EBOLOWA 27

                                                                               27

Douala Jail

Harry had come to the same conclusion.  He’d had all night to figure it out and the pieces were coming together, the same old story of people in power getting up to no good with Eileen O’Connell up to her neck in it.  Who else knew he’d been going to see Castile?  She’d pointed to Castile as Annie Fayol’s date and must’ve known that he did dirty work for Messmer.  Like Bamenda said, Messmer had the clout and somebody stirring up the past was the last thing he wanted.  That was the core of the case: Annie had been up against some big hitters and they were still around.   

His head was spinning with questions but it felt as if he was getting there, even from inside prison.  His ear was sore and his lip swollen but Bamenda’s protection was working.  In the exercise yard the young blood had glowered and spat at his feet but had clearly been warned off trying anything else.  The guards hustled them on with their baseball bats and the prisoners were half way round the perimeter fence when there was a shout from the guardhouse.

     “Hey Chicago man!  There’s a lady to see you!  Une jolie jeune femme!”

The cry was picked up across the jail and it rippled over the yard like a flock of birds from one side to the other.  He strode across the compound with a swarm of excitement in his train as if everyone was headed for a night on the town.  Once he was through the gate the crowd pressed up against the wire eager for a glimpse of the fair sex or even better to get a sniff of it. 

The chorus simmered down into a murmur of appreciation as there, at the end of the cinder track, appeared a sight for prison eyes, good enough for the silver screen in cream slacks and a silk blouse with bright red lipstick and big Continental dark-glasses like Leslie Caron.  He blinked: here was a new Candace with a fabulous haircut.  She stood her ground, head high and shoulders square, a chic leather bag hanging off one, and a hush fell over the jail, every breath held ready for a passionate embrace made in Hollywood.

     “Candace,” he said, shaking her hand against a storm of catcalls and whistles.  “That’s some haircut.”

     “Thanks,” she said poised a moment as if for the crowd.  “And that’s quite a reception.”

     “The word gets around fast out here.”

     “You don’t say.”  Her face darkened.  “What happened to your lip?”

     He shrugged.  “I got into a fight.”

     She raised her dark glasses and seemed to roll her eyes as if  to say he was accident-prone, but then she said, “Too bad I didn’t bring my bag.”

     “It’s nothing,” he said and steered her round the corner of the shack to a couple of upturned crates.  He could feel the crowd break up behind them and drift away on a wave of disappointment.  He swept the dirt off the top of one of the crates.

     “Thanks,” she said, “but I’d prefer to stand if that’s ok with you.”

     “Of course.  It’s good to see you.  And I’m sorry about the last time we talked on the phone, but it turns out I wasn’t so wrong.  It was Castile at the beach with Annie, she’d been having a scene with him.”

     “According to O’Connell!  Why didn’t you tell me she was in the CIA?”

     He shrugged.  “The time wasn’t right.  I wasn’t sure - - ”

     “But suddenly you’re sure enough about Castile.”

     “He and Annie were seen together on the way to Mile 12 the night she died.”

     “I don’t believe it.”  She shook her head angrily.  “More gossip.”

     “No,” he said, “I wish it was."

     “Oh Jesus,” she said, her head in her hands. He could see her imagination taking over, like at O’Hare, the worst possible scenario. “Who saw them?”

     “A guy hunting bush meat.  He had no reason to lie - - “

     “But he never came forward?”

     “He was black and he said it was white man’s business.”

     “Come on Harry, Nkumbé was black!”

     He hesitated, not sure where to start. 

     “Anyway,” she said exasperated.  “Something weird is going on.  I think I’m being followed.”

     “I'm not surprised.”  He put his hand out. “Look, it’s complicated, but Annie’s big story took her up against some big hitters and they're still around trying to keep a lid on the past.  That’s why they killed Castile.”     

     “Who?  The oil mafia?”

     “No.  I think they wanted it to look like that, but it didn’t feel like the mafia, it was too messy.”

     “How d’you mean?”

     He wrinkled his nose.  “They tore him apart, to hurt him or he had something they wanted.  Anyway, what’s this about Hans?  He met you at the airport OK I hope.”

     “Yeah, fine, but the trouble is he fancies himself as Philip Marlowe and says he’s the best shield I’ve got, at least until you get out.”

     “I talked to Logan about that - - ”

     “So did I,” she cut in, taking an envelope from her bag, “They're letting you out tomorrow.”

     “No kidding.  He thought it would take longer.”

     “I’m sorry but he did a deal.  They agreed it was a case of mistaken identity but he agreed that you tampered with evidence.  Your visa is cancelled and you’re out on the first flight to Paris tomorrow morning.”

     “What?”  He recoiled, his mind reeling, cursing Logan, “I don’t believe it.”

     But he did.  Messmer again.  It fitted fine: they weren’t going to just sit idly by and let him stir up the past. 

     He said “Listen,” and told her what Bamenda had told him.  She listened with widened eyes and fumbled in her purse for a cigarette before giving him the pack.  He took it with a nod but kept talking.  He could sense the guards coming back up the track.

     “Jesus,” she said blowing out smoke, “Messmer - - " She seemed excited. 

     He knew how it felt to crack a case.   “Exactly,” he said, the sound of heavy boots very close, “but these guys are in the big league.   You can't stay here without me.”

     But she shook her head.  “I’ve only just arrived.  I haven’t been to Mile 12 or the cemetery yet.”

     “Go today then.”  His voice was urgent.  “I’m serious.”

     The guards were back.  One grabbed his arms while the other gestured at her like an escort, “Madame - - “

      "Think about it,” he called over his shoulder.  “It’s not safe.”

     He twisted round at the gate to see if she'd heard but she was gone.