Black Noise (28 page)

That was how the addresses of the old buildings went sometimes, Ngowi explained – relative to known landmarks.

‘In Stone Town there are many alleys with no names. Or if they have a name, it is only Swahili and not written anywhere.’

Tippu Tib was an important person in the history of the island, a notorious slave trader who lived in the 1800s. His beautiful house was on the verge of collapse. No one kept it up, although some families did live in it. Next to it, on an unnamed side street, was the Bulsara family’s old home.

Mari asked Lia and Paddy to follow her outside for a moment.

‘We can’t ring these numbers directly,’ Mari said once they were out of the office.

The killer would realise instantly that something strange was going on if he received a call from a foreigner. They had to contrive some way of approaching him, of luring him out of the house in such a way that he wouldn’t have time to suspect anything.

‘Do you still want me to look for a flat for you?’ Omar Ngowi asked from the door.

‘No,’ Mari said. But she did still have one more request.

‘If I want to make contact with this foreign owner through his local intermediary, how would I go about it? What could be an urgent reason for the intermediary to ring the owner?’

The question surprised Ngowi.

‘Do you mean something like a problem with the plumbing?’

Nothing so directly tied to the structure itself, Mari said. Something more like red tape, a permit issue requiring immediate attention.

The agent thought for a moment.

Recently a huge property hullabaloo had taken place in Stone Town, he said. A state official had come from the mainland demanding a census of all residents living in buildings older than the 1980s.

‘The lists are never right,’ Ngowi said. ‘They’re always missing all manner of information. Someone in Dar es Salaam got it into his head that old buildings have to be protected and so all of the resident lists had to be checked. No one in the government wants to put a shilling into restoring the buildings, but they had to pretend to do something.’

The government representative had demanded that the Zanzibari property officials immediately visit all of the old buildings, list the residents and take their signatures for the archive. A terrible row ensued, mainly because people were afraid of getting caught for under-the-table lease arrangements and because most regulations from the mainland were viewed as unwelcome fiats as a matter of course.

‘But people obeyed. Everyone was listed,’ Ngowi said. ‘And a week later the lists were behind the times again. No one reports anything to the authorities here that they can get away without reporting.’

Mari thanked Ngowi for his help.

‘What would it cost for you to forget we were ever here?’ Mari asked.

Ngowi picked a wood block up off the ground next to the building and wedged the door to his office open for easy customer access.

‘I’ve already forgotten,’ he said. ‘I watch you tourists like a nature programme, and then forget you when it is done.’

They had to keep moving as long as they had daylight, Mari said.

They were gathered in her room at the hotel again. The generator was chugging away somewhere – they had asked the hotel to turn it on even though it was daytime because they had to have the ceiling fan. It was still hot though.

Lia stared at the piece of paper on Mari’s desk. It burned in her mind. The killer’s address and telephone number.

Of course even people like that have flats and phone numbers. They have parents, maybe jobs, maybe friends.

Although probably not this man. At least not any more.

Knowing the man’s address and telephone number felt frightening. The thought of ringing the number was even more frightening.

They had to prepare quickly. While Mari was polishing her plan, Rico and Paddy went and used a fake identity to hire them a van. Then they rechecked their gear. All Lia needed was for Paddy to bring along a weapon she could use if the need arose. She didn’t want to think any further ahead than that.

Planning the phone calls took the most time. Mari and Lia tried to learn what they could online about Tanzanian housing officials and regulations – the task would have been easier, but almost everything available was in Swahili.

They looked up information about the two phone numbers they had. They quickly found the second man, the go-between in the house purchase, in several different registries and business records. Audax Mkapinga was what the Zanzibari called
papasi
, a tick. One of those small-time businessmen and hustlers who were always trying to sell all sorts of services to anyone who came to the city and who were hard to get rid of.

The other number didn’t turn up any public information. Not the name of the killer, not any other contact information.

They spent time weighing the risks associated with the task ahead.

‘There could be anything in that building,’ Mari said. ‘Other people. Traps. Explosives.’

But Mari and Paddy were working on the assumption that the killer was acting alone. They would have to look for possible traps when they went in.

Lia realised they weren’t talking about what else they might find in the building. The bodies of two men, Theo Durand and Aldo Zambrano.

They went through the plan over and over again.

How they would travel. Which of them would do what. What things they couldn’t let the killer do no matter what.

The plan was to get him out of the house momentarily, overpower him and take the building. They didn’t know who was in the house, and he might have help.

During these hours and conversations, Lia learned some new things. The Studio had never just been the exciting bunch of do-gooders she had thought. It was a strike team. When necessary, their skills and determination could combine in dangerous displays of power. The Studio was Mari’s weapon. All of their abilities were at Mari’s disposal against the enemies she chose.

Mari, Paddy and Rico spoke of what was ahead of them in a way that told Lia volumes. They had faced frightening adversaries before.

When a knock came at the door and a strange man appeared, Lia wasn’t even surprised. Broad-shouldered and silent, Ron was only introduced to her. The others already knew him.

Ron was one of Paddy’s most experienced associates, a former bodyguard whom Paddy had trained as a private investigator.

‘You didn’t think I was going to let you run around this island without any security, did you?’ Mari asked Lia when the others weren’t listening.

Lia didn’t have any answer for that. Yes, that was what she had thought, but now that Ron stepped into the light, having a bodyguard felt natural. Mari had hired Ron to protect them from a distance. He had been with them the whole time, keeping an eye on the hotel’s security, watching whether anyone was following them.

Ron knew what kind of man they were looking for. What he hadn’t known was that the plan was actually to catch him, but the thought didn’t faze him.

‘There aren’t very many of us,’ he said, glancing at Paddy and Rico.

‘Mari knows quite a bit,’ Paddy said. ‘And so does Lia.’

‘Still,’ Ron said.

They went over the plan one more time with him. That was enough for Ron.

‘You don’t know what’s going to happen there once you have him,’ was his only comment for Mari. He knew who was in charge of the operation.

‘No, we don’t know,’ Mari admitted.

‘It doesn’t matter much though,’ Ron said. ‘We have to take this maggot out. Let’s get to work.’

They located Audax Mkapinga simply by ringing him. Rico routed the call through an online service so Mkapinga wouldn’t be able to tell where it was coming from. He picked up immediately.

‘Hello,’ Paddy said. ‘I’m looking for Audax Mkapinga.’

‘I’m him!’

‘Where are you right now?’

Near the House of Wonders, Mkapinga said in surprise.

‘Thanks,’ Paddy said and rang off.

‘Won’t he be suspicious since the call ended so abruptly?’ Lia asked.

‘We aren’t going to give him time for that,’ Mari said.

Everyone in Stone Town knew the House of Wonders, Beit al Ajaib. It was one of the most famous buildings in the city, a palace built in the 1880s. It was the first building in Zanzibar to get electricity, the first building in East Africa with a lift, and once it had been inhabited by a sultan who kept wild animals chained in the courtyard. Its unusual history had given the building its name. Once it had also functioned as a government building with British officials working there – including Freddie Mercury’s father, Bomi Bulsara. Some time ago it had been turned into a cultural museum.

Although the building was decaying and a herd of
papasi
on the prowl for tourists roamed outside instead of the wild animals, there was still something special about the building, Lia thought as they arrived.

The House of Wonders Past.

A noisy surge quickly surrounded them. The peddlers could easily provide anything from taxi rides to drugs.

Where was Audax Mkapinga? Paddy quietly asked one of them. The man motioned towards the building.

Mkapinga did not have a reputation on the island as an actual criminal. They had checked that much, but they had no way of knowing what kind of man he was beyond that. That was why they didn’t go straight inside to find him, instead waiting until they came across him leading a group of three tourists.

Mkapinga did whatever jobs he could find in Zanzibar. Which included feeding made-up stories to visitors in the House of Wonders.

‘The Sultan would ride into the building on an elephant,’ they heard him telling the travellers. ‘That was why the main doors were built so wide.’

Lia and Rico followed Mkapinga and his tour group from a distance. Mari and Paddy just made sure they got a good look at him and then went to wait outside.

Ron was inside but hidden, ready at his post.

Lia felt her breathing quicken as they walked slowly, tracking Mkapinga’s movements but also remaining unnoticed. If Lia hadn’t practised tailing with Paddy, she would have had a hard time controlling herself.

Most of the building’s sights, beaten-up artefacts and old pictures in showcases, were on the bottom floor. When Mkapinga and his guests ascended to the first floor, Lia and Rico could see that no one else was up there. The upper floors of the building had handsome prospects over the whole city, but many of the exhibition halls were bare.

Mkapinga’s group soon grew bored since there was so little to see. Lia glanced at Rico but didn’t need to say anything. They were both thinking the same thing: they had to get Mkapinga further away from the entrance lobby.

Occasionally they had to let him out of sight for a moment so he wouldn’t wonder about the foreigners following him.

What if he disappears? What if he notices us and makes a run for it?

But Mkapinga’s soft voice continued echoing through the halls. Lia looked at the empty exhibition room he was walking through with his group. Large, wooden louvres clacked against the enormous window frames in the light breeze. Although outside the sun was shining, inside was surprisingly dim. There were no lights, since the museum didn’t have the resources to keep a generator running during the day.

That was just fine for Rico and Lia. They wandered around the building. Minutes passed. Mkapinga was in no hurry. He knew the tourists he was leading would pay more the more time passed.

In the heat of the afternoon, Lia felt as if she could have stayed in this moment forever. Soon a lot of things were going to happen, including things they wouldn’t be able to control. They were following a man who could be hiding anything. The heat created a deceptively calm, sluggish feeling.

Voices came from the adjacent hall again. Rico nodded, and a shudder rippled across Lia’s skin. The group of three tourists was leaving, and Mkapinga was wrapping up the tour and collecting his fee. He did it skilfully, without mentioning money at all.

The tourists disappeared to walk around the outer terraces. Mkapinga was all theirs.

He was surprised when they walked up to him in the large exhibition hall at the back of the building and greeted him. But Mari had planned how to dispel his suspicions.

‘I’m looking to make some purchases,’ Rico said to Mkapinga.

‘What kind of purchases?’ he asked, looking at them carefully.

‘Different kinds. For me and my bride,’ Rico said, motioning to Lia standing next to him.

Audax Mkapinga quickly understood where this was heading. A young, foreign couple, interested in Zanzibari antiquities. Maybe also in things that lay in legal grey areas.

Mkapinga’s expression said that he was ready to negotiate about anything.

‘Who did you hear about me from?’ he asked.

‘Friends,’ Rico said. ‘We met a couple in London who had been thinking about buying a flat here.’

‘Yes. Indeed.’

All that was in the hall were a few modest posters that no one was guarding. If the building had camera surveillance, it wasn’t going to be working now without electricity.

Rico gave Lia a signal with a little squeeze of her hand.

‘I’m tired,’ Lia said. ‘This endless heat.’ Lia went and sat on a bench at the side of the hall. ‘You men can talk business while I just sit down here for a second.’

Mkapinga looked satisfied as Rico led him to the other end of the room.

‘I want to buy some of these old, ornate doorframes you have on the island. But not just ones that look old. Genuine antiques,’ Lia heard Rico say.

She saw Mkapinga agreeing – he was pleased to have such an eager buyer. Then Lia saw Ron step into view behind Mkapinga. Something black arced through the air.

The sound knocking out Mkapinga made was negligible. It was drowned out in the complaints of the old, creaky building, the squeaks of the floorboards on the other levels. There was no danger any of the other visitors had heard the sound.

Lia waited for a moment and then went closer.

Mkapinga lay on the floor unconscious. Ron had acted quickly and carefully. Lia saw him holding the small weapon he had used: a Monkey Fist, a round metal ball covered in rope to soften the blow. He had finished up his attack by flinging a black fabric bag over his target’s head.

Rico searched their unconscious victim’s pockets for a phone. He checked for weapons but didn’t find any. Ron stayed to bind his hands and gag him while Lia and Rico took Mkapinga’s mobile phone to Mari and Paddy waiting outside.

In the phone they recognised the killer’s number. And now they had a name. Filip Dillon.

They stared at the name for a moment. Rico started searching it on the Topo. Hardly any results came back, and none of them offered anything interesting.

‘Try Philip with a ph,’ Mari suggested.

Maybe Mkapinga had written the name wrong not knowing its modern English spelling.

There were a lot of Philip Dillons, but none of the top hits seemed like the man they suspected of homicide.

‘This doesn’t tell us anything yet,’ Mari said. ‘This guy knows how these things work. We aren’t going to catch him with just a name.’

Still, the name was important. It changed things: they knew something about him now that he didn’t want the world to know. At least about the name he was using, whether it was real or not.

Rico sent a message to Maggie in London and asked her to find out everything she could about the name Philip Dillon.

Mkapinga’s mobile turned out to be a goldmine. The memory contained dozens of old text messages, some of which were from Philip Dillon. They communicated in English, but the texts showed that Mkapinga wrote English much worse than he spoke it.

Mari read Mkapinga and Dillon’s messages for a while and then wrote a draft of a new message.

Hurry to meet. Tanzaniah govment man come tomorrow morning check house.

She didn’t send the message, instead standing and staring at it for a while.

‘Too correct,’ Mari said.

She added a couple more misspellings and sloppy words.
Huree meet now. Tanzaniyah man comin tomoro mornin check hows.
She sent the message.

A couple of minutes passed and then Philip Dillon rang the phone. Mari let it ring instead of answering. A few seconds later she sent another text to Dillon:

Fone top up gawn. Come here tanx Audax.

Dillon replied quickly.

Where should I come?

Darajani market 15 minuts. Need money govment man,
Mari wrote.

On my way,
Dillon answered.

Ron returned from the House of Wonders. He had hidden Mkapinga, carefully bound, in a cupboard he found in the remotest corner of the dozen rooms on the top floor.

‘No one is going to find him there until we want them to,’ Ron assured them.

Quickly they set off for Shangani.

How did Mari know that Philip Dillon wouldn’t invite Audax Mkapinga to meet him at his own house? Lia asked.

Mari had sized up Mkapinga in the House of Wonders.