An Open Heart (30 page)

“The news said they were seen leaving together at eleven thirty.”

“Heather, I’m so sorry.” Ryan paused. “Listen, I hope you won’t think I’m too forward. I know that you’ve separated from your husband, but this must be horrible for you. I do hope you’ll let me take you to dinner sometime.”

“Why don’t we keep this just business?” she said. “Thank you for the information.” With that, she hung up.

Ten p.m.?
Heather walked to a calendar on the wall of the study and paged back.
I was with Jace at ten p.m. that evening. We got out of the theater at ten forty-five. We’d driven separately because he came straight from the hospital and went back there after the film.

Something just doesn’t smell right.

Is Mr. Meadows lying? Or just misinformed?

Jace arrived back in Kijabe after two crowded matatu rides from Uplands. He stared at his refrigerator and sighed. A wilted head of lettuce, a half-empty can of tuna, some grape jelly, an overripe mango, and some carrot sticks stared back at him, an offering fit for the starving, but not for Jace. He couldn’t face another PBJ. What he wanted was stew and chapatis, but he didn’t have the energy to walk down to Mama Chiku’s.

After morning rounds, the day had been a whirl. His conversations with Chaplain Otieno and the police had left him uneasy. He hated the unknown. If he didn’t know the source of a threat, real or perceived, how could he do anything about it?

What disturbed him most was a sense of déjà vu. The warnings the chaplain gave him sounded eerily like those his sister had issued in the weeks before her death.

During Jace’s last weeks in Kijabe before leaving for college, Janice’s urging had become stronger, prompted by a sense that her chances to warn him would soon pass.

As it turned out, she was right. But it was her time that was short, not his. He’d wondered about it later. Could she have had a premonition of death, yet misunderstood?

He remembered how she’d pleaded with him to join her and some friends for a last campout at Malewa River before their graduation. He should have known it would be another spiritual ambush.

She had rolled the red-checked Maasai blankets the day they left, tying each one with a short segment of rope. “I’m glad you’re coming, Jace,” she said. “Most of the station kids are going. Bruce, Mark, Eric, Joel, Stephanie, and Linda.”

He nodded. “I want to roast a goat. I can slaughter it with the guys the night before we leave. We can roast the meat at the campsite.”

She smiled and shoved a rebellious strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She picked up a pen and added something to a list of supplies before pausing. “Jace, Bruce is bringing his guitar. He wants to lead a time of prayer and worship, kind of a dedication—a send-off, since we’re not going to see much of each other after grad.”

“We’ll see each other.”

“Not so much. Our group is going to be everywhere. Air Force Academy, Wheaton, University of Virginia, John Brown University.” She seemed to hesitate. “I just don’t want you to feel weird.”

“Janice,” he said, trying to hide his irritation, “I’m fine, okay? I’ve been around this stuff all my life. It’s not like I’m gonna get all weirded out because of some songs.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “I told you, it’s not that I don’t like it. I just wished I
believed
it, like you and Bruce.” He looked away. “I’m just not going to fake it anymore.”

“No one’s asking you to fake anything.”

“Besides,” he said, “if there’s any place where I feel close to the Creator, it’s sleeping out under the dust of the Milky Way.”

“I know,” she said, smiling. “I know.” She took a deep breath. “Just promise me you’ll ask God to make Himself real to you.”

“You still think I’m going to die?”

“Jace, I don’t know what to make of my feelings. I’ve never felt this way before. Like I know I’m supposed to get you a message, ’cause I might not have many more chances.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Except America.” He made a popping sound with his mouth, implying a popping of the Christian bubble he’d lived in at Rift Valley Academy. The students often complained about the restrictive bubble when they were at RVA, but graduates would come back and tell them how comfortable the bubble really was. “Bye-bye, RVA,” he said.

“Promise me,” she said.

“Just lay off, Janice. You are not me.”

The Honorable John Okombo pressed his stomach and wished he could belch away his pain. He found some antacid tablets in his top desk drawer and shoved the day’s copy of
The Standard
aside. He’d been quoted on the front page as saying a Mungiki leader, Anthony Kimathi, had met a just end. In truth, he
had
said that, but as quoted it seemed out of context. A reporter had implied that the Kenyan police were incompetent, since they had been searching for Kimathi for quite some time. Another reporter had linked Okombo to the story and asked for his comment because his vehicle was at the scene of Kimathi’s death. What he’d actually said was, “What we couldn’t do, God intervened and did. Kimathi may have escaped the police, but he couldn’t escape God.”

Okombo knew that his comments would be distorted. Kikuyu-Luo tensions were bound to escalate in the wake of the Mungiki leader’s death, and Okombo didn’t need the negative attention. He cursed his luck and called Simeon Okayo.

While the phone on the other end rang, Okombo stood and shut the door to his study. Alone, he waited.

“Hello.”

“Simeon, did you hear about Anthony?”

“He was an idiot.”

“Perhaps.” He sighed. “We’ve got other problems.”

“We?”

“Rawlings told the police about it. They are asking my driver questions. Seems like some Detective Ndemi is concerned about police corruption.”

“Maybe he wants to run for Parliament,” Simeon said, laughing at his own joke. “But I don’t see this as a problem, especially not my problem. Anthony is dead. He can’t talk.”

“You need to help me here. Now there is double reason to take care of Rawlings. You should have never bragged to the governor’s staff.”

“He only asked me what kind of work I was capable of. He seemed fascinated with curses.”

The MP listened to what sounded like liquid sloshing in a jar. He imagined the witch doctor mixing a potion. “Westerners always find black magic exciting.”

“I had no idea the man would ask for a favor,” Simeon said.

“Well, he did. And if we want to keep our trading partners happy, we’re going to have to follow through.”

“Certainly you have other contacts.”

“I thought you’d do what you do best,” Okombo rejoined.

“Curse him?”

“Exactly. Instead you hire a Mungiki friend.”

“He owed me a favor.”

“I counted on you.”

Okombo listened as the old doctor’s breath blew into the phone. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”

“A blood oath.”

“Better if you don’t know.”

That night, Jace found Evan Martin eating in the little restaurant within the hospital grounds. Catering mostly to employees and patients’ families, the service was friendly and the food fried.

Jace saw Evan attacking a plate of chicken and chips, a cup of sweet chai in front of him. Jace fetched a mug of tea from the counter and sat on a white plastic chair opposite Evan. “Keep eating like that, and you’re going to need me.”

Evan shook his head. “I have GPS in my cell phone. There’s this cool app that tells me how far I walk every day. I’m doing at least three miles more here than I did in Virginia.”

Jace leaned forward and kept his voice low. “I talked to the chaplain about our patients’ experiences. He thinks they may have been contacted by some sort of spirit.”

Evan raised his eyebrows. “A spirit?”

“You know, an angel.” Jace studied his friend for a reaction. Nothing. So he added. “Or a demon.”

Another subtle raise of the eyebrow, but no comment from Evan.

“I know it sounds weird, but Africans have a bit more respect for this kind of thing.” He paused. “He seems to think I might be under some sort of attack.”

“An attack?”

“Spiritually. Like a curse.”

“I don’t like it, Jace.” Evan sipped his tea. “Look, this is all getting to be a little much for me.” He lifted his index finger. “We have a pretty good idea that this Anthony guy had you in his sights.” He held up a second finger. “And now you’re talking about weird spiritual stuff.”

“You’re the one who told me I should pay attention.”

“Sure, but this whole thing is getting out of hand.” He set down his mug and shook his head. “I’ve got a family, Jace. I came over here to do a few cases, get you started, test the waters. But this—well, this is getting a little scary.”

“But I need you here. At least for another case or two.”

“If we even get to keep doing this. I heard about how mad Fitzgerald was after that kid died of a ruptured spleen.” He sighed heavily. “We’re taxing an already overloaded system, Jace. I think it’s better all around if I go home where I know what to expect.”

“Evan,” Jace said, trying to keep his voice from showing the urgency he felt. “What if someone really is trying to get a message to me?”

Evan raised his eyebrows. “This from my friend the scientist?”

Jace sighed. “Maybe I’m changing.”

“If someone is trying to send you a message, you don’t exactly need me for that.”

“You’re wrong. I need you. I need you to do exactly what you did in the first two cases.”

“And what—you’re going to hope your patient contacts the great beyond and gives you whatever message you came here for?”

Jace sat back. “It sounds stupid to have you put it that way, but yes.” His eyes bored into his friend’s. “I don’t get what’s happening either, but …” He stopped talking while a Kenyan mother carrying a baby passed their table. “But something is clearly going on here. Someone—” he paused— “or some
thing
—has a message for me.”

“Maybe I have a message for you,” Evan said. “You need to stop chasing weird messages and go home to your wife.”

Jace shook his head. “I just need you to reproduce everything you did in the first two cases.”

“Better find your case soon,” Evan said. “Because I’m going home.”

“Scared?”

Jace expected defensiveness. Instead, he got honesty. “Yeah, Jace, I’m scared.” Evan paused and leaned toward his friend, his eyes glistening and his voice etched with tension. “Scared for you.”

33

On his next call night, Jace started at the sound of his pager and groaned. Two thirty.
This had better be good.

He picked up the phone and dialed the number.

“Casualty.”

“This is Dr. Rawlings. I was paged.”

“Dr. Rawlings, my name is Charity. I’m the medical intern on call.”

“What is it?”

“I am seeing a twenty-two-year-old Somali man. He has been having fevers for a week. He was injured three weeks ago in fighting in Mogadishu.”

“What kind of injury?”

“He was shot in the left groin. He says there was a lot of bleeding and that a doctor there sewed him up.” She paused. “Now he has a fever and an elevated white blood cell count to nineteen thousand. I’m wondering if the wound might be infected.”