SMOKEY BREEZES
Chapter 2
By Joseph Adoyo

James Mutaye heard the cry of the fish eagle in the early morning mist as it swooped low over the water close to their Homa Bay landing stage. He rolled onto his side and looked at the back of Patricia’s head. He gently stroked the edge of her ear with the forefinger of his left hand and she stirred a little, muttered something and pulled at the covers.
“Patty, it’s a lovely day and the fish eagle’s up already. Wake up pretty one, it’s a new day.”
He had always been a smooth talker and hadn’t lost his touch at 70. Patricia stirred again and then she turned over so that she was facing him. Her eyes were like black olives with brilliant white cream around them. She smiled.
“I know Jimmy, you want your breakfast! OK, go and put the kettle on!”

James flung back the sheets and stepped out onto the cool concrete floor which had been coloured dark green at the time it was laid. In his shorts and bare-chested he went to the window and opened it a little and sniffed at the cool sweet air. He looked back at Patricia and grinned, “OK my love, I’ll certainly do that.”
The fish eagle cried again and there was a faint splash as it made its first dive of the day. James turned towards the door and gently pulled it open. He gave a wry smile and stepped out into the corridor that ran down the length of the bungalow. He heard the creak as Patricia stepped out of the bed and he knew she would be heading for the bathroom. A few strides later he was in the kitchen and had the kettle under the tap. His eyes lazily wandered out to the lake and the long shadows from the lemon trees spreading out over the water in the early morning sun. The fish eagle was rising from the water, a large bream in its clutches, breakfast for the hungry chicks high in one of the acacias. The water spilled out as the kettle filled to the brim. “Shaagh!” he muttered as he turned the tap off and poured out some of the water. He laughed, just a few seconds of distraction and he’d over-filled the kettle. He replaced the lid and, having ‘riddled’ the wood-burning stove to which he had added a couple of small logs, he placed the hot plate in place and the kettle upon it.

Patricia appeared in the doorway in a towelling dressing gown. He smiled again and pointed at the stove. “Kettle’s on – I’m going to get some clothes on.” He kissed her cheek as he passed by.
“OK Jimmy, so what do you want for breakfast?”
“There’s still some of the salted bream in the fish safe – some of that and some bread will be fine for me.”
“OK my love, it’ll be ready in about ten minutes – your beige trousers are on the drying horse in the spare room.” Patricia opened the fine mesh covered door of the fish safe, a large square container bolted to the wall, made from frames of wood across which fine steel mesh had been stretched. It had one side, the side bolted to the wall, open to the outside air. The hot wind of the midday heat haze passing through the safe dried the filleted and salted fish. She took two large fillets off the hooks and pulled at the heads, removing them and the main bone and fins in one action. She grinned as she heard James gargling and singing in the bathroom. She had had a wonderful life with him, and their retirement was a daily joy. Her thoughts were suddenly disturbed by the sound of someone banging on the front door.
“Now, who could that be? James? James! There’s someone banging on the front door. Tut, I’ll have to go myself.”
She put down the fish and made her way to the front door just as the caller banged again. She turned the key in the lock and pulled it open. Before her stood two men, dark suits and with all the air of plain clothes policemen.
“Can I help?” She looked at them quizzically as she held the door half open.
“Is James Mutaye here?” The man on the left asked with hardly any emotion in his voice or facial expression. He was about 35 years of age, darker skinned than she was and had distinctive marks on his cheeks where he had been marked with a razor as a child as part of some ritual. The other man was slightly older, 40 maybe, of the lighter skinned southern people of the border area. He had no expression at all on his face.
Patricia looked from one to the other, she felt uneasy, but nevertheless, she smiled as she replied to the question.
“Yes, my husband is here, can I tell him who asking?”
“Detective Inspector Batwe and Sergeant Adoyo, police business.”
“May I have that confirm by some identification please?”
“Batwe, DCI, Nairobi Special Squad.” He held out his badge.
“You aren’t Kenyan though are you?”
“I don’t see what that has to do with our business here, but yes, you are right, I am from the Republic of Congo, now, please, get Mr Mutaye.”
“One moment please, and, nothing personal, I am closing the door.” She went to push the door shut, but Adoyo placed his hand on the panelling.
“No, please, keep the door open.”
Patricia grunted in disapproval as she turned away and made towards the bathroom.
“James. James, there’s someone here who wants to speak to you.”
“Who is it?” James’ muffled voice came back as he towelled himself dry.
“Two policemen from Nairobi, they say they have to speak to you and it doesn’t look like they’ll go away until they do.”
“OK, I coming now.”
James joined Patricia in the corridor and they both returned to the front door, where James spoke first.
“Hello, I’m James Mutaye, what can I do for you?”
Batwe took a long breath and placed his badge onto his lapel.
“James Mutaye, I am arresting you for the murder of Angel Kallale on Thursday the 17th of May. You do not have to say anything, but, anything you do say will be ignored.”
“Wha…..?” James retorted, speechless, not even noticing the erroneous arrest phraseology. Patricia did, and wrote it down on the shopping list she had picked up from the kitchen earlier.
“What!” responded James a second time.
“Get your shoes on, we have a long drive, you might like to get him a water bottle or something Mrs Mutaye, it’ll be a hot journey.”
“Why have you arrested my husband? He’s never killed anything, not even an ant or bee and he couldn’t have killed anyone in Nairobi, he hasn’t been there for years, and who is, er was, Angel Kallale anyway?”
“Sorry we cannot discuss the case. If you are needed, we will come back for you later, come on Mutaye, let’s go.”
James stepped out of the door into the golden sunlight and the two men escorted him to the police liveried Landrover that was under the mango trees on the road side of the house. Patricia stood and watched in disbelief as the James was bundled into the Landrover and never took her eyes of it until the dust obscured it from view.

She was beside herself, she didn’t know what to do. Never in nearly 20 years since he had retired had James gone anywhere without her. She had never been anywhere without him. Now she was lost, he was gone and she had been helpless to do anything. She knew he hadn’t killed anyone, and on that day she was sure they had been visiting her niece in Kendu Old Town, up the lake a bit. She had to do something. She turned and went back inside. Her eyes, unseeing, traversed the room as thoughts bombarded her mind. What could she do? Who could she call? Who would care?
She sat down on the settee, her head dropped into her hands as she sobbed in despair. At that moment it seemed that there was nothing she could do. She felt so helpless. She raised her eyes again and for a second her eyes dwelled on the array of photos on the sideboard. She was about to drop them again to the floor and sigh in hopelessness when something ‘twanged’ in her brain. Her eyes shot back up to the pictures. She leaped up. “Julius!” she cried as she grasped his picture. Her grandson Julius was completing his finals as a lawyer; he’d already got a placement with a Nairobi law firm; he would know what to do.

“Now, where is his telephone number,” she thumbed through the little telephone book by the phone table, “Ah, here it is.” She picked up the phone and mouthed off the numbers from the book as she dialled them, “6---6---5---0---0---7---7---4---9---8---3”. She placed the earpiece to her right ear and listened to the ring tone for a few seconds. She was about to ring of when a click alerted her to the end of the ring tones and a voice broke the silence, “Nairobi 774983, who’s calling please?”
“Is that you Julius?” she tried to hide the anxiety in her voice as she called for her grandson.
“No, this is not Julius, who is calling please?”
“Oh sorry, this is Julius’ grandmother, please tell him that I need to talk to him urgently.”
“One moment ma’am, I will call him.” There was a thud as the receiver was placed onto the table while Julius was sought.

A few moments later there were little rustling sounds and then Patricia heard a voice in her ear, “Grandmother, hello, how are you? How’s Grandad?”
“Hello Julius – is it ok to talk?”
“It’s always OK to talk, why, what’s on your mind?”
“Your Grandad’s been arrested.”
“Grandad? Arrested? What on earth for?”
“Julius, we need your help, please, need your advice at least?”
“OK Grandmother, please, calm down and tell me, where have the Police taken him?”
“I don’t know, Nairobi I think, the two policemen were from Nairobi.”
“What was the arresting officer’s name?”
“er.. hang on – I wrote it down – BATWE – a Congolese.”
“A Congolese policeman from Nairobi – sounds unusual but might make it easier to find out where he’s based. Leave it with me I’ll start making some calls – then I’ll call you back, OK?”
“Thank you Julius, you’re a good boy. Oh – one thing, I wrote this down, Batwe didn’t read Grandad his rights properly.”
“Oh? How do you know that?”
“I know that they have to say certain things and what he said was odd.”
“In what way odd?”
“Well he said this - James Mutaye, I am arresting you for the murder of Angel Kallale on Thursday the 17th of May. You do not have to say anything, but, anything you do say will be ignored.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Absolutely sure, I wrote it down.”
“He didn’t say ‘you have a right to be silent’ or ‘you have a right to an attorny’ or anything similar?”
“No, that was it, that’s all he said.”
“Well that makes it stranger – are you sure they were Police?”
“Only that they had official looking badges and were dressed very smartly.”
“Could they have been criminals?”
“Oh Julius, no, please don’t say that, oh – it’s bad enough being arrested, but oh……”
Her voice trailed off as she contemplated the possibilities.
“Granny!” Julius dropped his formalities and returned to the childhood name he used as he felt the anxiety building, he hadn’t meant to startle her, he was just piecing things together. “Granny, I’m sure that everything will be OK, let me ring around a bit.”
“Oh Julius, I’m so scared, please, yes, ring around and please ring me, soon.”
“OK – now you go and make a cup of that lovely redbush tea and I’ll call you back soon, OK? If you’re scared, call Danny, he’s only twenty minutes from you and I know he’ll want to help.”
Danny was Julius’ cousin and a trainee pilot with Kenya Airlines. His house was only up the valley from Homa Bay.
“OK, thank you, you’re a good boy Julius.”
“I’m going to make some calls, I’ll call you later, goodbye Grandmother.”
The phone clicked and went dead. Patricia sank to the floor, her shoulders moved with the sobs and she grasped at the box of tissues to dry her eyes. Julius’ mention of criminals had scared her. She wanted so much to be there with James, to hold him and to know that whatever happened to him, she’d be there to give him strength. She sobbed until she was all sobbed-out.

Meanwhile a black sedan containing James and his two captors was making its way up Station Street in Nairobi.

© steve Goodings - “Bob Curby” 2010