An Angel in Flames

By N.K. Read

On a freezing cold morning under the gaze of a glacial Mount Kenya, a young woman is walking home through a landscape shrouded in fog and frost. Her eye is drawn to a volt of vultures stalking a pit of fire and ash. She runs towards them to scare them off. That’s when she sees what they’ve been pecking at. It is the badly burnt and mutilated body of her father. She falls to the ground, her knees sinking into grass, ash and mud, her mouth gaping in a silent scream. Above, the flock of vultures hiss at her, swaying in the icy wind rushing down the snow-capped peaks.

‘An Angel in Flames’ is set in Kenya’s Laikipia Plateau. One of the most fascinating places in the world. Where billionaire cowboys and Maasai herdsmen mingle alongside British Royalty and Kenya Air Force pilots.

Stretching from Mount Kenya in the east to the Rift Valley in the west, this extensive natural paradise is blessed with stunning flora and fauna. Its deep jade forests and golden savannahs overflow with lions, giraffes, rhinos, antelopes and elephants. It is also home to private ranches, working farms, wildlife sanctuaries, spas and luxury resorts that attract the rich, ambitious and famous.

From the legendary Mount Kenya Safari Club, that was a preserve of Ernest Hemingway, Frank Sinatra and Ava Gardner to the 67,000-acre Ol Jogi Ranch, playground of the famous Wildensteins of New York and the Craig Family’s Lewa Downs private conservancy that has hosted Britain’s Prince William, this magnificent landscape draws many to its natural beauty. Yet it carries the scars of over-farmed land, drought-affected tribes people, the lure of political intrigue and now murder.

The grotesque slaying of Kenya’s former chief of police and one of the country’s most notorious political leaders triggers a series of shockwaves that reverberate to the very top of the government, setting into motion a cascade of fear, dread and intrigue.

His death revives old nightmares for Chief Inspector Ange Mutua who is overseeing the investigation. The last thing Ange needs is the murder of a notoriously infamous man in her backyard. One that resurrects old nightmares she’d long forgotten. Duncan is not your run of the mill victim; he was the country’s former chief of police. He was also once a friend of Ange’s father. A man she blames for her father’s death.

While her fellow police officers are quick to lay the blame on his money hungry girlfriend, the last person to see Duncan alive but also conducting an affair with his head of security, Ange has her doubts.

She's soon drawn into an intricate web of political cover-ups and run-ins with her own corrupt police bosses as she unearths long-buried mysteries from her own past and that of a secretive group of powerful individuals that held Kenya to ransom for many years. Amid the flower farms of Laikipia, the five star luxury wildlife resorts and under the long gaze of Mount Kenya, she must separate fact from fiction and find a vicious murderer while being pulled into a very personal fight for her life, her career and her values.

An Angel in Flames gives readers an atmospheric taste of Africa’s beauty and takes them on a journey into its dark side. Where courageous men and women grapple with corrupt leaders and high stakes for the sake of peace and justice for all.

Readers will be riveted to the last page as the shocking identity of the murderer is laid bare and at last his gruesome mission revealed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: N.K. Read
• Release date: Sep 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9780992458126

N.K. Read

Born and bred in Kenya, N.K. Read is an entrepreneur, storyteller and journalist who has written for several publications and news outlets including the Kenya Television Network, The Sydney Morning Herald and The Guardian UK. Now living in Sydney Australia, she also runs Afritorial.com, a leading online magazine for pop culture, news, literary and cultural commentary across Africa. She’s also written, produced and directed three documentary films, two of which played across cinemas in Australia. Other than a great coffee, what gets her up in the morning is her love for her two lovely children, her family and a drive and heart for Africa. She enjoys reading, travelling and cooking with her husband and kids and reads voraciously in her very ‘spare’ time.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The flames rose searing flesh and bone. The voices too lifted, the revelry and laughter echoing through the valley. It built up into a wall of noise that almost split Nimo’s head into shards. The side gate swung open letting more bodies into the courtyard. Black, white, Indian, Chinese. A taste of Nanyuki’s diverse fauna. The Lingala music throbbed over them and they writhed and shook like jellyfish. Dusty sweaty limbs pressed into her and she twisted away from the fray, gasping for fresh air.

All she got was the intense burnt aroma of nyama choma BBQ meat and stale beer. She darted out of the tent and into the garden. Leaving behind the heaving masses, the screaming children, the baying DJ and the drunken hordes.

For a moment, her slim frame silhouetted against the large bonfire blazing on the edge of the garden, a rotisserie of meat spinning above it. Every now and then, the flames sparked, fueled by the dripping fat falling off the specialty dry aged beef.

From the safety of the pool house doorway, she watched the merrymaking unfold. Trays of glistening protein and mounds of carbohydrates swept past. They headed to the scattered tables where the hungrier members of the throng gorged themselves on the hearty fare. On the dance floor, waists twisted, braided hair flew and limbs distorted as each dancer tried to outdo the other. Even the children joined in, generating laughs from the adults with their cute attempts at lipala.

There was no doubt about it. Duncan Waweru threw a good party. He was a local legend and this was his night. A celebration of all he’d achieved in 75 years. It was a birthday party that would rival all others and be the envy of his cronies. It was 2017’s party of the year.

With yells of acoustic prowess, the hired Kamba dancers rushed onto centre stage. They unleashed their gymnastic skills and the party roared. Nimo’s gaze narrowed when one of them seized a shapely woman on the sidelines and whirled her up into the air. She protested to no avail. Nimo sucked her teeth in disdain. She was sure the woman’s objection was faked like everything else about her. The lead performer captured the woman in his arms and pushed into a vigorous, intensely close dance. From his throne-like chair hoisted on a platform above the dance floor, Duncan’s booming laugh signaled his approval. His young, sexy partner was on show and he loved it.

In the shadows, the young woman’s lips twisted. Her father took great joy in showing off his trophies. Cherry Mwende was certainly the icing on the cake of his diamond years. Once a cad, always a cad, Nimo thought, echoing her mother’s words. Thank God Regina was not here to see this joke of a party unfold. Duncan’s first wife was not invited even though she’d been his right hand woman for over 40 years of his life. Her sacrifice was the reason he was now the ultimate man, as he liked to coin himself.

Why couldn’t anyone tell him he was everything but the ultimate man? Why couldn’t she, his own daughter, say what she thought of him to his face? Was it because he couldn’t take the criticism, for he was deeply sensitive man under his bluster? Or was it because his reputation for ruthlessness far eclipsed him, colouring every encounter he had? Regardless, she despised how he made her feel. Powerless and weak.

Nimo shook off her cynicism with a shrug. The night was young and she refused to let neither Duncan nor Cherry sour her mood any further.

Beyond the disco lights, the pale quarter moon cast its weak light on the tall peaks towering over the valley. Mount Kenya. The mountain men had worshipped for centuries, whispering their prayers for great harvests, sweet love and long life to Ngai, the god of the skies, whose throne sat on the highest ridge of the majestic peaks. Nimo gazed up at the looming cathedral of rock and ice, sending up her own prayer. That this night would soon be over.

She breathed in and the sweet air rushing down the slopes filled her lungs. It cleansed her, replacing the gritty dust that gusted up from the dance floor. She imagined what lay beyond the revelry. The fields of savannah grassland, the brilliance of the stars that seemed so close that she could touch them and the night calls of the white-throated bee-eater settling into its nest. Nature at its healing best. The tart taste in her mouth faded and she turned her attention back to the party. The tent billowed as the dancers kicked up their heels, the bonfire flicking light onto their sweaty, happy faces.

A familiar face pushed through the writhing figures, eyes darting and searching. Nimo smiled. Finally, someone she could relate to. Moments later she swept them up in an enveloping hug.

‘Looking for me?’

‘Nimo!’ It was Raha, Nimo’s best friend and neighbour. ‘There you are.’

‘You’re late.’

‘I was delaying the inevitable,’ said the tiny ebony skinned girl. She threw a nervous glance around the room. ‘You know I hate parties.’

Raha paused for a moment. ‘Is Simi here? I’d rather he didn’t see me.’

‘You know he’s always here,’ Nimo said, giving her friend a closer look. ‘Are you avoiding him?’

‘Maybe. It’s been a bit weird lately. So have you seen him?’

‘He’s somewhere out the front making sure no strangers crash the party. Everything sawa with you guys?’

Nimo searched Raha’s face with concern. The two young women had met ten years ago across the fence dividing their parents’ farms. They’d gone to the same high school and registered for the same medical degree. They knew everything there was to know about each other. At least that’s what Nimo believed.

‘We’re fine … hey, you look great,’ Raha deflected, admiring Nimo’s blue silk dress.

‘Not so bad yourself ... red suits you.’

‘Pity no-one will notice the effort we’ve gone into after they’ve looked at her.’

The pairs’ eyes followed the woman capturing everyone's attention on the dance floor.

Nimo sucked her teeth. ‘Her dress alone cost over two hundred thousand shillings and she had it flown in from Paris. I asked him for a loan to buy a good doctor’s bag and he said no. I hate him for being so stupid and I hate her for bleeding him dry.’

‘She’s a leech alright,’ Raha said with unusual emotion. ‘I know it!’ She stopped herself from saying more. ‘No! I don’t want to spoil your night.’

Nimo shrugged. ‘It’s not my night. It’s his.’

‘All power to him then.’

Nimo sensed her friend had something on her mind. ‘What did you just want to tell me?’

Raha waved her friend’s curiosity away. ‘Later. When we’re alone. For now, celebrate the man or at least pretend to.’

Nimo barely hid her feelings. ‘The last thing on my mind is celebrating him. I’m protecting mother. He threatened to throw her out of her own home if I didn’t come, even after she held it for him all those years. I’m just another piece of property to him. It’s the only reason he pays my med school fees and nothing else. For the sole reason of showing me off. He doesn’t care that I’m working two other jobs to cover food and bills for mum and myself. He doesn’t care that I’m exhausted and worn out. He only wants to flaunt my achievements …’

As if on cue, the music slowed and a loud voice boomed through the speakers.

‘You’ve seen my beautiful woman,’ - Duncan roared into the mic - ‘Next, I want to share this evening with my talented daughter. She’s a doctor in training and the pride of my loins. Come here my lovely one.’

All eyes turned to Nimo. The spotlight swung around to train itself over her. Raha gave her friend a wry smile tinged with sympathy and a squeeze of support on her shoulder.

With a deep breath and an uneasy smile, the Nimo stepped forward, into the arms of the burly man.

Duncan Waweru was a man of great stature. Thick grey hair sat like a coiffured hat on his massive dome. He sported a wide nose and curling lips that sat above a large double chin. Regardless of his six foot two height and similar girth, he took pride in his appearance and toilette. Encouraged by Cherry, he wore cutting edge modern suits made from loud African prints and tailored by exclusive stores in Nairobi and Lagos. His shoes were custom made too. His feet shuffled across the dance floor in glossy green crocodile skin loafers. Bright yellow socks matched the pocket square fluttering on his chest. Nimo shuddered at the man he was trying so hard to be. A youthful dandy at 75. Disgusting.

The music shifted into a soulful Sauti Sol number. She waltzed stiffly in her father’s arms, her face grim and cold.

‘Thank you for indulging an old man,’ he rumbled into her ear. He ignored her gloominess as he expertly led her across the floor, the strength in his arms belying his age. ‘It means a lot to me.’

His expensive cologne washed over her, as did his words. They meant nothing to her yet she nodded woodenly. Keeping up appearances was a trick she’d mastered over the years.

‘Your mother is well?’ he murmured, waving and laughing to the crowd as he swept past.

‘She is.’

‘Tell her I’m grateful to her for lending you to me this evening.’

‘I’ll pass on your appreciation.’

From her vantage point, she saw the way the guests around them kowtowed to the powerful man. From the local mayor to the county’s Member of Parliament, they all seemed fascinated and somewhat terrified of his presence.

‘Speaking of your mother, tell her my lawyers will be in touch very soon. Nothing to worry about, but our union, if we can call it that, is all but history now. I need to be free. I’ve instructed them to draw up the paperwork and fast track it. Don’t worry, she’ll be well compensated.’

Nimo pulled back in shock, staring at her father as he pushed her reluctant body across the dance floor.

‘What?’

‘Don’t hiss at me. You know damn well what I’m saying. I need to be free. To marry the one I now adore.’

At that moment, the woman in question rolled in a large food trolley. A candlelit tower of buttercream and layered fondant wobbled on it. Duncan exclaimed in pleasure and pranced off, cutting short their conversation. Moments later, with Cherry leading the singing, the gathering stated that Duncan Waweru was indeed a jolly good fellow. He beamed at his guests, clapping with all the delight of a child as they sang for him. He took a lethal looking knife to the decadent pile of chocolate rum confection, giggling as Cherry fed him a slice. Nimo watched the woman simper and fawn at her father. She looked like she was practicing for her nuptials, Nimo thought bitterly. She vowed at that moment never to let it happen. The idea of Cherry becoming a formal member of the Waweru clan was a nightmare she couldn’t fathom.

Nimo stepped aside as the partygoers shoved past her, falling on the dessert like hungry vultures, devouring and tearing it apart. She shoved one woman back, baring her teeth when the woman protested. Who were these animals, Nimo wondered, trying to reclaim some personal space.

‘Piga dansi kidogo!’ Duncan bellowed, ordering the DJ to his turntable.

The music started up again and the birthday man swept Nimo up in yet another dance. His corpulent face was flush with heat, excitement and exhilaration.

‘You will not do this to mum!’ Nimo said, resuming their discussion.

‘I can and I will!’ came Duncan’s reply. Resolve set in his face as the music pumped up around them.

For a moment Nimo indulged the notion of reaching her hands up to his throat and choking the very life out of him. What a bastard she thought, her entire body trembling with fury.

Suddenly her father whirled to a stop.

‘Who’s that?’

‘Who’s what?’ Nimo followed his alarmed gaze to the bonfire beyond the tent’s open dance floor. ‘Where?’

‘There,’ he gestured wildly. ‘In the fire. I saw someone.’

The area surrounding the fire pit was empty. The flames of the inferno leapt up even higher towards the sky and Nimo wondered whether Duncan was drunk.

‘In the fire? Are you sure?’

By now, their fellow revelers had also paused their dancing, drawn to their host’s alarm.

‘I saw a person, standing in the middle of the bonfire,’ he roared. ‘I’m not mad. I saw what I saw. Security!’

In a flash, a group of men led by a tall sinewy man, loped towards the giant blaze. They fanned out beyond it, in search of the mysterious intruder.

Everyone milled about murmuring until the guards returned, all with the same account.

‘Hakuna mtu. There’s nobody there,’ said Simi, the tall, lean head of security.

‘But I saw some … thing … one … standing there. In the flames. Staring at me.’

For the first time in her life, Nimo saw her father visibly shaken. He was ashen under his dark skin and he kept rubbing his upper lip in distress.

Cherry muscled in on Duncan. She bundled him away, leaving instructions to the security team. She wanted them to search the farm and grounds for any intruders.

‘Carry on, carry on,’ Duncan called out as he stumbled off in his girlfriend’s arms, dazed and confused.

Raha made her way to Nimo’s side.

‘What was that all about?’

‘He’s going crazy!’ Nimo snapped. ‘Stark raving mad!

‘He has been a little erratic lately.’

The statement came from Simi who’d joined the pair by the pool house.

‘Thanks Simi but I don’t need your opinion on my father!’

Nimo had never quite warmed to Raha’s boyfriend. There was something snake-like about him. He also had a habit of materialising silently all over the property, which gave her the creeps.

Simi shrugged off Nimo’s resentment, giving the women a tight smile. ‘Back to work then.’

‘I’ll see you later,’ he said pointedly to Raha. He and his crew took off, spreading out over the acreage in search of a ghost.

‘That’s put some lead in the proverbial balloon,’ Raha said.

The party atmosphere had certainly deflated. Clumps of people headed towards the gates and the dance floor was deserted.

‘It’s over, red rover. When the big man exits the building, so must we,’ Nimo said humourlessly.

‘That doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time,’ Raha said. She lifted up a bottle of amber liquid in one hand and two glasses in another.

Nimo sighed with pleasure. ‘Now you’re talking. The shed?’

‘Where else? Do I have a story for you!’

‘And I, one for you!’

The pair took off together. They left behind the sound of a tired DJ trying to revive the party and the puzzled murmurs of the leftover guests.

As she hoisted herself over a rear fence, Nimo looked back at the scene once more. Her heart skipped a beat. In the flames of the roaring bonfire, she saw a faint silhouette. Mesmerised, she watched it shimmer like a mirage before it disappeared into the inferno. It was just her imagination playing tricks, she thought. She vaulted over the fence and into the darkness.

It was the loud, fluid whistles of the white-browed sparrow weavers that shocked Nimo from slumber. They fussed in their nest perched high on the tip of the acacia tree outside. Their screeches rent the air and she covered her ears trying to muffle the cacophony. It was useless. Cursing, she leapt from the straw bed, knocking over an abandoned bottle of rum. She looked around the shed. She was alone. Raha had left, probably to get an early start for Nairobi. Without saying goodbye, Nimo sulked to herself.

She gathered a shuka over her bare shoulders and stepped down a wooden ladder to the shed door. Nudging it open, she squinted in the early morning sun. The big house beyond looked like a castle in the ethereal light. She saw a glow in the kitchen and felt her stomach growl. A plate of greasy, fried food would be heaven right now, she mused.

She dashed across a small clearing to the rear fence. She clambered over it and followed the path leading to the back courtyard.

Her footsteps crunched on the tiny icicles of frost dusting the grass, a gift from the snow-capped peaks above. Her breath formed into clouds of vapour that swept away in the cold wind flowing from the mountain.

A tendril of smoke caught her eye. Then she heard a raspy hiss punctuated by a bark. It sent shivers down her spine and she paused mid-step. She glanced up at four large birds perched on the branches of a mugumo tree nearby. A volt of vultures. Two of them shook out their repulsive feathers and hopped to the ground, ignoring her. They brazenly ambled toward the smoking fire pit and leant over it, pecking at something. Scraps of meat from the night before, she thought.

Nimo particularly loathed the sight of vultures. She ran towards them flapping her shuka. Startled, the scavengers rose to the air yapping.

That’s when she saw what they’d been pecking at. She slid to a stop, her mouth falling open in a silent scream. She fell to the ground in disbelief, her knees sinking into grass, ash and mud. Above, the flock of vultures hissed at her, swaying in the wind.

HEADLINE NEWS

10 killed in Chepkube, centre of coffee smuggling

December 19, 1976 | Thomas Mutua - A Nguzo Daily Special Investigative Report |

10 people have died and 40 seriously injured in Chepkube Town. Police say thieves broke into a storage space where coffee worth millions of shillings lay hidden. The theft occurred at about 4pm. The owners of the facility discovered the thieves during the break-in. A fight broke out with simis and pangas that led to the unfortunate death toll and bloodshed.

The local police have arrested those involved and are investigating the matter.

The Deputy Minister of Agriculture, Titus Makini, was swift in condemning the outbreak of violence. He believes local officials and senior politicians are aiding the smuggling of coffee in the region. He said they were moving it in government vehicles making them immune to searches by virtue of their credentials.

He also claimed that after the smugglers got their produce past police roadblocks, they used their Coffee Board licenses to pass the beans as genuine Kenyan produce. Or they export it on their own.

The Nguzo Daily’s investigation has found that smugglers are moving thousands of bags of coffee every night from the Ugandan border. They ship it along narrow roads, ferrying it to the illicit coffee markets in Chepkube. The markets open at midnight and close before sunrise to evade scrutiny. The smugglers, a syndicate of senior politicians, local officials, customs officers and deliverymen has turned the once-dull village of Chepkube into a millionaire’s nirvana. Or simply, Black Gold City, as it is now known.

These syndicate members have reportedly become millionaires. They've snapped up new properties and bought expensive new cars, first class air tickets and expensive alcohol. They show off their new wealth at extensive parties and galas.

The root cause of the illegal trade is the trade embargo imposed on Uganda by Jimmy Carter’s administration in protest at the human rights violations of its president Idi Amin.

Back in Kampala, Amin has purportedly given his military permission to shoot all smugglers on sight. However his unpaid soldiers have knowingly become part of the racket. Nguzo Daily has uncovered reports of Ugandan soldiers raiding local coffee farms. They on-sell their ill-gotten coffee over the border in Kenya. Using bicycles outfitted with storage baskets – nicknamed bodabodas – the soldiers cross the border in no-man’s land, evading customs and the police.

We estimate that up to 30 per cent of Uganda’s coffee production is being smuggled into Kenya illegally. Reports and witnesses also claim the trafficking has spread to the Congo, with about 40 per cent of Zaire’s produce passing through Kenya.

The situation is alarming and the Nguzo Daily will keep you, the mwananchi, updated with news as we receive it. Should you know anything or have any information to share with us on the illegal coffee smuggling trade, please write to us at P O Box 1055, Nairobi, Kenya.

CHAPTER TWO

Ange Mutua woke with a start. The baby was crying. He’d been teething for three nights straight, transporting his parents to hell on earth. Ange rolled out of bed, bleary eyed and sleep deprived. Kioko barely stirred beside her. As soon as her feet hit the floor he scooted over into her warm spot. He let out a satisfied snore as he settled deeper under the comforter. She smiled. He deserved the well-earned rest. It had been yet another week of him taking care of the kids while she worked late each night.

Moments later Ange was pacing the expansive living and kitchen area. The baby was slung over one shoulder while she scrabbled for baby Nurofen and a milk bottle.

Kioko Junior soon settled under her ministrations, finally content to watch her get ready from his day bed. Clucking and cooing at him, she slipped into the uniform that she’d laid out on the sofa the night before.

She quickly did her make-up in the hall mirror, pausing for a second at her reflection, gazing under the skin. She saw a woman in her late 30s, caught between the collision of marriage, young children and a full career. She peered at the high forehead above where a few grey hairs of tragedy, failure and experience peeked through the scalp. Her finger traced a path across a face lined with laughter, love and the occasional tinge of sadness. She glanced down at her #instanot cellulite-assaulted body that possessed a mind of its own with unexpected aches and pains. She was a wife, a mother, daughter, friend, boss. A woman winging life the best way she knew how.

She shook off her self-introspection, falling into the embrace of her busy mind, which was soon racing with her workload for the day.

She had a full diary. They’d been a violent robbery in Nyahururu two days ago and a stabbing in Nanyuki North the night before. The latter had links to a drug gang that was spreading its tentacles from Nairobi. She was keen to shut them down before they extended their reach any further. Then she had a lunch date with the Chief Magistrate. Followed by a local community meet to discuss new anti-terrorism security procedurals for the county given the threat of Al Shabaab to the north. Just another ordinary day at the Laikipia Police Division.

A shard of dawn sun crept into the room and caught her eye. She followed the rays’ dancing motes out of the large windows, past the verdant forest, the bamboo woodland and the rosewoods to the imposing mountain above. It glinted down at her, its glacier clad peaks glittering like diamonds. Suddenly the sun burst above the peaks in an intense fireball and her heart skipped a beat at its natural brilliance. Perhaps it wouldn’t be an ordinary day after all.

There was the sound of scraping and the side door creaked open. Janice Mutua slipped into the kitchen, clutching a faded puffer jacket closely around her slight frame. She was a dainty woman with a close cut cap of silver hair, laughter lines around her keen eyes and a small chin.

‘Ai kweli! It’s freezing out there … the chickens are feeling the cold. They refused to lay last night. So no eggs for breakfast.’

‘Nanyuki at dawn is no fun at all mum. Perhaps you can’t hack it …’ Ange teased her mother.

Janice rolled her eyes. ‘Perhaps you’ve forgotten that I lived in Manchester for many years dear. Where it sleets and even snows sometimes. I can handle a few frosty mountain mornings!’

Ange smiled, stuffing her bag with a pre-packed lunch and her files. ‘You sure can. The baby is all set. He probably won’t eat any solids but you can try giving him some soft porridge for breakfast and lunch. I made Malika and Tahj’s lunches last night; it’s all ready for them to put into their rucksacks. They’ll leave with Kioko at 7 for school. As for the man of the house, he’ll take care of himself. All he needs is his morning coffee and I’ve got that brewing and ready to go.’

Janice watched Ange fly around the room. She felt a stab of pride at the magnificence of her daughter. Ange was a curvy five foot two paragon with a pretty smile, dark ebony skin, slanted cat-like eyes that pierced the soul, an unmatched intuition and sixth sense, a keen mind and a tongue to match. Tough yet fair, she had a heart of gold and a gentle spirit that drew everyone to her. She was also the last person to see her own great qualities, so caught up in soul searching and solving the world’s ills that she barely noticed her own unique beauty. Janice couldn't have asked for any better daughter and friend in the whole world.

Ange tucked a crisp white shirt into her jeans and slipped her official police jacket on. ‘My casual day everyday style would horrify Nairobi PD.’

‘They’re not here,’ Janice countered. She was still peeved at how Ange’s previous powers-that-be had treated her at her last assignment. ‘They don’t know what it takes to trudge up and down these mountains in search of fugitives. You certainly can’t do it in a tight pencil skirt and heels!’

‘God forbid!’ Ange laughed. She tucked her regulation police cap on top of her chic black cherry pixie cut. She gave the baby a final cuddle and her mother a quick kiss.

‘Bye mum. Love you.’

‘I love you too. Be safe out there, my girl.’

‘I will.’

Grabbing her bags and phone, Ange flew out the front door and into the cold.

Outside, waiting in a silver Nissan mini van was Pepe, Kioko’s number one driver. He grinned as he opened the door for her.

‘Chief!’

‘Mambo Pepe?’ she called out in greeting.

‘Poa Chief!’ he replied, clambering behind the wheel. He gently eased the vehicle down the fog-obscured driveway.

He knew better than to engage Ange in chitchat. She preferred a quiet ride into town, which helped clear her mind for the day ahead. The pair settled into a comfortable silence as they left the gates of the homestead. They made their way past the tidy parking lot of Kikiko Enterprises. Idling buses and matatu mini vans packed the slots, their drivers milling about, ready to start their rounds of the day.

Ange looked out of the window with pleasure, waving at the faces she recognised. Kioko had done well for himself. He’d conceived the idea of a transport business years ago in his tiny university digs in Manchester. He’d never dreamt it would have mushroomed into the thriving operation it was today. Kikiko employed 60 drivers and conductors. They manned a fleet of over 40 buses and minivans that serviced the Mount Kenya region. They had a stellar reputation and a low incident rate. It was all due to Kioko's commitment to excellence. She was proud of her husband. His hard work put a solid roof over their heads because Lord knows her meager Chief Inspector’s salary was not much to live on.

Nonetheless she loved her career despite the fact it came with major challenges. She’d always had big dreams of revolutionising Kenya’s police force. She'd graduated with honours from the University of Manchester’s Criminology Department and made a beeline for Nairobi. Her reality wake-up call had been harsh. Her bosses at the Kenya Police Force HQ had schooled her in humility. Probably because of their lingering unease at her family’s background. They'd cut down her well-intentioned ideas and suggestions to improve the service. They’d assigned her the worst cases, given her lowly admin tasks and made her life in the force a living hell. Pariahed, outcast and cautioned on a daily basis, she’d happily taken a transfer when Kioko decided to relocate his business to the north east of the country. They’d been longing to leave the crowds and smog of Nairobi anyway. So the added plus of finding a farm in Nanyuki that both they and Janice had loved was strongly welcomed by the family. In turn, the city side constabulary bosses had sighed in collective relief at her departure to the relatively quiet backwaters of Laikipia.

On arrival at LPD Ange had decided if she couldn’t beat them in the city, she’d beat them in the country. Appointed Chief Inspector of the Laikipia Police Division at 37, she’d vowed to make it the best example of policing in the country by the time she was 40. She’d skipped most of her maternity leave - apart from the first six weeks after Baby Kioko’s birth - and thrown herself into the new role with enthusiasm. Seven months in and she was sure she’d ironed most kinks. She'd set up a solid albeit small operation with a team of officers fast tracking their way to excellence. The only way was up.

The journey to the LPD station was a twenty-minute ride past lazy buses, speeding vans packed with the semi-legal miraa plants and bodaboda taxis. Finally they drove into the gravel-surfaced parking lot.

Ange stepped out of the van briskly, drawing in the cold morning air into her lungs. Behind her Pepe waved farewell. He slid the vehicle into drive, easing away, most likely in search of breakfast in town.

The lot was empty and she wondered where her overnight team of one was. She punched in the security code on a pin pad under the small entrance archway. It beeped and she pushed open the front door of the small station building where the LPD was housed. The air inside was warm and she smelt fresh coffee. The TV on the left wall flickered with images from the morning news show. The desks were neat bar one. The remains of an early breakfast, a heap of files and a newspaper lay scattered its surface. Puzzled, her forehead creased.

She was opening the door to her inner office when her mobile phone went off. Ange smiled looking down at the screen. It was Senior Sergeant Nina Gembe. The quintessence of a feminist black woman. She proudly rocked a major Afro. Her earrings were large and gaudy. She matched her eyeglass frames to her nail polish. She strutted about in shiny leather boots that she wore to the top of her chunky thighs in open defiance of the police force uniform code. It was just as well that her personality matched her fashion sense. Outgoing and bodacious. She rolled from romance to romance, keeping the office entertained with her exploits. Then there were the never-ending proclamations of having found ‘the one’. Until the next love of her life came along. There were too many to count, the latest being a local doctor whose identity she was keeping well under wraps. Despite her crazy love life and annoying lack of neatness, Ange prized her ability to ferret out information and weasel motives from witnesses. She also respected Nina's sharp mind, which cut through the bullcrap of the cases they worked. Which was why Ange had dragged her away from CID HQ in Nairobi to work in Laikipia.

Ange took the call.

‘Nina, where are you? Not at your desk obviously.’

‘Chief. Oh Jesus. There’s been a murder!’

As always when it came to major crimes, Nina lost her cool.

‘Calm down, Sergeant. What are you talking about?’

Ange resisted an eye roll as Nina hysterically blabbed on. It was a habit she’d never lost since Ange had known her.

‘At Aruna Farms. Duncan Waweru.’

Ange’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Duncan Waweru?’

‘Yes, THE Duncan Waweru. The Kingpin himself. He’d been celebrating his 75th birthday last night at his farm. According to his wife, he left the party and went to bed early and then this morning, they found his … his body. In