“Move aside,” Justin said. Never in his life had he spoken to a woman in such a tone, not even a parlor maid. Morley came up beside him, still sputtering.
Vera lay on the bed looking a bit dazed. He ran and knelt beside her. Her hand was cool. “Tell me, Vera,” he said, “what has happened? Are you all right?”
“She fainted as soon as she arrived,” Katharine said from the doorway. “She hadn’t said a word to us. She just passed out in the middle of the lawn.”
He did not believe her. His heart was pounding. “Leave us alone.”
“Well, I never—” the missionary said. Brother and sister both grumbled as they moved away, but they left the room.
He took Vera in his arms. “Tell me precisely.”
“It was exactly as Miss Morley said. I never reached her even to say hello. I passed out on the lawn. They think it was the heat.”
“Are you sure she did not give you something to make you ill? She did not try to hurt you?”
“She did not. Why ever do you think she would? Really, Justin. I can’t imagine that she—”
He did not want to but he blurted out what he feared. “I have reason to believe that Katharine Morley killed Khalid Majidi,” he said as quietly as he could.
At first, Vera gave him a look of complete disbelief, but then she blinked for a moment and sat up. “I can’t—”
“Can you move now? I think it best if we talk about this elsewhere.”
“Yes. I am fine now. Absolutely fine. They insisted on putting me to bed, but all I needed was a brief sit-down and a glass of water. I assure you there is nothing wrong.” She proved it by springing up from the bed in that light, graceful way of hers. Sometimes she seemed to him more fairy creature than real girl.
On their way back to Mombasa he explained to her about the small fingerprints on the murder weapon. The whole notion of fingerprints amazed her. “So if Inspector Patrick went into the Morleys’ guest room right now, he would be able to tell that I have been there?”
“If you touched anything, like the bedpost or the door handle.”
“The bedclothes? Or the vial of smelling salts on the bedside table?”
“Not the bedclothes. Perhaps the smelling salts.”
They were on a small ferry, crossing over to Mombasa Island. He put his arm around her. “I am going to have to ask Katharine Morley to give her fingerprints,” he said. “I don’t like to do it.”
“It will cause an awful lot of talk. I am afraid of what that will do to the reputation of Father’s friends.”
“I will try to keep it from the gossipmongers, but you know how news gets out and travels.”
“Yes, I do.”
“When will you do it?”
“Not until tomorrow. There are a lot of other details for me to collect. And I want to see you safely home first.”
“I am fine. How many times do I have to tell you?”
***
After returning Vera to the bungalow, Tolliver hurried back to headquarters, where Juba Osi had been brought in for questioning.
“Where is Sergeant Libazo?” Justin asked the askari who was guarding the witness. The man shrugged but didn’t speak.
Anger prickled at Tolliver. Kwai, he suspected, was off with his Somali lady of the night. If he was, there would be no hope of saving his position. The services, military and police, had very little tolerance for men going absent, even when they were legitimately sick. Absence without leave meant the stockade and then dishonorable dismissal, at best. Execution was a possibility. Tolliver’s heart sank at the prospect of having to arrest his sergeant for dereliction of duty.
Another askari, who turned out to be Abrik Singh’s brother, soon found Tolliver and allayed his fears. He and Libazo had converged on Juba Osi’s hut, where they had found Carl Hastings. Kwai had decided to follow the Englishman. Tolliver’s declining admiration for Kwai made a quick about-face. There were European men on the force getting paid twice as much who were not worth half of Libazo.
Juba Osi, sitting handcuffed in Justin’s office with a Goan guard standing over him, was frightened half to death, but also incensed. “They told me that they were arresting me for the murder of Joseph Gautura,” he told Tolliver. He looked as if he might weep. “Joseph was my friend and my kinsman. I could not take him to live with me. Our Shari’a law gave me the way to free myself from slavery. But I am afraid my old master will force me to go back. He can take me to Shari’a Court and give such behavior as a reason to take me back. You know he still can. And he can claim my children under the Shari’a. I could not keep Joseph in my house while his master was looking for him, but I did not want to see him die. Never,” he said emphatically. “Never.”
Justin regretted not keeping the arresting askari close by. He needed to know why they had told Osi he was being arrested for Gautura’s murder. Libazo must have had a reason.
“There must be some evidence against you,” Tolliver said, though he had no idea what that might be. “The best way for you to convince us of your innocence is for you to tell us all you know.”
Osi stammered and stuttered his way through several minutes of repeated denials, claiming that he had been minding his own business when the first stranger came to his door.
“What did the stranger want?” queried Tolliver.
“He said that he wanted to hire me, because he thought I write English. I cannot, Bwana. I cannot write English. Joseph could write English, but I cannot.”
“Yes, I understand. And then what happened?”
“He said he wanted to hire me for other work. I need work. But I would not go with him. He does very bad things, things that could make a man suffer prison.”
Tolliver knew that Carl Hastings was not on the up-and-up. Now he was going to find out exactly how low he had sunk. “What things?”
“Majidi will kill me if I say.”
“Majidi? What has he got to do with this?”
He held up his shackled hands. “I am going to die anyway, yes?”
Tolliver considered him for a moment. What Juba Osi knew could answer all the riddles that Tolliver had been trying to solve for more than a week. “Unlock the handcuffs,” he said to the Goan guard, “and bring us a pitcher of water and two glasses. Make sure it’s boiled water.”
The guard looked at him in disbelief. Guards were not used to seeing the English be polite to natives.
“Now, please,” Tolliver said gently.
He turned back to Osi. “Listen to me,” he told the witness after the guard had freed him and gone out to fetch the water. “Majidi is dead. He cannot hurt you. You must tell me everything you know about Hastings and his dealings with Majidi. I already know, Mr. Hastings told me himself that he dealt with Majidi. Hastings is an ivory hunter. I believe he sold his ivory to Majidi. I see nothing troublesome about that.”
Tolliver also knew that Hastings was hard up for cash, but the man’s financial predicament must have been far worse than Tolliver imagined, considering what Osi said next.
“Joseph Gautura was more than Majidi’s slave. He was the one who went between Majidi and the men that did his bidding. Majidi did not do the awful things. Never. He always found a way to force other men to do them. Mr. Hastings was one of those men.”
“He did Majidi’s bidding, you say? In the way he traded ivory with him?”
“That is right, Bwana. He sold some of his ivory to Majidi here in Mombasa, but the other ivory he transported to Malindi, along with the other cargo.”
All Tolliver knew about Malindi was that it was a town north of Mombasa on the coast, but with a port much smaller than the ones here. “Why was some of the ivory shipped from Malindi?” Tolliver thought he knew, but he needed to hear it from Osi’s mouth.
Osi regarded Tolliver with disbelief, as if the policeman lacked a grasp of the obvious. “It is a small place, away from the authorities here. It is where the contraband goes.”
“Yes, certainly. So you are saying that th
e ivory for which the hunter had a license came here to Mombasa, but that he shot more than he was licensed for and shipped the illegal ivory from Malindi?”
“Yes, Bwana.”
This confirmed Tolliver’s suspicions that Hastings was breaking the law. But Osi still seemed to be holding something back. “They were breaking the law in another way, weren’t they?”
Osi bowed his head. “Yes.”
“How, man? You must tell me.”
“Another cargo besides ivory, Bwana.”
Tolliver suppressed a curse at the time this was taking. “What other cargo?” he demanded as evenly as he could. “What else were they shipping out of Malindi?”
Osi bit his lower lip. “People,” he muttered barely audibly.
It took some effort for Tolliver to keep his jaw from dropping. “What do you mean by people?”
“African people.” Osi stated it as if he were saying the only plausible answer.
“Slaves?” Tolliver didn’t even attempt to maintain his cool exterior now. His anger came out full force. “Slaves?” he shouted. “You are telling me that they have been trafficking in slaves? Tell me exactly what Gautura told you. Tell me everything that you can remember that he said. Everything!”
“He said that Mr. Hastings went hunting for ivory in the area of Mount Elgon. That he shot many more elephants than he was allowed. That he hired many porters from among the people who lived there. Then he took porters to carry the ivory to the coast. And he took young girls and little boys. When they got to the coast, the porters and the children were loaded on dhows and shipped away with the ivory.”
Tolliver’s breath shook with rage. “You are certain of this? Absolutely certain?”
Osi’s next words came pouring out in a flood now that the dam was broken. “It was why Joseph stayed with Majidi. He had the money to buy his own freedom, but he did not. He was worried that he knew too much. He not only saw the slaves being shipped from Malindi, but he oversaw their loading onto the dhow. And he knew everything Majidi and the Englishman talked about. And what Majidi said to the Arabs that he controlled. Joseph hid from Majidi that he knew English and Arabic. Joseph thought he was safe because of this, that Majidi must think he did not understand all the wrong things that Majidi did. But he did know them. And sometimes he feared that Majidi knew how much he understood. Joseph was afraid Majidi would begin to fear him. Majidi killed anyone he feared.”
“Then why did Joseph run away?” It seemed to Tolliver that if all Osi was telling him was true, Gautura had signed his own death warrant by leaving Majidi.
“Joseph said that to be a good man, he had to stop helping Majidi, who did only evil things. He said he was sick in his heart to help such a bad person. To help him turn men into slaves. To turn children into slaves.” Osi picked up his glass to drink, but it was empty.
“So he ran,” Tolliver said.
“Yes, to the English priest,” Juba Osi said. He spat out the words as if they disgusted him. “He said he could protect Joseph, but Joseph went to him only to be murdered. He did not keep Joseph safe.” He looked as if he would begin to weep again.
Tolliver considered how he could keep his witness safe. He had no idea how extensive Majidi’s criminal circle was, and who might be left to exact revenge once Hastings was arrested. He did not want to jail this terrified ex-slave. Nor did he want to see him go free and be killed by those who would silence him with a knife to the throat.
“I am going to keep you in this building,” he said. “I will get them to bring you something to eat. I have to make sure you will be safe before I let you go. Do you understand? I do not believe that you killed Joseph. But I do believe that there are people in the town who could mean you harm.”
Osi dropped his hands in his lap and sighed. Like all the other natives, he had little reason to trust an English policeman. Tolliver would make sure that he became convinced.
***
As soon as Justin had left Vera at home and sped off to his investigation, Vera sent a note to Katharine Morley. She apologized for Justin’s brusque behavior at the Mission and invited Katharine to tea. There were flowers in a bowl in the center of the cloth. Lovely china cups. And sparkling glasses ready to receive cool lemonade to refresh the visitor as soon as she arrived. The teapot ready with the leaves to brew the beverage that Katharine loved. Some freshly baked currant scones. Everything to put Katharine at perfect ease. By the time the afternoon had begun to cool, Vera was ready to extract from Katharine what Justin would need to prove once and for all whether Katharine Morley had murdered Khalid Majidi.
***
Tolliver went out to the street in front of the police headquarters and looked about him. He hoped he would see Kwai, though he knew it was unlikely. The boy, Haki, sat on the ground near the door, with his back against the building. He shook his head but did not speak when Tolliver asked him if he knew where Kwai was.
Tolliver found another askari who knew what Libazo looked like and told him to take three or four others and go look for him. “Do not speak to him or give away his position by anything you do. Just take note of where he is and then come and find me,” he told them. He took a constable with him and went to the club to see if perhaps Hastings had returned to his room there. One could often find him in the bar or in the billiard room.
When Tolliver did not see Libazo anywhere in the vicinity of the club, he concluded that it was unlikely that Hastings was inside. He went in anyway and found he was correct. No one had seen Hastings since early that morning.
Tolliver returned to headquarters, dragging his feet. He would have to report to Egerton. The D.S. was not as one-sided in his opinions as others Tolliver had reported to, but he would object strongly if Kwai Libazo tried to arrest an Englishman. Europeans were never, never taken into custody by Africans. Tolliver knew that he had to be the one to arrest Hastings, so he must be there when the man was found. The town was not so very large. Kwai was on the man’s trail. But there was no way of knowing where that had led him.
As Tolliver reentered police headquarters, his thoughts were so distracted he did not notice that Haki was no longer sitting in his accustomed place. As Tolliver knocked on Egerton’s office door, he would have been heartened if he had known where the boy had gone.
***
It had been nearly two hours since Carl Hastings had entered a small nondescript building near the entrance to the bazaar. From the beginning of his service on the British East African police force, Kwai Libazo had gotten used to staying with the task at hand for as long as it took to accomplish it. He felt it was bred into him from his Maasai ancestry to be able to withstand hunger and thirst.
Hastings had come here straight from his encounter in the doorway of Juba Osi’s hut. Kwai stood with his back to a wall, behind the stall of a street vendor, a place where he could observe the door, but where he was sure anyone entering or leaving would not notice him. Not that anyone at all had come to or gone from the house, which lacked any window overlooking the street.
The peddler sold lacquered trays and was doing no business at all. Kwai wished the man had had the sense to sell fruit or those pieces of cooked meat on a stick that were so delicious and available on almost any corner in the town.
Across the narrow street, in front of a small Hindu temple, a man in a turban sat blowing into an instrument made from dried gourds. He was charming a cobra that rose from a basket and danced and swayed. Kwai felt that if he kept watching the snake, he himself would soon be dancing and swaying. He turned and peered between the vendor’s goods at the door.
It occurred to him that his vigil here could be useless. He did not have any real understanding of that Englishman’s role in the investigation. He had followed him because he thought it extremely curious that he had been in the police station and then had gone to see the very man who was a kinsman to Joseph Gautura. Something inside Kwai had told him not to let the Englishman know the real reason Tolliver had sent him to find Juba Osi. He
had taken it upon himself to pretend he was there to arrest Osi. It was the only way Kwai Libazo could think of to get Osi away from the Englishman. No African askari could otherwise challenge any Englishman. By being here Kwai was breaking several written and unwritten rules. He was at risk of being expelled from the force for taking it upon himself to follow an Englishman.
This thought made him afraid, but he told himself over and over the word A.D.S. Tolliver had used the previous year when he presented Kwai to District Superintendent Jodrell, as a candidate for the rank of sergeant. The word was initiative. He and A.D.S. Tolliver had had many talks about the border between the lands of initiative and overstepping. Libazo was not at all sure which land he was in at the moment. He wished another constable had happened by while he was standing there, so he could send a message to Tolliver to come and speak with him. This afternoon he had a lot of sympathy with the settlers up in Nairobi who always complained that there was never a constable nearby when one was needed.
Libazo was pulled from his doubts by a tug on his arm. It was the boy, Haki. “Not now, child,” Kwai whispered. “I am on duty. I have told you about duty.”
The boy stood at attention and saluted. He had the sense to whisper too. “Yes, my sergeant,” he said. “It is for duty that I am here. Your captain is looking for you. You must come away now to him.”
Libazo glanced from the child to the door, back and forth, afraid that the moment he took his eyes away the Englishman would come out. The rules said he should follow Tolliver’s wishes and go with Haki, but he thought it even more important to keep his eyes on the Englishman. “Did A.D.S. Tolliver send you for me?”
“No. He sent other policemen. But I am the one who found you.” He smiled with great pride.
“Listen to me, boy,” Libazo said. “You must go to the police headquarters and tell Mr. Tolliver where I am. Bring him here with you. You must be quick. If I am not here when he comes back, it is because I am following the Englishman. Can you remember this exactly?”
The Idol of Mombasa Page 17
