forgive those who sin against you, your heavenly Father will forgive you. But if you refuse to forgive . . .”
“When you are praying, first forgive anyone you are holding a grudge against. . . .”
“Jesus said, ‘Father, forgive these people, because they don’t know what they are doing. . . .’”
“Instead, be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you.”
Jess could almost see dark-eyed Hannah gathering the Thornton children around herself like little chicks. Two would sit on her lap, another would crouch at her feet, the fourth would drape thin arms around her neck.
Hannah’s rich voice would whisper, “Once upon a time, the apostle Peter asked Jesus, ‘Lord, how often should I forgive someone who sins against me? Seven times?’”
In response, all the children would chant the words they had heard so often from her lips: “‘No!’ Jesus replied, ‘seventy times seven!’”
Seventy times seven? Jess couldn’t imagine forgiving Rick even once. What he had done to her was nothing like dipping a pigtail in red paint, hiding a favorite doll, or pinching an arm in the backseat of the car. What he had done was devastating, life-altering, unchangeable. He had betrayed her. How could she forgive that?
“You expect me to ignore everything you did to me?” she asked. “You expect me to forget what I’ve been through at your hands?”
“I didn’t ask you to forget.” His voice was deep. “I asked you to forgive.”
“Do you think I can just wipe everything out? Do you think I can say it doesn’t matter anymore—that it’s okay what you did to me?”
“No. It’s not okay what I did. What I did to you was wrong, Jessie. I’m not asking you to deny that. I’m asking you to forgive me.”
She swallowed against the gritty lump that was forming in her throat. Why did he have to sound so sincere? Why couldn’t he be cocky or matter-of-fact about it all? Of course, Rick had always been a master at playing her emotions. He knew just how to get to her.
“Maybe when I figure out the proper definition, I’ll forgive you,” she snapped. “In the meantime—”
“Pardon,” he cut in. “That’s what it’s about. You don’t forget the sin, and you don’t deny that it was wrong. Forgiveness means you stop feeling resentment toward the person who hurt you. You stop being bitter. You stop letting the past affect how you live in the present. When you forgive me, it will change you.”
“I’m happy just the way I am, thank you.”
“Are you?”
“Yes, I am.” She wondered why the words rang so false. “Listen, Rick, I can see my son coming up to the house now. I’ve heard your speech, and I want you to leave.”
“I haven’t told you the second part. I told you what I’ve done. I haven’t told you what I’ve been through to get where I am today.”
Jess chewed on her lip. Splint had spotted her and was waving as he carried the heavy pail toward the steps. She didn’t want to hear a
ny more from Rick. She had Splint to think about . . . Uchungu House . . . a treasure hunter . . . an incarcerated chauffeur . . . and a murder. . . .
“Mom, you should see all the colors we got!” Splint was taking the steps two at a time. The pail banged against his skinny calf. “We found blue ones and purple ones and brown ones. Some of them have stripes that look like rays of sunshine, and other ones are solid. Mama Hannah said we had to put back the tiniest ones so they could grow bigger.”
Warmth calmed Jess’s thudding heart. She stood and turned to Rick. “We’ve got a soup to make and a whole house to explore.” Forcing down the lump in her throat, she willed her mouth into a smile. “It’s good you’re doing well for yourself, Rick, and I do understand why you wanted to talk. Now, if you don’t mind—”
“I do mind. I’m not done.” He raked a hand through his thick brown hair. A shock fell onto his forehead. “You may not want to be healed, Jessie, but I do. I’ve been working on this process for years. I’ve slogged my way through most of it—the stuff with my parents, all the moves we made when I was a kid, boarding school, my fears and frustrations, all that. I’ve made my peace with Christ. I’ve tackled everything head-on . . . everything except you.”
“They have little gooey white feet that come sliding out from between the two shells,” Splinter called up to his mother. “Mama Hannah says that’s how they dig down into the sand.”
“That’s great, honey,” Jess said. “Look, Rick—”
“I’ve been searching for you a long time, Jessie.”
“Come on, Rick. Don’t lie to me.”
“It’s the truth. I tried to talk to your dad. His secretary said he was too busy to see me. Your sister Tillie is living somewhere in West Africa. Mali, I think. Fiona’s hiding out with her elephant research project and won’t take visitors. About two months ago I finally found Grant near Mount Kilimanjaro. He told me you were living in London.”
A Whisper of Danger Page 7
