FISHING IN A WATERPOT

A Suspcted Foul Play

Chapter 6

Sometimes you accept defeat and simply lie down like a hen sitting on eggs. Nomatter was gone for good. That was when, wherever I went, I seemed to hear the same song by Macheso playing:

"Be careful, someone might steal me from you. Look at me now, I was stolen from you!"

Sometimes I would be heading to a bar to drown my sorrows and suddenly decide to go into a nearby church instead, where everyone would be quietly listening to a gentle sermon. Then, out of nowhere, a ringtone would go off:

"Be careful, someone might steal me from you. Look at me now, I was stolen from you!"

It felt as if everyone and everything knew that Nomatter had been taken from me. Even phones and radios seemed to know.

That was when I finally stopped thinking about love and realized that, after all, Grace was actually a beautiful woman. I had thrown her away myself. By now, Nomatter was probably sleeping in another man's arms, satisfied and content. Some things simply have to be accepted. Why your tongue suffer when your tea has no sugar?

I was surprised to hear that the wedding date had been postponed again. Grace even called me in tears, saying she had wanted the wedding to happen quickly so that she could finally live with me because there was no longer any happiness at her home. I could not understand why there was no happiness there. Around that time, Grace had begun spending more and more nights at my place. I had already accepted that Grace would become my wife. I looked at her and saw a beautiful woman whom even wealthy men admired. I began loving her deeply, perhaps because I was trying to compensate for losing Nomatter.

One day, after making love to Grace on my bed, she looked into my eyes with affection and smiled.

"Admire, there is something I want to tell you. Some of it is sad, and some of it is good news. Should I start with the good news or the bad news?" she asked, smiling mischievously.

"Start with the bad news and end with the good."

"No, Dad, I want to start with the good news," Grace said playfully, rubbing her hands together like a child.

Even then, I noticed that Grace had developed some strange habits. Why had I failed to see them before?

"Dad, I'm pregnant with your child," she said, smiling.

I had suspected that her behavior had changed. My heart became as pure and bright as sunlight. I felt as if God had finally blessed me. How could I deny becoming a father? Fathers are known by their children.

"That's why I wanted the wedding to happen tomorrow so that we'd settle everything before my pregnancy started showing. Now they've delayed us, and I'll end up getting married while heavily pregnant and we'll both be embarrassed. Come and kiss your child."

I placed my hand on her still-flat stomach. At that moment, I felt like a real man.

"So, what about the bad news?" I asked, listening carefully.

"I'll tell you tomorrow. I've forgotten it now," she said playfully again.

This pregnancy was already making her act strangely.

"How can you forget something important like that? Tell me, darling. I want to know."

"If you keep pressuring me, I'll cry. I don't want to be stressed."

To my surprise, tears immediately began flowing down her face. I quickly tried to comfort her. Once she calmed down, I stopped pressing her.

Then she quietly asked,

"Did you hear that Mr. Musavengana is in hospital?"

I had heard rumors at work.

"Yes. But is that the bad news?"

She shook her head.

"They want to remove his kidneys. Both of them have failed."

"So that's practically a death sentence. Where will they get another kidney?"

I felt genuine pain. The man had helped elevate my status among men. Perhaps he had intended to leave me in a good position with Mr. Gumedhe.

"There is no death sentence if someone whose kidney matches his agrees to donate one and live with the other," she said, her eyes filling with tears.

"Admire, I have nothing more to tell you. I'll tell you another day. Just know that a fire has entered the forest hut. That fire cannot be extinguished by running away."

I looked at Grace. She was pregnant and completely different from the cheerful, pleasure-loving woman I had known. Whatever bad news she was hiding must have been serious. But I reassured myself that women often exaggerate small matters into big problems.

So I drove her home to help her relax. Afterward, I returned home and prepared for work the next day. I slept well, but my mind kept wondering what had caused my beloved to cry.

The following morning was strange. The weather itself seemed uncertain, sometimes gloomy, sometimes bright. Inside me, my conscience kept pounding like a drum. I felt an unexplained exhaustion. I stared at my computer, trying to organize files and case dockets, but my thoughts kept drifting.

At some point, I fell asleep at my desk.

I woke up when my head struck the keyboard.

"Pamire, the boss wants you immediately! Hurry up; he's been calling for you," someone told me.

I rushed to his office and greeted him properly.

"Young man, stay standing," he said. "I want you to attend an accident scene at a farm near Mazowe. You'll work with Detective Constable Chenjerai. Leave immediately in the department vehicle."

"Sir, since when do we investigate traffic accidents? Especially those in Mazowe? Aren't there police officers there?" I asked.

The Inspector stared directly at me and replied,

"The victim mentioned your name before he died. He specifically requested that you handle the case."

"Before he died?" I whispered.

"DS, we don't discuss orders. We carry them out. Dismissed."

I took the map and saw that the incident had occurred on a farm near Mvurwi, close to Concession.

We sped off in our Mercedes police vehicle. Throughout the journey, my mind raced. Who had mentioned my name? Why? Had someone set me up?

At one point, Chenjerai interrupted my thoughts.

"DS, have you noticed that car behind us? It's been following us since Mazowe Dam."

I looked but ignored it. Many vehicles traveled that road.

Eventually, we turned onto a dusty road leading toward the farm. After some distance, we saw a crowd gathered around an overturned Land Cruiser.

My heart stopped when I saw the number plate.

I rubbed my eyes in disbelief.

Two bodies lay covered nearby.

After securing the scene, I examined the male body.

It was Honourable Gumedhe.

His face was covered in blood. I searched for the source and eventually found a deep puncture wound in his throat. Once I cleared away the dried blood, fresh blood began flowing again. I was wearing gloves. It looked like he had been stabbed with a long, pointed object—perhaps a screwdriver.

I examined the woman's body. It was his wife. Her head was swollen grotesquely. She had either suffered a severe impact or had been struck with a heavy object.

Something was wrong.

If the vehicle had crashed at high speed, why were the bodies lying where they were? Why were all their belongings still neatly in place? Even his driver's license remained intact in his pocket.

Following the tire tracks, I noticed signs of a struggle. Another vehicle had apparently stopped beside theirs. Nearby, I found a crushed Breeze cigarette packet and a chewed matchstick.

The matchstick reminded me of something I had seen on Mr. Gumedhe's body.

I decided not to continue tracing the other vehicle's tracks because I feared finding another chewed matchstick.

From the tire impressions, I estimated the vehicle was a Discovery or some other large SUV.

By the time I returned, journalists had already arrived—the same people who had followed us.

Chenjerai informed me that they had found US$6,000 at the scene. I counted it and instructed him to hold onto it.

I carefully collected all the evidence.

As we drove back to Harare, I became convinced that this had been murder disguised as an accident.

Then I noticed five missed calls from Grace.

I called her back.

"The number you have dialed is not available at the moment."

I checked my messages.

"Darling, come and help me. I am in trouble. If you delay, you will find me gone."

My head began spinning.

At that exact moment, the vehicle that had been following us blocked our path. Its occupants rolled down their windows like something from a movie and pointed pistols at us.

"Hands up! Hands up!"

A woman I recognized as one of the journalists stepped forward.

"We are Internal Investigations. We are arresting you, Sergeant Pamire, for criminal abuse of office."

Before I could defend myself, she slapped me hard across the face.

"Search him! We want the trap money we planted. We know he accepted a bribe to destroy evidence relating to the Honourable's case."

A young man with dreadlocks, his face swollen and bruised, was brought forward.

"Is this the man?" they asked.

"No," he replied. "I've only seen him once."

They searched us and the vehicle but found nothing.

My confidence slowly returned.

"Why are you falsely accusing me?" I demanded. "I'll sue you for defamation. You've assaulted me. Your real motive is to destroy evidence."

The woman suddenly became apologetic.

"Sorry, Pamire. Perhaps we've made a mistake."

"You'd better pay for the damage you've done to my face."

She then quietly begged,

"Please, Pamire, if you have the money, return it. My job is on the line. The serial numbers were recorded."

"As I said, I never saw any money. Continue harassing me, and I'll arrest you."

We drove off.

Later, I asked Chenjerai where he had hidden the money.

He simply lifted himself slightly and revealed that he had hidden it beneath his body.

I had been angry with him, but after realizing how close I had come to being destroyed by Internal Investigations, I forgave him.

For the first time that day, I felt a little peace.

I wanted to find Grace, but I was exhausted and confused. I decided to rest and deal with everything the next day.

Back at Central, we locked away the evidence, split the money, and left separately.

That evening, I slipped out through another exit and boarded a commuter taxi.

When you're a police officer involved in corruption, nobody should know your movements.

Grace and I, just like Nomatter and Peter, had all become orphans in one way or another.