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Pauline flashed her headlights in greeting as she drove past Tilly and Dave, who must have been driving back home. Pauline had gotten a call to go to the DCI Headquarters about forty-five minutes after Dave and Tilly had left to go there. The police knew she was staying at Tilly’s house. If they had better timing, then she could have carpooled with them. She thought about calling and asking if they could come get her, but, given that the headquarters was only twenty minutes away, she knew they would already be there.
Now it was late afternoon and, depending on how long the meeting would last, it would be dark on the drive back. She hated driving at night when there were many cars with no headlights. Driving blind was not only a matatu thing. It was getting late and the sides of the road were full of people walking home at the end of the workday. This wouldn’t have bothered her if people stayed on the sides instead of spilling onto the road itself. Driving was never easy in Nairobi.
Her irritation had grown intense by the time she pulled into the parking lot, which did not have easy parking like at Village Market. She managed to park her car somewhat properly. It was only slightly crooked in the spot, and that was good enough for her. As she was about to get out of the car, her irritation turned to concern.
This might be it, she thought. She hadn’t done herself any favors by trying to run. The police didn’t arrest her at the airport, but she wasn’t on their good list. They also didn’t come to arrest her at Tilly’s today, but given her flee attempt, having her come to them might be a test. She wasn’t sure what to think and that worried her. She now knew what the colobus monkey from her kitchen had been feeling. She was trapped and scared shitless. The only difference was that, if it came down to it, she didn’t know how to fight.
There’s no point in sitting here any longer. I need to go in and get this over with.
#
She took in a deep breath and hopped out of the Prado. With deliberate steps, as though she might turn and run away if she wasn’t careful, she walked to the building. The interior was similar to the Gigiri station, although this was a nicer building. She waited in a similar meeting room as before, only this time there were no case files left out on the table. After a few minutes, Omondi entered and sat across from her.
“Thank you for coming, Miss Green.”
“I had a choice?” Pauline said out loud. She blushed as she heard the words come out of her mouth. Inside voice, Pauline, she reminded herself.
“Of course you did. We all have choices in life. You’ve made some questionable ones recently. Your husband made a lot of bad ones, very bad.”
“Oh God,” she whispered. “Curt murdered Zara?” She had no respect left for the man, but she didn’t think he was capable of something like this. Or was he?
Omondi shook his head no several times and put up his hand. “No, but, he is linked. Before we talk about that, let me ask you about the hard drive we found in your store.”
“My store? Oh, yes, right. The pantry.” Pauline was not yet accustomed to a few Kenyan English terms, such as store instead of pantry and junction instead of intersection.
“Yes. There was quite a bit on the hard drive. There were confidential, not-yet-public balance sheets from several companies, all of them marked up to increase some of the income sections. The marked changes would have made for an unusually high amount of revenue coming from the sale of traditionally inexpensive goods. Something like this is often a sure sign of money laundering. We suspect it’s meant to cover up drug trade. In fact, the hard drive also had copies of email correspondence that suggest as much. This was all mostly between Somali clans and Russian companies. There were a few records of Indian and Chinese transactions as well.
“Can you tell me anything about this? Maybe your husband mentioned something? Maybe you noticed something?”
“I don’t know a thing about it. He was so secretive. Like I told you before, Curt never shared a damn thing with me. Pardon my language.”
“It’s all right. Women get emotional. I understand.”
Pauline blinked. At this point, she should have been used to his sexist demeanor, but she was still taken aback. She managed to steady herself. A negative reaction from her would not help things.
“Your husband got involved in some very messy business, very messy. After we went through the hard drive and confronted him, he told us everything,” he said.
“This messy business, what was he doing? What exactly did he do?”
“He served as a go-between for his Somali and Russian...let’s call them his colleagues. He passed along falsified import and export papers to cover up the smuggling of drugs out of Somalia and into Kenya. He used his WFP access to make it easier for buses and lorries—all carrying drugs—to pass the borders. He thought it was exciting.” Omondi shook his head. “Expat cowboys are all alike, all of them idiots. Let’s just say it got too exciting, but he was stuck in it. When he tried to back out, he made the wrong men angry. To protect himself, he held onto that hard drive instead of passing it along in the crime syndicate. He then began to secretly collect and store additional information on that hard drive to protect himself. It was a form of insurance for him. He claimed to have hidden a physical document, something with more details. We were able to find that today in Mrs. Fleming’s vehicle.”
Pauline thought about the late-night calls, the last-minute trips, and the growing secrecy. It explained why Curt’s general attitude had grown worse since moving to Kenya. We never had a chance. Moving here was never going to solve our problems. Curt made sure of that.
“Tell me, did you ever entertain at your home?”
“What? No, I didn’t.” Pauline was surprised at the change of topic.
“Your husband never brought home any colleagues, African or perhaps Russian?”
“No. Curt was rarely ever home himself.”
“You never met anyone?”
She shook her head no.
He nodded slowly. “Yes, that would make sense.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that, and I don’t understand how any of this is tied to Zara.”
“There is more to all of this. These men, they wanted to send a message to your husband.”
“Please stop calling him that. I’m filing for divorce.”
“I don’t like divorce, but I don’t blame you in this case. A man is obligated to protect his wife, yes? He failed at that. He put you in grave danger. These men wanted to send a message to Mr. Desmond,” he said pointing at her, “through you.”
“Through me? I never got any messages. No one ever contacted me.”
“Not that kind of message.” Omondi waited for Pauline to catch his meaning.
A full minute passed and she was no less puzzled. Omondi frowned and then spelled it out for her. “They meant to use you as a message. However, they never met you so they never learned who you are. They thought Miss Lee was Mr. Desmond’s wife. They thought she was you. They meant to kill you.”
#
Pauline sat in silent shock for a moment. She wasn’t sure she heard Omondi correctly. She tilted her head as if to ask him to repeat himself. He gave a slow, firm nod, a confirmation that she did indeed hear him correctly.
She shuddered as understanding hit her. These people meant to kill her. Those men who came by the bungalow were looking for her. She had been in real danger. She could feel the blood rush from her head. She felt faint. She took a few deep breaths to calm down. Then her heart started to ache.
She remembered Zara’s words from their girl’s night in Naivasha. Not a day went by without someone mistaking Zara for something she wasn’t. Her chest tightened. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat.
“We were able to find some of the people involved with this,” Omondi said. “We found the man who shot and killed Miss Lee. We also found the man who hired him. There are others involved and we are working to find out who they are. The investigation is ongoing.
“However, it no longer involves you. You are no longer a suspect, nor are you a person of interest. We also don’t think you’re under threat anymore. There’s no longer any use for them to try to use you as leverage. Still, you should plan to leave Kenya quickly.”
“How quickly?”
“Very quickly. Your visa was tied to Mr. Desmond’s visa, which has been invalidated. In fact, he must leave the country within the next...” he paused to check his notes, “five days. Yes, he needs to leave within five days. You will also need to leave soon as you no longer have a valid visa.”
“Is he being kept here until then?”
“Have we detained him? No. We are keeping watch on him, but he is staying at the Trademark Hotel in Village Market, in Gigiri. It’s not far from where Mrs. Fleming lives. I’m sure you know it. All of you expats on this side of town shop there, right? Apparently, he hasn’t left his room since checking in, so I’m sure you can find him there if you want.”
“Thank you. Do I also have to leave right away, within five days?”
“You can get a one-month tourist visa.”
“Only one month? How am I supposed to sort out everything and move in such a short amount of time?”
“You had no problem with leaving in a hurry four days ago,” he snapped.
Pauline grew quiet. You got me there, she thought.
Omondi tempered his tone. “You’ll be fine.”
“Do you think I can get a three-month—”
“You people come here. You stay for a few years and then you go off to the next place. Kenya is just another adventure along the way for you. You’ll be fine.”
He got up and took her passports out from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He pushed them across the table to her. “You’re free to go. Your embassy can help you with the visa, I’m sure...either embassy, that is.”
“Sorry about that,” she whispered, casting her eyes down.
“We knew you were a dual national, and that you didn’t give us both passports.”
“Why didn’t you arrest me when I only gave you one?”
“First, I wanted to see what you would do. Second, I wanted to see what the French would do. They’re trying to patch things up with Rwanda—you know, for their involvement in the genocide. It’s not wise for them to upset another East African country. But the French can be arrogant. We wanted to see if they would try to get involved with your situation.”
So, were you playing me? “And at the airport?”
“We had cleared you at that point. You were no longer a suspect and no longer needed to stay in Kenya. I didn’t see the need to arrest you.”
“Then, why did you stop me from leaving? If I was free to go, then why not let me go?” You were definitely playing me.
“We thought we might still need you. Plus,” he said, leaning forward over the table, “Kenya is a sovereign nation, Miss Green. Don’t ever forget that. We have laws, the same as Canada and France. There are rules, and we enforce them. I hadn’t told you that you were free to go, and you are not above the law.”
“I understand,” she said in a conciliatory tone. Pauline didn’t like the way Omondi had manipulated her, but she would play along if it meant she was now in the clear. “Thank you. I’ll go now.”
“Best of luck to you, Miss Green. Try to stay out of trouble.”
#
The sun was starting to set as Pauline went back to her car. Sitting less than two degrees below the Equator, Nairobi had a short twilight. Pauline would have about fifteen minutes before full nightfall. That ought to be enough, at least enough to get her most of the way home before it got dark. Her hands shook as she put the key into the ignition. Her head was spinning and she couldn’t get herself to turn the key. A rush of thoughts whirled around in her head.
She put her hands on the steering wheel as if it could steady her. She wasn’t sure if she was having a panic attack, or anxiety, or who knew what else. All she knew was that she needed to calm down if she was ever going to drive back to Tilly’s house in Gigiri. She closed her eyes and practiced the slow breathing technique she learned in a meditation course last year. After a minute, her heart rate slowed to a normal pace and she could let her mind flow.
Don’t analyze...let the thoughts happen...I could have been in a lot of trouble...But I’m cleared and free to go. So, it’s okay...I’m okay...No. No, it’s not okay. People wanted to kill me. I could have died, because of Curt...Zara’s dead and, again, it’s Curt’s fault...He caused this, all of it.
She was about to let out a primal scream but stopped short. She was at the DCI Headquarters parking lot and the last thing she wanted was a team of police officers rushing over to her. She sucked in a deep breath and slowly let it out. Stay calm...focus on driving and get back to Tilly’s.
After another three slow, deep breaths, she started the engine and turned on the headlights. It was now completely dark outside. She still didn’t like driving at night, but it didn’t seem like such a bad thing anymore. She could deal with it right now. Starting tomorrow, she would have to deal with the rest of her life.