The Clouds Beneath the Sun (36 page)

“My!” Mrs. Sutton said. “You are every
bit
as pretty as Russell said you were.” She took Natalie’s hand. “I am only sorry we have to meet in such dreadful circumstances.”

Natalie nodded again. “I’m really sorry, too, for both of you. It was brave of you to come.”

Nancy Sutton shook her head. “No,” she said in a half whisper. “When something like this happens, you want to see everything for yourself.”

“And so you shall,” interjected Eleanor, who had been listening to this exchange. “I will show you everything myself, but I must just say goodbye to Dr. Radcliffe here, who is flying to Nairobi this morning. He and I just need a few words together, then I can give you my full attention.” She beckoned to Naiva, standing by the dining table. Turning back to the Suttons, she said, “Would you like some coffee? You must have got up very early this morning, to be here by now. You must be dying for something.”

“Coffee would hit the spot,” said Richard Sutton.

“I’ll be ten minutes, no more, I promise,” said Eleanor. And she led Radcliffe away. As he went, he nodded to Natalie and mouthed, “Goodbye.”

Natalie, having gone without breakfast, suddenly realized how badly she needed a coffee herself, and she ran after Naiva to tell her to bring an extra cup.

When she returned, Nancy Sutton stood up. “Is there such a thing as a ladies’ room, my dear? The plane
was
tiny.” She smiled.

Natalie smiled back. “You can use the one in my tent. Come on.”

Natalie reached her tent first and showed Nancy Sutton through to the back, where the shower and latrine were located. “I think there’s everything you’ll need but shout if anything’s missing. I’ll be out front.”

“Thank you, dear. I’m sure I’ll be just fine.”

Minutes later she reappeared. Her lipstick had been freshened, her hair brushed, and a bright blue bandana had been tied around her neck. It brought out the blue in her eyes and provided a lift to her appearance, drawing the eye away from her figure. Natalie admired that.

As they returned to the refectory tent, they could see that Eleanor had reappeared. She was talking to Richard Sutton, and helping herself to coffee. She lifted the cup and addressed Natalie.

“Radcliffe got off okay. I gave him copies of your paper. I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet, but I heard this morning on the radio-telephone from
Nature
—it’s been accepted.”

“But that’s wonderful,” said Natalie, her features creasing into a smile. “Great news.”

Eleanor nodded sardonically, as if to say: “Yes, but…”

“What paper is this?” Richard Sutton put his coffee cup back on the table.

“Natalie discovered what we think is a wall, a shelter. Maybe man’s first construction. We think it may have been built by the individual whose knee joint Richard and Russell and Daniel found. I’m sure Russell told you—”

“Yes,” said Richard Sutton quickly. “Yes, he did.”

Eleanor nodded and looked at Nancy Sutton. “Look, if you’re rested and refreshed, why don’t I show you the gorge, the general layout and where our various finds have occurred?”

“And will Natalie come with us?” Sutton had taken off his jacket. His shirt revealed a slight build.

“I think not.” Eleanor almost snapped the words, and then seemed to regret her tone. “You can see Natalie when we return. And if we are to talk about your son, it should be confidential.”

Sutton shrugged. “So long as we can talk with Dr. Nelson afterwards, it’s fine by me.”

Eleanor led the way across to the Land Rovers.

Natalie guessed why she wanted the Suttons to herself: they could make trouble, and she needed to get across her point of view first, and uncontaminated by anything Natalie might say.

She watched them go, get into the vehicle, and drive out of the camp. She sat at the refectory table and helped herself to what was left of the coffee. She reflected, as she had reflected before, that in some ways science, though she loved it, on occasion misled her. So enamored was she of the scientific process, of publication in professional journals, where the best arguments eventually won out, that she tended to look upon her private life in the same way. In this whole murder business, she had assumed that she had the best argument, and that the judicial process—which was as rational as science—would take its course. Her evidence was, in a sense, impersonal. She had seen what she had seen, made an observation much like a scientist carrying out an experiment. It was for the court to decide the value of her observation.

But that, of course, was not how others saw it. It was not how Eleanor or Jack or Daniel saw it. It wasn’t how the local Maasai saw it, it wasn’t how Russell saw it, and, almost certainly, it wasn’t how the Suttons saw it.

Eleanor was getting her argument in first, so it would have maximum force. It was hardly scientific but it was very human.

Natalie walked back to her tent. There had been no sign of Jack and no sign of Daniel. Maybe they had gone into Karatu, for supplies. With no prospect of work today, she tried to read, while she waited for the Suttons to return from the gorge, but she found she couldn’t concentrate. She lay on her bed and, to her surprise, almost immediately felt drowsy.

That was very unlike her, she told herself. This whole business must be taking its toll.

Kees couldn’t have known, when he had told Natalie about Richard being homosexual, what effect it would have on her. But the extra level of complexity, the confusion and mystery it sowed in Natalie’s mind about the real reason for Richard’s death, only served to tire her even more. It was a conundrum she might never resolve.

She lay back on the bed. There was still no sign of Mgina …

•   •   •

She jerked awake when she heard a Land Rover. Lord, how long had she been asleep? Her watch said 10:45—more than two hours had passed.

She rolled off the bed and looked out of her tent. She was conscious that her shirt had come out of her trousers and, absently, she tucked it back in. Her flesh still showed scratches and bruises where she had been cut and knocked when she had fallen during the wildebeest stampede.

Jack and Daniel were getting down from one of the Land Rovers. Jack looked over and waved. She waved back. They had been shopping, for each was carrying bags, bulging leather carriers like those used by cricketers back home. Before they had gone very far, though, another Land Rover entered the camp, generating another cloud of dust. Eleanor and the Suttons were back.

Natalie tidied her bed for the second time that morning and sat on the canvas chair outside her tent as the Suttons got down from their vehicle. Eleanor was talking to Jack, then turned back to the Suttons before gesturing towards Natalie. She pointed to her watch—perhaps telling them what time lunch would be—then she trudged after Jack and Daniel.

The Suttons looked across to Natalie and started to walk towards her.

She went back into the tent and retrieved the second canvas chair. She pulled back the flap of the tent further. Someone could sit on the bottom end of the bed.

“How was the gorge? What you expected?” She waved Nancy Sutton to her own chair and waited while her husband chose which seat he wanted. He opted for the bottom end of the bed.

“Well, a gorge is a gorge,” he said, sitting down. “The heat doesn’t hit you until you are right there, and the vegetation’s pretty exotic but … well, I’d seen photographs, so yes, it was pretty much as I expected.”

“And Eleanor showed you … you know, where Richard and Russell made their discovery … the knee joint?”

“Of course.”

Richard Sutton fell silent. There wasn’t much resemblance between father and son, Natalie thought. Richard Sutton Senior had none of the cockiness of Richard Sutton Junior. His movements were neat and tidy, his voice was quiet, his shirt and shoes were understated but expensive. Nancy Sutton was wiping her face with a handkerchief. Then she wiped her hands. She didn’t speak either.

The silence lengthened.

“So,” Richard Sutton finally said, “you were sitting here, more or less, when you saw this cook … Ndekei? … sneaking through the night?”

“I didn’t think he was sneaking … I mean, I didn’t know what was about to happen. I thought … I thought he was visiting a woman, so I didn’t really pay much attention. It was only the next morning, when I was walking across the camp and saw a monkey run out of Richard’s tent carrying a camera, that I realized something must be wrong.”

Another silence. “But yes … I was sitting in that canvas chair, right there.” She pointed to Nancy Sutton. “Having a late-night smoke.”

Richard Sutton nodded. “Can you … would you mind telling us what you found?”

Natalie breathed in audibly. She looked at Nancy Sutton. “Are you … are you
sure
you want to know?” She shook her head. “It was horrible.”

Richard Sutton Senior didn’t say anything straight away. Then, “I understand it must have been an ordeal for you, Dr. Nelson, and that you may not wish to … But I served in the United States Army as a young man, so I’ve seen a few dead bodies in my time. Nancy here was a nurse. We’ve flown eight thousand miles to see where our boy was killed. We saw his body before it was buried, so we know he had his throat cut, though the wound was all closed up by then.”

He waited. He didn’t push, but Natalie knew there was no escape.

“Very well.”

And she relived that dreadful morning, the cloud of flies, the insistent sounds of their buzzing, the small black insects crawling in and out of Richard’s eyes and nostrils, his mouth, the escaping monkeys, the smell of blood and urine, the total stillness of the body.

When she had finished, Nancy Sutton was quietly weeping. Richard Sutton just sat, very quietly, listening. His eyes never left Natalie, hardly blinked, gave nothing away.

Eventually, he said, “There are no other witnesses?”

Natalie shook her head.

“And that means the prosecution’s case rests entirely on you?”

“Yes and no.” Natalie shifted in her chair. “I am the only witness—yes. But a piece of the cook’s apron was found on a spike of thorn that forms the wall of the camp, near Richard’s tent. And an imprint of his rubber boot was also found in the dust outside the tent. Ndekei took Richard’s watch, to prove he had done what was asked, and the Maasai gave it back to us.” She didn’t say there had been blood on the watch at one stage. “That’s all circumstantial evidence, of course, but, put together with what I saw … it’s very damaging.”

She passed her fingers through her hair.

“But, in any case, as I’m sure Eleanor told you, Ndekei is going to admit the killing, but still plead ‘not guilty,’ saying he was acting according to local Maasai law, that Richard and Russell had desecrated their local burial ground and that he had been ordered by the elders to kill Richard as revenge for what he and Russell had done—”

“Jesus! Will that wash?” Richard Sutton neatly peeled off his jacket and carefully laid it on the bed beside him. He was clearly a very tidy man.

“What did Eleanor tell you while you were in the gorge? You must have discussed it.”

“Oh, we discussed it. Nancy ’n me have come eight thousand miles to discuss it. Dr. Deacon gave us some flimflam about how good our boy was—we knew that. Then some soft soap about how important the discovery was. We knew that too. Russell had filled us in when he stopped off in New York.”

He carefully rolled up his shirtsleeves. “Then she made her point. Clearly and forcefully, you might say. She said that the raid on the burial ground was the worst thing that has ever happened to her in nearly forty years of digging. She said that Richard and Russell were foolish—foolish verging on the criminally insane. That she had sent Russell away to save his life and that she blamed herself for not sending Richard away sooner, so he would not have been killed. She said that the trial threatens to turn ugly, that politics may be involved, and that the whole dig is still threatened. But she said that you are unwavering in your testimony and that you fully intend to give evidence. That’s what Nancy and I want to hear … but we want to hear it from you.”

He leaned forward. The fingers of one hand played with the gold watch strap on his other wrist, but his eyes were on Natalie.

She returned his stare. His neat and tidy manner, his precise movements, his quiet voice were forceful, unnerving. Here was a man who didn’t need to raise his voice to be obeyed, who loathed waste or extravagance or show in any form, who was used to getting his own way. She didn’t want him to see or sense the doubts within her. Eleanor couldn’t, mustn’t know how she had wavered—was
still
wavering; once she showed weakness, the pressure on her would surely increase. But the very fact that Richard Sutton Senior was here at all emphasized that she was right to hold the view that she did. She couldn’t abandon his dead son now.

“Of course I’m giving evidence. I saw what I saw. I’ve signed an official statement for the court and I can’t go back on that without putting myself at risk of perjury or contempt of court. Not that I intend to,” she added quickly.

Sutton leaned back on the bed, not speaking. He looked at Natalie, then into the middle distance, then back again at Natalie.

“Dr. Deacon made it very clear that you are in a minority of one in the camp, that everyone else thinks the local law
should
take precedence, that it is more important to keep the dig going than to avenge Richard’s death. She even said that that is what Richard himself would have wanted. She wanted us to talk to you and get you to change your mind, and withdraw your evidence.”

“And you agreed?”

“I didn’t say that.” His eyes bored into hers. “I wanted to hear what you have to say first.”

“And now that you have?”

He spoke even more quietly. “I’m Richard’s father, Dr. Nelson. My son, a talented, beautiful, intelligent man, was cruelly hacked to death by a savage, a barbarian, an inferior form of life acting in accordance with some primitive, stone-age custom.” He nodded. “Yes, I’m all for respecting ancient traditions, provided they don’t get too much in the way of progress, but to be sliced to death, all because …” He checked himself. His words were becoming more emotive than he was used to. “All because a burial ground was ransacked. The very idea fills me with … loathing isn’t a strong enough word.” He shifted his frame on the bed. “I
hate
strong feelings, Dr. Nelson. I
distrust
them.” He tapped his temple. “They interfere with what goes on up here, and in my business life I have learned to control them.” He shook his head, though he did even that tidily, without waste or show. “But … at the moment… I’m so … so
bitter
, so dripping in fury, so coiled up inside, so full of
fire
, that I’m almost ready to kill, myself.”