KILLED BY A GHOST

    Saturday, the day people wake up early to prepare for church, this time it was the Saturday just before a real adventure in Masompe. The time may also interest you, it was six hours, yes the same six hours when the clock hands join tails and straighten out legs like a ballet dancer. That same time Bina Charity failed to mind her own damn business, angrily yanking sore lips tearing a sacred morning with her terrifying squeals.

   An hour before six her phone had buzzed waking her up from a deep sleep like an alarm would have done. What a weird call it was? It became even weirder when she identified the caller; Pastor Kolo’s voice banged her troubled nerves;

“Deaconess, get to church before six or thereabouts,” he seemed to be saying.

“What would be the matter, Pastor?”

“Kindly sweep the floors before service starts at ten.”

    The line went dead. The voice was hurried; tensed and so imperious one would think he was talking to his daughter. How he got her number would be a subject of debate, but what would not be a subject of debate was that she needed another female to accompany her. Which female would feel safe sweeping floors behind closed doors supervised by one man; whether that man was a Pastor or not without feeling as naked as an impala grazing a few yards from a roaring lion?

      Shaken by this fear she had gone to her friend Juliet’s house which was sandwiched between two huge mansions and facing a small hill in front. It was backed by thick grassland which dragged on to a small stream some two hundred yards away. Juliet, a divorcee, lived alone in her brother’s yard probably praying for a second chance at marriage. The two were bosom friends, as thick as thieves; a no from Juliet was not expected, it would taint that closeness.

    But when she reached the house and knocked, Juliet could not answer. She knocked four times and then started shouting her name but still there was no response.

    Worried that some mishap could have befallen her friend, Bina Charity hauled up three neighbors to help break down the door to find out why the friend was not answering. What they found inside would later make the whole village shake with the fear only Armageddon instills. It would be fearful news tumbling out of everyone’s lips in shocked disgust, as if all lips had used the same type of lipstick for change.

       On entering the house, Bina Charity found her friend Juliet lying on her back spread out on the massive double bed completely quiet, like an abandoned painting. Her eyes were opened wide; pupils expelled to the top and a small smile curling her lips into a loop. Her well plaited pool of dark hair was tossed to one side making the veins stand out on her forehead. Her legs were spread apart carelessly as if she was hurriedly thrown there. She was dead, that was clear, hacked to death by a sharp object, presumably a knife. A gashing wound near the heart could have been the killer blow. The door  was locked from inside with a metal bar.

     “It is unbelievable, totally unbelievable,” a woman said shaking her permed hair about mournfully.

    “They say the door was locked from inside with a bar,” a man nearby who by looks could be her brother said with eyes of a dog alarmed by the sight of a lion.

   “Yes they had to fight with the bar to enter the house,” the woman supplied the answer throwing her permed hair into a swirl as she undulated towards a group of mourners with peacock flair.

   “Then how did the killer come out, did she kill herself?”Another man asked looking untouched by the events. “These single women have a lot of pressure you know.”

   “Quite possible if after killing herself, she conveniently woke up to lock the door and didn’t forget to throw away the knife where no one can find it before going back to lie on bed the way she is now.”

         “Doombe will kill someone. Have the police been informed?”A tall woman said. Her raised eyebrows punctuating every word as if Doombe, brother to the deceased, was some mystical giant everyone needed to fear.

    Just then Inspector Mwalaila swept into the village like a cyclone with six heavily armed constables beaming their insincere smiles. Reaching  the house of the deceased woman he ordered everyone out so that he could start his preliminary investigations. He touched the door with a hank and then walked stealthily inside to stand at the center. He was just about to touch the wardrobe when Kapwi arrived. The tall wardrobe was an engineering genius; a hole dug out into the wall and expertly wall tiled all round except on one side where a life size mirror stood and formed part of the wall.

   “Inspector, what a tragedy?”She greeted the inspector breezily while standing outside, hands tapping a pen on her book.

   “Mulamu, such stuff is the normal in our line of duty. Thanks to the social construct, it helps put food on our tables.”

     The inspector proceeded to open the wardrobe, checked in and found it was all empty space. He wrote something in the black book before turning the matter over to Kapwi.

    “Please check the windows, roof and the wall for any cracks where the killer could have passed through to the outside.”

    Kapwi stepped inside and checked the windows, the roof and the wall while entering all details in her own black book. Then she asked to see all the people who had been inside the house. They all lined up on the veranda where she took measurements especially on the shoes. She also measured their elbows before measuring some depression on the bed.

    Kapwi lifted her skirt to step inside the house; she was tiptoeing until a bed brought her to a stop. Swinging round she came to check the windows, the roof and the wall with deadly concentration contorting her face into a grimace.

    “How many people entered the house?”She asked after five minutes scanning the floor of the house with a funny looking watch. It had a miniature electronic magnifying glass built in complete with a recording device.

   “Four, just the way we are here.”

   “Six people have been in the house not four,” Kapwi said while manipulating the buttons and straps on the watch. Her beautiful face was contorted in deep cruel concentration and the lower lip clamped deeply by venomous teeth. She was pointing at the people with her pen like a school teacher talking to a pupil.

       Even the inspector was smitten with shock wondering how his Mulamu deduced things, was she a witch? He looked at her with mild apprehension before he said;

       “I was also inside the house, Mulamu.”

   “Aha, I almost forgot, but there is still one man unaccounted for.”

  The inspector looked puzzled completely knocked out by the village girl .Silently he walked out of the house to stand by the police land cruiser to confer with his constables. The constables welcomed him with surprised faces but their hands kept on clanking handcuffs as if praying for some reason to clamp the horrible objects on anyone just for funny.

   Kapwi’s skirt flapped in the wind as she walked to the wardrobe to continue her measurements. And then she gasped in a surprised sigh going like; “wow! A person entered the wardrobe but did not come out.”

 She debated on the wisdom of breaking the wardrobe but then convinced herself, with a swirl of her head, on letting the fellow come out on his own. She secretly stuck a small camera to the wall taking a sweep of the door and window area. On the other end of the wall she stuck a small bug as tiny as a fly, letting it stick by itself using air pressure.

    After bugging the house she went outside checking all the points including around. Then she entered a small path behind the house, ten yards into the bush path she found something.

   “Inspector please come and see this,” she shouted excitedly.

   In the tall grass ten yards from the house she had found a white shirt turned red, badly sodden and soaked in blood. On further investigation the shirt was found to belong to Juliet. Kapwi noted this in her book before she continued following the little path further on until it joined the main road. There she aborted her pursuit and instead came back to interview the close relatives.

   “Who was the last person to see her alive?”She asked pointing at the dead woman with her pen.

       Bina Charity stepped forward; “I was with her yesterday at a Church Dorcas meeting.”

       “Not yesterday, I want the person who saw her this morning.” None had seen her that morning.

      Kapwi went back into the house but quickly came out cursing herself loudly. Running back into the path she continued running into the main road. From there, she ran until her path seemed to end in the stream. Walking along the stream following heavy imprints of a boot she reached a small anthill where she found pools of blood and further evidence of a gigantic struggle. She recorded all the details and then turned back to the inspector. This time the inspector and his constables were just following her at a distance as if she had gone mad.

           “The woman was killed here. No wonder no one heard her scream.”

           “But what exactly are you saying?”

            “She was killed here and then carried back to her house. “Right now the killer might still be in the house, but I don’t know where he is hiding, probably in the tiny wardrobe.”

           “I checked the wardrobe myself, there is no one. Why can’t we just break down the house to check?”

     Kapwi was against breaking down the house. “If he is there we will find him but first, why not interrogate the family to find out who could be mis…..”

      As she walked back to the funeral house with the inspector, Kapwi was disgusted by what her eyes were seeing. Some people were carrying the dead woman on a stretcher out of the house; the door was completely ajar leaving the house as open as a lake. She cut her answer and broke into a run hopping the killer had not joined the crowd to escape from the house.

       She reached the house and went inside to see what was happening. She was so shocked that she smacked her palms in frustration. The double bed was raised against the wall covering the bug completely obviously blocking all sounds. Even the camera was covered by a pile of blankets as if someone did not want it to see anything. She dismounted the two gadgets and checked them.

      The camera was able to pick a woman wearing a blue dress and head covered in a red cloth entering the house. The bug picked a muffed phone call of a man speaking hurriedly from within the house, but the words were inaudible.

     “Inspector you are welcome, thanks for coming here,” Doombe suddenly appeared, his right hand extended briskly to greet the police inspector.

    “But where were you sir?” Kapwi asked.

     Doombe glared at Kapwi with open contempt before answering. “Had gone to church to stand in for Pastor Kolo, they called me from there.”

   “Is the Pastor missing?”

   “Would say yes. No one seems to know where he is.”

   “Send a constable to church to confirm his alibi,” Kapwi spoke to the inspector quietly. But the inspector waggled his eyes to overrule her this time choosing instead to maintain good will from family by not casting the suspicions on family members yet.

    Then the photo of the woman in dress and red head cover was circulated to all constables. The inspector spoke in low tones;”Search for this woman from the crowd.” But After two hours, the constables came back with no results.

    Kapwi called twenty small children, ten year olds and took them to a little pool. There she played with them for twenty minutes before she gave each one the ‘Oh my darlings’ hug. Her pouted mouth tumbled out questions playfully.

    “Guys, you know everyone here, right?”They all nodded.

     “A sweet for one who knows this woman in the picture?”

     Two hands went up; “That is mama,” one girl called Cheelo cried out excitedly. Kapwi put a sweet into her hand. She also did the same for the other one who confirmed what the friend said.

           Kapwi took the pictures of all the children and circled Cheelo, with her smiling face. She then gave them sweets and released them before approaching the inspector.

    “The criminal has bolted.” .

   “Bolted from where and to where?” the inspector almost fell off the tailgate where he was sitting. He glared at her with venomous eyes no different from the firing squad.

  “From where; from the house of course; to where, I don’t know,” Kapwi answered looking confused.

This time the inspector was very angry with Kapwi.

 “Look here Kapwi, didn’t I tell you to break the damn house?”Mwalaila bawled, minus the Mulamu.

      “I am sorry inspector, terribly sorry,” Kapwi apologized feeling a tinge of cold fear creeping up in the back. She realized uncomfortably that the inspector was just a calculator which only valued her when she delivered results. Why crucify her for a mistake which was tactical not intentional?

      “Let's go back and check the damn house, constables brings the picks we break down the wreck.”Inspector Mwalaila was in a combative mood soured by the wasted time.

      At exactly Ten hours, just when  the pastor starts his sermon at church, Inspector Mwalaila’s sacrilege reached a peak, he started breaking the Sabbath, breaking down the wardrobe in Juliet’s house. Within thirty minutes the door lock flew to the ground with a clanging sound.

       Kapwi jerked open what remained of the door to let her eyes take a sweep of the room and its contents. A surge of adrenaline ran through her blood stream when she saw a pile of blood-soaked clothes carelessly heaped in a corner. She gasped in self condemnation on realization that the occupant must have been the killer they were looking for.

     “The killer was hiding here while we chased wild geese half a world away,” the inspector said packing all the frustration into fifteen words.

“On the contrary we now have all the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle to make a dramatic confession possible,” Kapwi said unworried by the sarcasm in the inspector

“Why is it that?”

“The killer has left all the clues for us to reach him on a trail like a map.”

Kapwi glanced admiringly at the constables as she issued her instructions;

“Search for a man wearing this kind of boot and drives a small car using such keys.”She had uploaded a boot from the internet similar to the one she had in mind.

After one hour constable Hamainda came back to report; there were three likely suspects Doombe, Bina Cheelo and the pastor of the local church.

However the pastor looked a bit weird as a suspect. How could a pillar of moral rectitude have suspicions of murder hanging upon his character? She relegated him to number three, the most unlikely possibility.

The next in the pack, Bina Cheelo equally couldn’t really fit in well because she had not lost the car keys; additionally she was very unlikely to have the energy to carry Juliet two hundred yards from the anthill back to her home. Bina Cheelo was also dropped as  a real impossibility.

    Kapwi turned her sights on Doombe. But what would be the most likely reason to kill his sister? What would motivate a brother to kill a sister? Probably some inheritance lying somewhere to be taken at will?

   Kapwi studied the family records and discovered that they did not have any inheritance to fight about. Doombe was a self made man; he made his wealthy out of hard work.

    May be witchcraft? People always fight over accusations of witchcraft. Again this theory crumbled after a sustained interrogation of family members. Kapwi creased her brow in deep concentration probing all angles but drawing blanks.

    Maybe his whereabouts at the time of the killing may throw some light? Where was Doombe in the morning when the murder happened? She decided to check his alibi and what better place to ask if not the church where he claimed to have been?

      At sixteen hours when the Sabbath was at its peak debating issues in a Bible study, she arrived at church and started squeezing the much needed answers from members. –yes Doombe was at church from five thirty to ten hours when he was called back home. She had hit a dead end

     Quickly Kapwi reactivated her interest in the pastor. What sacrilege suspecting the only pillar of help to lonely women in distress. She wracked her brains for answers, there weren’t any. But just then an idea bobbed up; why not probe Juliet’s life style? Who was her best friend? Where did she like going? Did she have a boyfriend? This somehow did the trick and the riddle was quickly solved.

     Bina charity was angry that her friend was killed like a dog.

         ‘Juliet had an affair with the pastor and it was suspected that she could be carrying his child.’ The news almost burst the ventricles in kapwi’s heart, “unwanted Pregnancy was always a perfect motivation to kill a woman to prevent a man’s embarrassing exposure.” Quietly, she demanded for Juliet’s phone number to check all messages and calls the woman might have received in the last twelve hours. Two messages got her attention, both sent at four in the morning, day of her death.

    “I am coming to the stream now,” and ““Ya let’s talk, but I am not killing my baby, no.”

    Quickly, Kapwi called the number and claimed she wanted Pastor Kolo. She cut the line when the man of God confirmed that it was indeed him speaking. Using a different phone Kapwi sent another message to lure the pastor for the final show down at the anthill.

      “I picked car keys at the anthill. If they are yours come  get them with seven hundred kwacha, same place now.”

     Kapwi gave the keys to a local boy called Elton and then took six heavily armed constables to way lay the pastor at the anthill where he was bound to show up. They hid in the tall grass just around the little anthill waiting for a chance to embarrass the pastor. One constable climbed a tree near the anthill. Only Elton stood in the open holding the keys.

     One hour passed. Kapwi heard some commotion to her right where the bush was slightly thicker. Presently, a woman appeared with her hands pushing the grass from her face to make a way, she was wearing a blue dress, military boots and her whole face was uncovered. She looked furtively before approaching Elton while calling softly.

     “Elton! Elton! Here is the money give me the car key.”

   The voice was that of a male. Elton turned round and extended his hands to get the money. But as soon as she saw the money Kapwi gave the signal to attack. The constable in the tree dropped on the woman and tried to grab her but the woman reacted faster. She swung round and expertly kicked the constable a painful blow in the groin before she dropped down to disappear into the bush.

   Inspector Mwalaila watched the fiasco at the anthill on a mobile video tracker, he shouted to the constables to chase the woman. The constables came from their hiding places and chased the woman until they caught her after a hundred yards spirited dash.

   A hard slap from a constable threw off the mask; a male face jutted out with stupid beards bristling and confused eyes that seemed to say, “Oh, where am I?” It was the pastor

    They dragged him back to the Land cruiser in handcuffs. Reading the situation the pastor decided to do a deal before the disaster of a cell.

    “Inspector, don’t you talk? The pastor tumbled out his questions quickly. “Certain indiscretions are for private talks.”

    The inspector asked his constables to clear away to allow him to interrogate the pastor.

     “I will give you ten herds of cattle, just let me go.”

    Inspector Mwalaila looked at Kapwi with a look that seemed to say ‘the dead woman won’t give us that much, in fact she won’t give us a damn thing.”

    Kapwi nodded in complete agreement with eyes that seemed to say “after all we all work in order to eat.” She handed over all the notes about the case and tapes to the inspector who immediately hurled them into bonfires to seal lips and the case.

   A week later, the smiling inspector was seen at a butchery selling fat animals.

  As the butchery owner paid for the animals, he asked the inspector, “Inspector, what was the outcome of the investigation in the death of the young woman, Juliet?”

  Inspector Mwalaila squirmed uncomfortably but held on to some sanity; “We did our best but came out with zero results, maybe Juliet was killed by a ghost; no one really knows how she died.”

“So strange, because that woman Kapwi has never failed a case. You could be right, probably Juliet was indeed killed by a ghost.”

 The inspector’s corporal glare, dreaded by everyone because it broke spirits and bones , this time dropped down to stare at the floor while walking out of the butchery.