Mackenzie Ford - The Clouds Beneath the Sun

“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.”

He refolded his handkerchief, neatly, and slid it back inside his pocket. “So, as you can imagine … I am relieved, to put it no stronger, that you are acting according to a conscience that I recognize. Russell North said some good things about you in New York, and I’m glad that you have lived up to the advance publicity.”