Phil was in his office at 11 30 o'clock. He sat down feeling tired from last night's drinking. He yawned and his eyes landed on a new file on his desk written for his attention. He had just opened the file to page one when he saw a note in familiar handwriting, "See me immediately."
He stood up, yawned loudly again as he stretched himself and then put on his black coat. He then took out a shoe brush and polished his boots to a shiny black look. He left his office and headed straight to the Commanding officer's office. He found the secretary looking at her face in a hand held mirror. He found it rather strange that a fifty three year old would constantly preoccupy herself with her looks.
"Good morning, is Fat Albert in? He said he wanted to see me," said Phil.
"Yes he said that, but that was over an hour ago. He is in the board room downstairs now. He said to follow him there."
"What is he doing there?"
"Journalists."
"Thanks," replied Phil before walking out of her office. Within two minutes he was in the board room. Commanding Officer Mwenda was addressing journalists. Phil took a seat at the back as Mwenda was speaking.
"The truth of the matter is that we don't favor anyone, is that understood? We are politically neutral. And we shall maintain law and order in Lusaka. We shall deal with anyone who breaks the law regardless of their political affiliation. Is that clear?"
"Why is it that so far, it’s only cadres from the opposition parties that are getting arrested?" asked one reporter with a Daily Mirror I'd on his breast pocket.
Mwenda looked at the reporter and then said, “That is what I am saying my friend. If a cadre from the opposition breaks the law, I will not let him alone just because he is the opposition. We need peace in these campaigns. Whether MMD or PF or UPND whatever..."
"Sir," a reporter from TIMES stood up. “Of late we have witnessed street demonstrations by members of the ruling party around Lusaka. They make noise and generally disturb public peace. Last time they demonstrated all the way through Cairo road carrying coffins and demanding for the dismissal of Mr. Kabimba, the PF Secretary General. What are the police doing about it?"
"In certain circumstances, demonstrations are allowed. It is a democratic right. Is that clear? Besides what you are referring to is purely a PF matter."
“It is not, especially when public peace is being threatened.”
“When was public peace threatened by the ruling party?”
“There have been incidences where cadres have used machetes on each other in public. We have seen cadres supporting Wynter Kabimba fighting with those supporting GBM. One cadre was hacked to death near the airport.”
“It was an internal matter.”
There were murmurs in the room. A reporter from The Post then stood up.
"My question relates to media reports concerning the Minister of Agriculture and the maize export scandal involving over 2 million dollars. Why hasn't police moved in to arrest the Minister yet?"
Mwenda cleared his throat and then said, "What evidence do you have against him? As police we move in only if there is proof of wrongdoing, not merely on suspicion. Is that clear? Otherwise if I were to base my decision on suspicion, I can lock up all of you in here."
There was a round of laughter in the room. The Post journalist stood up again.
"In fact, you do have facts. My newspaper carried out details of his ill-gotten wealth, complete with evidence of corrupt dealings of exporting maize to Zimbabwe. We even shared these with your office. I am prepared to lay the same evidence right here before you again."
"My friend," said Mwenda."Let us not find faults in each other here. Proving a crime is not easy. You need concrete proof beyond reasonable doubt in order to convict a person..."
"Is it your job or the court's to convict a person?"
Mwenda cleared his throat and then shouted, "Next question please!"
A female reporter from ZNBC rose and said, "Commanding Officer, police released a statement yesterday about a woman found dead at the university of Zambia campus. How are the investigations proceeding?"
With a relaxed smile, Mwenda replied, "That is how a trained journalist asks a question. To answer your question madam, investigations are progressing well. We are on top of things."
"What was the cause of death?"
"Drowning."
"Was she drunk?"
"As police we have established that she was in fact high on illegal drugs. Is that clear?"
"Drugs? What type of drugs sir?"
We are not at liberty to disclose that because it may impact on our progress. But we understand that prostitutes use drugs a lot in order to sleep with strangers. Is that clear? But let me take advantage of this to warn the general public that drugs are bad. And as police we shall arrest anyone who abuses or traffics in drugs."
The Post reporter stood up and said, "Do you have her identity or where she is from?"
"Not yet my friend. I said that we are still investigation the matter. Next question!"
"If you are still investigating the matter and do not even know who she is, how come you are telling us that she was a prostitute?"
"Look here," said Mwenda in a high pitched voice. "We found her almost naked and so on. And we found drugs in her system. If it looks like a fish, swims like a fish and behaves like a fish, surely it must be a fish. Is that clear? I expect you to know that."
"Here is a hypothetical example. She takes drugs, gets high and walks into the street. She is then abducted by people who rape her and dump her body in the pond. Isn't that possible?"
Mwenda laughed out loudly and then clapped his hands twice. Then he said, "I can see that you are a fiction writer."
"Thank you sir. My question remain, is it possible that we may be dealing with a murder case instead of suicide?"
"That is pure speculation my friend, and it only works in your profession. As police we deal with facts, not speculations..."
"If we are together sir," insisted the same reporter, "the only person who has been speculating in this room is you. You have told us that you are investigating the matter. It means you obviously do not know who she is and what really happened. But on the other hand, you would have us believe that she was a prostitute who committed suicide while high on drugs..."
Mwenda stood up and banged his fist on the table. He then yelled, "Let us have some order here. You cannot tell us how to do our work as police. Otherwise if you are so clever, why aren't you a police officer yourself?"
"Answer my question sir."
Phil looked down in discomfort. Shortly afterwards he slipped out of the board room and then headed back to his office.
He sat down on his desk and finished the remaining water in his glass.
There was a knock at the door. Phil said come in.
"Good morning sir," offered Nawa, spotting his old khaki police uniform, with a small hole just below the breast pocket.
"Good afternoon. Actually it’s already past 12 o'clock," corrected Phil pointing to his wristwatch.
"No wristwatch sir," said Nawa shrugging his shoulders. Phil closed the file in front of him and then stood up.
"Let's go to lunch at town Centre," he told Nawa.
“Boss, I was thinking of going home for lunch. I was hoping you would accompany me.”
Phil nodded and then put on his black coat which he had been holding in his hands.
The two left the office together and exited the police station through the main reception area. They walked out of the premises and then turned left, taking the footpath parallel to Church road.
"It seems you had a good time with your ka hule at the bar last night my friend," said Phil with a smile.
"Boss, we continued after your left. We drank and danced until 02 o'clock."
"What happened next?"
"We ended up at her place in Kalingalinga compound. That is where I slept. Man, she has skill. Mamamamama. I just couldn’t leave her bed."
"What about your wife?"
"I haven't been home yet. That is why I have asked you to accompany me for lunch to apologize on my behalf.“
“You are disgrace, you know that my dear friend?”
“Yes sir.”
Phil smiled as he shook his head. They bypassed the Boma offices on their left. They began to walk up the flyover bridge. It was dusty as people walked up and down from both ends.
"So that woman was not a student after all," remarked Phil.
"Just another hule, maybe from out of town."
Phil quickly told him about the conference of that morning.
"Boss, ka sample. Neckties!" a dark young man with uncombed hair interrupted them, waving some neckties in their faces.
"No cash mwana," replied Phil as they continued walking.
"Boss, only thirty kwacha, no problem," he insisted as he followed along.
Phil waved him away.
"Ok, get it at twenty five boss. No problem."
Phil and Nawa ignored the street vendor. They reached the post office.
"Last price fifteen boss."
"Sorry mwana next time," said Phil, walking over to a parked taxi cab nearby.
"Get for ten kwacha only. Good quality."
Nawa shot a stern look at the vendor, who then noticed his police trousers and boots. The vendor waved at them and then ran back across the road.
They entered a blue cab and the driver started the engine.
“Where am I taking you?” asked the cab driver as he joined Cairo road.
“Sikanze Police camp,” replied Nawa simply.
They traveled in silence through Cairo road, then went past the Kafue round about and then proceeded straight all the way South.
“So much infrastructure coming up here,” remarked Phil as they passed the new shopping mall in Makeni.
In twenty minutes, they were at Nawa’s house. The two cops got out of the cab. Nawa paid the driver and he drove off.
They found Nawa’s wife washing clothes outside the house near the water tap.
“Good afternoon sweetie,” Nawa said to his wife. She looked at him and then continued washing without replying.
“How are you mulamu?” Phil asked her enthusiastically.
“I am not fine mulamu. Please get inside the house. I shall come soon,” she replied with a serious facial expression.
Phil and Nawa exchanged glances and then proceeded into the small two bedroom house. The sitting room was well cleaned. There were two old sofas and a wooden table in the middle of the room. On one end of the room was a display cabinet in the middle of which sat a TV. The walls required urgent painting, but the green curtains made the environment a little more decent. Nawa motioned to one of the seats with his open palm, and Phil sat down. There was a slight squeaky sound as he rested his weight into the sofa.
“Welcome to our humble abode,” said Nawa with a slight smile.
“It is a lovely place and thanks,” replied Phil. Just then two girls with uncombed hair and both clad in old chitenge cloth walked into the room and knelt as they greeted Phil. Nawa stared at them angrily as they left the room.
Nawa’s wife entered the room shortly afterwards. She unwrapped and then re-wrapped her chitenge tightly around her waist. She then sat down on the floor close to the door.
“How are the people at home, mulamu?” she asked Phil while slowly clapping her hands softly.
“Everybody is well. They send their greetings,” he replied.
She cleared her throat and then said, “Mulamu, you have come at the right time to hear this. We are not living well in this house. You found me washing those clothes and once they dry, I am going back to the village where my parents are.”
“No, no mulamu. Don’t talk like that. Why? What is the problem?”
“Ask your friend there,” she replied.
Phil turned to Nawa and asked, “Bo Nawa you have heard what our mother has said. What is the problem?”
Nawa cleared his throat and remained silent.
“He cannot even answer. Your friend does not take care of me the way a man should look after a woman. He doesn’t leave any money for food. He doesn’t leave any money for clothes.”
“Bo Nawa, is that so?” Phil shouted with feigned anger.
“In fact ask him where he slept last night,” she added with renewed vigor.
Phil turned to face Nawa and said, “You even slept out? I am very disappointed with you. How can you keep your good woman like this? It is very bad. Very bad indeed. See now she wants to leave you alone. Who do you think will look after you? Who will cook for you? Who will wash your clothes? Who will raise your five children?”
“Six children,” she interrupted.
“Please I don’t want to hear this story again from mulamu here. I have felt very bad,” Phil said, shaking his chest with his right hand. Nawa was looking at the floor.
“All he knows is sleeping with small girls and with prostitutes. He spends his money on beer. Me, I am tired,” she said while waving her hands in the air.
“You said he doesn’t bring money home?” asked Phil as he thrust his hand into his breast pocket. He drew a bunch of notes and counted ten of them.
“Here mulamu, please use this money to buy food for the children,” he said extending his hand with the money to her. She stood up and then walked over to Phil. She knelt as she accepted the money. Then she clapped softly again.
Turning to Nawa, Phil said, “I want to hear you apologize to her right now.”
Nawa shifted in his chair as he cleared his throat.
“I am sorry my wife. I won’t do it again. I promise,” he said quietly.
Phil turned to Nawa’s wife and said, “Mulamu my friend has apologized. He says that he is sorry. Please forgive him for his mistake. He loves you, it was just a mistake. And I will ensure that he gives you money every month. Please forgive us.”
Nawa smiled. Then Phil said, “By the way mulamu, we are hungry. Are you not going to prepare nshima for us?”
“The nshima is almost ready. Just give me five minutes,” she replied as she got up. She left the room with the money firmly clenched in her hand.
Nawa smiled at Phil and showed him a raised thumb. Phil smiled as he shook his head.
"By the way, has the informer come through on the Makeni garage?" Phil asked once they were alone in the room.
"He came through. He has given us a name of their supplier of stolen cars," replied Nawa.
"Who is the supplier?"
"James Tembo, the one called Big Joe," said Nawa.
"The same Big Joe criminal from three years ago?"
"Yes the same. Our informant says he controls all vehicle thefts in Kabulonga, Woodlands, Chilenje and Kabwata areas."
"So when are we moving in on him?"
"We need solid evidence. We have agreed that the informant phones us immediately Big Joe shows up with another stolen vehicle at Makeni garage. We don't want to disturb the trap by arresting him too early."
Nawa’s wife brought a tray on which there were two covered plates. There was also a bowl of salt next to the plates. She placed the tray on the table and then disappeared back outside. She emerged a minute later carrying a dish of water in one hand and a container of cold water in the other. After placing everything on the wooden table, she knelt on the floor and invited them for the meal. They both said thank you and she left the room again.
Nawa held the dish as Phil washed his hands. Phil did the same when it was time for Nawa to wash his hands also.
It was nshima and fish on the plates.
"How reliable is our informer?" Phil asked as he threw a lump of nshima into his mouth, followed closely by a piece of fish.
"He works at the same garage. He handles the paperwork."
"What does he want in return?"
"He has a case of forgery against him. He wants it dropped."
Phil smiled.
"I see that nothing is for free nowadays," he said.
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