• Makini is at his wits' end when a mystery call makes things even more complicated
In my brief career as a policeman, I’ve witnessed as spouses visited their better halves in a cell. It’s always a heart-breaking sight. No other place renders someone as helpless as a six-foot by six-foot cage at a police station, and to see your loved one devoid of all their natural choices really tags at the heart.
Unless, that is, you’re the woman who sued her husband just so he’d stay out of the house because he was driving her crazy with just about anything he did.
“I can’t stand seeing him chew his food,” she had declared. “And the way he snores? It’s like sleeping next to a rusty tractor.”
Now I find myself on the wrong side of the fence and in the first camp of spouses. I’ve never seen my colleague (and common-law wife) Sgt Sophia this vulnerable. Accused of quadruple murder, she is devoid of her uniform, service weapon or any form of common human decency, and she resembles a hapless gazelle in a trap.
“How’re you holding up?” I ask through the bars after I’m permitted to see her.
“The spa here is terrible,” she says. “Can’t seem to get a good deep massage.”
Glad to see she hasn’t lost her sense of humour, I dig in. “I’d brought you a cake with a hacksaw in it but they confiscated it.”
“Drat!” She slaps her thigh. “Too bad. I was really looking forward to escaping.”
“You’d make the most beautiful fugitive in the history of fugitiveness. Is that a word?”
She laughs. “How would I know? I’m in jail, not grammar school.”
The cell guard coughs a time warning and we have to get serious. “Honey,” I say, “why don’t you tell me what’s going on? I don’t believe you’re guilty of murder, but why won’t you defend yourself?”
“It’s more complicated that you might think.”
I’m beginning to get frustrated since we seem to be back right where we started after she was first accused. She’s kept tight lips about an accusation that could see her lose not only her job but also her freedom.
“Sophie, there has to be something I can do,” I plead. “At least let me get a lawyer.”
Her face turns cold. “You will do no such thing. Let me sort it out, okay?”
“How? You’re behind bars, dear. How much can you do from here?”
“I already made my mandatory call. It will be handled soon.”
“But… You didn’t call me, and your father, Inspector Tembo, he told me you haven’t called him. So, who did you make that call to?”
I detect the faraway hint of a cynical smile as she leans in and whispers, “The less you know, the better. Trust me.”
Recently, I’ve kicked myself for thinking that my wife could be guilty of these grisly crimes. It’s a bad position to find oneself in, but it’s worse when the accused won’t cooperate to clear the air.
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “Are you saying I could be in danger if you tell me any more than you are?”
“What I’m saying is, this matter is way above our heads and if anyone is to go down for it, I’d prefer if it was me alone.”
“No one’s going down for—”
A hand clasps my shoulder and cuts me midsentence. I turn to see Detective Gundua, the same DCI detective who arrested Sophia, standing behind me.
“You’re free to go,” he tells Sophia. “I’m here to escort you home.”
I’m happy that my partner will be home, but this mystery only gets deeper.