An Open Heart (29 page)

He sat back. “One time a man became convinced that my father had spoken an evil word behind his back, so he asked the witch doctor to place a curse upon my father.” John shook his head. “The witch doctor refused, saying he was unable to successfully curse my father because he was protected by God. My father was the village pastor.”

“Interesting.” Jace shifted in his seat and set aside his empty cup. “But there is something I don’t understand. Why are these patients bringing messages to
me
?”

“I do not know. I need to interview your patients about what they saw and felt. It is possible they are dealing with a demonic spirit of some sort.”

“Beatrice called it an angel.”

“Could be a disguise.” The chaplain shrugged. “Listen, if I can discern that it is angelic, we need to figure out just what God is trying to do here.”

“And if it’s not?”

“It is possible that this isn’t angelic at all.”

“A demon?”

“Yes. Listen, if this is some sort of satanic attack, then we’ll need to figure out why. Let me ask you something, Jace. Certain activities can open you up to the Devil’s handholds. Have you been involved in any dark activities?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Séances? Ouija board games?”

“Of course not.”

“Have you been in contact with a witch doctor? Used a witch doctor’s cure? Had a witch doctor work a spell on your behalf?”

“No.”

“Okay,” John said. “Listen, Jace, if this is a demonic attack, you need to take precautions to protect yourself.”

Jace shrugged. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Just like the old witch doctor couldn’t curse my father because of his faith, the Enemy can’t attack Christians without some opening. The Bible says it like this, Jace: ‘Greater is He who is in you than he who is in the world.’” He shrugged. “If I were you, I’d make sure I was in the camp.”

31

Jace no sooner got inside his little house than he heard pounding at the front door. “Karibu!” he called.

Jace opened the door to see two uniformed men, Kenyan police, about thirty years old, standing shoulder to shoulder. “Dr. Rawlings?”

“Yes.” Jace held out his hand.

The officer on the right had a scar with a heaped-up edge on his chin. Jace recognized it as a keloid, a common problem in the healing of dark skin. “We are investigating a hit-and-run,” he said, shaking Jace’s hand. The scar dimpled when he spoke.

The second man was of very dark complexion, a Luya perhaps, maybe Luo. “Yesterday,” he said. “Near Dagoretti corner.”

“I was there.”

“The man who was killed was Mungiki.”

Jace said nothing.

Keloid-chin spoke again. “Why would you be associating with him?”

“I only happened to be there at the time.”

The second officer consulted a notepad. “We have witnesses who say you were at the scene with the Mungiki.”

“I was traveling with my friends to have lunch with the Honorable John Okombo, the minister of health. I’m sure he can verify this. Our driver, a man named Samuel, who works for Minister Okombo, ran over a spiked barrier at a police stop. We had to repair the tire, and so we were waiting at the side of the road when this man showed up. As he crossed the road, he was struck. I wasn’t with the man. I only attended him.”

“Yet you traveled with him to a local hospital and paid his bill,” the scarred man said.

The second officer backed out into the yard to use his cell phone. When he returned, he frowned. “Perhaps we should talk of this further. Our records show no plans for a police stop anywhere close to Dagoretti yesterday.”

“It was there. Ask the driver. He was the one who repaired the tire.” Jace paused, squinting at the two officers. “I thought it was an odd place for a police check, just around a blind corner like that. Our driver yelled at the men at the stop, pointing at our official government vehicle, and they pulled out and left.”

“Did you see the vehicle that struck the pedestrian?”

“A matatu. Bright green, I think.” Jace shrugged. “That’s all I know. How did you track me down?”

“A white doctor travels with a victim to a local hospital, then signs the record after caring for a criminal. It wasn’t hard.”

“A criminal?”

“Mr. Kimathi is suspected in the burning of a Luo church in western Kenya after the last election.”

“I see.”

“Why did you pay his bill?”

“The nurses at Karen asked who was responsible. I felt bad that I had used their supplies on a case that turned out to be hopeless.” Jace shook his head. “The man didn’t look like he had the means, so I just paid it.”

“You felt guilty?”

“Not exactly. Responsible.” Jace paused. “What else do you know about the victim?”

“Why do you ask?”

Jace wondered how much to tell the officers. If the police were involved in setting up a hit, he would be wading into murky waters.

The trio stood silently for a moment. Finally, Jace spoke again. “I think the victim may have been looking for me.”

The officer touched his chin scar. “And why is that?”

“My friend found a photocopy of a newspaper picture, a picture of me.”

The second officer laughed. “Maybe he was a fan. Maybe he wanted surgery.”

“Seriously,” Jace said. “The man was crossing the street, staring at me, not paying attention to the road. When he was struck by the matatu, some sort of gun came flying out from under his coat.”

“No one else mentioned a gun.”

“It was taken from the scene.”

“And how do you know this?”

“I looked for it a few moments later. It must have been taken.”

The darker-skinned officer made a note. “This complicates things.”

“Look, this whole thing bothers me.”

“As it should.” The man paused. “And yet you neglected to inform the police.”

“Because I was afraid. Look, put yourself in my shoes. A man with my picture in his pocket shows up with a gun. Why would he be looking for me there unless he knew I would be there at a certain time? And how would I be there at a certain time without it being set up with the police checkpoint?”

“You think our police set this up?”

“Maybe not the police. Maybe our driver. He had to have me at a certain place at a certain time.”

“You are accusing a government official?”

“I’m not accusing anyone,” Jace said, immediately regretting the loud volume of his response. “Look,” he said, lowering his voice, “I didn’t know what to do.”

The man with the scar studied Jace for a moment. “You will need to come with us to the station to give a formal statement.”

“I’m not interested in trouble.”

“I know, Dr. Rawlings.” The man smiled, revealing a perfect row of white teeth standing out against his black skin. “But we are.” He paused before adding, “We are very interested in trouble.”

Two hours later, Jace sat in a small room in the Uplands Police Station answering questions from Detective Ndemi, a man of medium stature, with a shaved head and teeth etched brown from too much fluoride as a child, an endemic problem in Kenya.

The detective leaned back in his chair, linking his fingers behind his shiny head. “It seems that what began as a simple hit-and-run investigation has raised more questions than answers,” he said quietly. “You know, Dr. Rawlings, that police corruption is a problem very difficult to root out because the wages are low.”

Ndemi’s cell phone rang. He looked at the phone and sighed. “Hello,” he said, punching a button.

From that moment on, he listened, saying “Eh … eh … eh …” every few seconds, the Kikuyu way of saying
yes, I’m getting you
. After two minutes, Ndemi switched off the phone and smiled at Jace. “My wife,” he said.

Jace looked around the room. Painted a drab gray, the walls were bare except for a picture of the Kenyan president, a requirement for all government buildings.

“Where was I?” the detective continued. “Oh, yes, the corruption of our police. It would not surprise me that our police could be bribed to set up a checkpoint in a particular location.” He paused, leaning forward and pointing at Jace. “But I would be very careful about lodging complaints against government officials, especially a man of national reputation like the Honorable John Okombo.”

“I am not accusing him. I was afraid. Maybe I’ve let my imagination run away with me.”

Detective Ndemi paused, thinking. “Yes, of course.” He tapped his pen on the metal table that separated them. “The Mungiki are a troublesome group, and they have connections. If they had a reason to target you, they could have bribed the police themselves.” He hesitated. “Of course, we will question Minister Okombo’s driver and see what we can find out. Perhaps the Mungiki only wanted the police to stop your vehicle long enough to do their work. The flattened tire may have been coincidental.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Of course not. It is not your job.”

“I am afraid of stirring up trouble.” Jace shrugged. “That’s why I didn’t go to the police in the first place. I thought if the police or someone inside government was involved, it could be dangerous for me to raise concerns.”

“It seems you have no choice now.”

Jace nodded.

“Minister Okombo’s influence reaches beyond his role as the minister of health. He has traveled widely, securing trade deals even with your country. His father was the ambassador to the US, I believe, so the role was a natural one for him.”

“I do not want to disrespect Minister Okombo.”

“Of course.”

“Why would the Mungiki target me?”

“They may not have had a motive on their own, but money is a powerful motivator. Perhaps someone else paid them to do it. Unfortunately, the man who knows why he was targeting you has been killed, and we have failed to identify his accomplices.”

“How can I protect myself?”

The detective ignored Jace’s question, only giving him a look of sympathy and continuing. “Tell me about the police at the checkpoint. Were they uniformed? Did you see badges, official papers?”

“They were wearing blue uniforms and police hats. They appeared legitimate to me. I didn’t see any papers.”

“They may not have been police at all. We’ve had some thievery of our metal spike strips.”

“So perhaps the police aren’t involved at all.”

“A possibility.” He made a note on the paper in front of him. “Some Luos used our equipment to set up blockades after the last election, stopping cars and threatening the Kikuyu.” He shook his head. “They claimed Kibaki stole the election from Odinga.” He slammed his hand on the table. “Foolishness!”

From what Jace had heard, the claim was far from foolish. To see that the conflict between the tribes was still able to stir such an emotional outburst from the Kikuyu detective demonstrated that the rift in the culture was deep and ongoing.

“You may want to stay in Kijabe for a while. My people will investigate this,” Ndemi said.

Jace shifted in his seat.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Rawlings. I can be discreet.”

“I don’t need any more attention. I just want to do my work as a surgeon without disturbance.”

The man smiled through brown teeth with an expression that made Jace shudder. “I hope that works out for you.” He paused. “You can catch a matatu back to Kijabe. I’ll be in touch if I have any more questions.”

With that, the man walked out, leaving Jace alone.

Alone was exactly what he felt.

32

Heather picked up the phone, noting the caller ID: “unrecognized number.”

“Hello.”

“Heather, Ryan Meadows here.”

“Yes,” she said, her stomach beginning to churn as soon as she heard his name. Ryan had promised to call her with information about the night of Jace’s accident.

“How are you?”

She bristled. She wasn’t interested in small talk. “Fine. Did you find out any information for me?”

“I’m fine too, thanks for asking. I was hoping we could meet for lunch. The Tobacco Company is close for me. Is that too far out of your way?”

“I’m really just interested in what you found out.”

“I’d rather discuss this face-to-face. Shall we say noon?”

Heather shook her head. “What did you find out?”

She listened to Ryan sigh. “Heather, some of this stuff may be difficult to hear. You didn’t let me buy you dinner the other night. Can we meet for lunch? Having a friend may make bad news easier to take.”

A friend? Is that what you are now?
“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Meadows,” she said. “But I am prepared to hear whatever you tell me.”

Another sigh into the phone. “Okay, but I’ll take a rain check on the meal together.” He paused.

She imagined he wanted a hopeful response, but she wasn’t about to give it.

“The hotel manager, Mr. Baker, usually took care of Mrs. Franks personally. I asked him about the night she died. He remembered a few things, even made a few notes so he could tell the police if they ever questioned him. Fortunately, they haven’t.”

She waited and finally prompted, “Well?”

“Let’s see,” he said as if he were reading. “At approximately nine p.m., Mr. Baker assisted Mrs. Franks with her bags, taking them to her suite. At ten p.m., he received a call from her asking him to escort up her physician. Dr. Rawlings arrived a few minutes later.”