Mackenzie Ford - The Clouds Beneath the Sun

He allowed himself a smile. “But I want to tell you something else, Dr. Nelson, Natalie, something I want you to keep in mind after Nancy and I leave later today.” He brushed dust off his shoes with his fingers. “The trial is still weeks away and you will be cooped up here, surrounded by people who disagree with you, people who—in some cases—are your senior in professional terms.”

He reached across to the small table just inside Natalie’s tent and picked up the water jug. “May I?”

Natalie nodded, and Sutton poured half a glass. He offered the remainder to the two women but both of them shook their heads.

He finished the water in several small swallows. He took out his handkerchief again and wiped his mouth.

“As the trial approaches, the pressure on you, to change your story, to withdraw your evidence, is likely to mount. You may get to the point where you feel that such pressure is irresistible.” He shook his head and bit his lip at the same time. “If you even consider changing your mind, Dr. Nelson, remember this—I will not sit idly by and let my son’s death go unavenged.”

He was now looking intently at Natalie.

“If Ndekei is convicted, then it is not very important to me whether he is hanged or sent down for a very long time. But … but, if he never faces trial, because you change your testimony, and withdraw your evidence, because pressure has been put on you … then … then , you may rest assured that Richard Sutton Senior will not stand aside until he has seen justice done.”

There were beads of sweat at his temples and he again dabbed at them with his handkerchief. “This is not an empty threat, Dr. Nelson, by a distraught father in the first flush of grief.” He poured himself more water. “Nancy, why don’t you go back to the main tent, where it’s cooler? Let me finish up here with Dr. Nelson alone?”

It wasn’t a request and Nancy Sutton got to her feet, smiled a tight smile at Natalie, and headed back to the refectory area.

Richard Sutton watched her go, all the while wiping his forehead with his handkerchief. “In New York, Dr. Nelson, I’m a lawyer, a corporate lawyer. I work for a big property developer and it is in the nature of the property business that, legally speaking, corners get cut, toes get trodden on, strings get pulled. My job, one of my jobs at any rate, is to sort out the messes.” He nodded briefly again. “Yes, I think I can say I’ve sorted out one or two messes in my time. New York is … Well, I’m sure you know all that. I know a lot of people. The property business has a rough end, where it joins up with the construction business, and there are all sorts of things I can do.”

He reached forward and touched her knee. “I’m not picking on you, Natalie, or not only you.” He gestured around him. “Now that I’ve been here, I know what Dr. Deacon’s outfit amounts to … the camp, the gorge, the neighbors … I know what I’m dealing with.”

He let a long pause go by before adding, “And I’m a man of the world, Dr. Nelson, the real world, the twentieth-century world, not the million-year-old world that you and Dr. Deacon inhabit and my beloved boy inhabited and all these bones inhabit.”

Another silence. The broadside was over.

Natalie’s anger had risen as he had spoken. But she had fought it and was now wondering instead how Richard Sutton Senior would respond to being told his son was homosexual. Did his wife know? Would it make any difference?

She said nothing as he reached for his jacket and stood up.

“You probably weren’t expecting any of that. I understand your father runs a church choir, so I may have sounded heavy handed. But I don’t want you to underestimate me. If you give evidence, as you have just promised, then that’s all I ask, and everything will be over. If you don’t …” He put his hand on Natalie’s shoulder. “I hope it won’t come to that.”

He stepped away, then turned back. “I’m going to look at Richard’s tent. See you at lunch.”

Jack placed his canvas chair next to Natalie’s table and sat down in it. He laid some chocolate next to the flask of whiskey and leaned back.

Natalie drew on her cigarette. Around them the night was very dark—no moon yet. There were the sounds of baboons and elephants in the distance. She didn’t speak.

A hurricane lamp burned just inside the tent, throwing a weak yellow light over the thin earth and the straggly grass that had been trampled in the constant coming and going in and out of her tent. The smell of kerosene hung in the air.

Jack scratched his head. “Exhausting day. I gather they gave you a going over before they turned on the rest of us.”

The briefest of smiles played over Natalie’s features. Lunch had indeed been a high-octane affair. Richard Sutton Senior had let lunch be served before repeating his threats to the entire assembled company. He had still kept his voice low, his movements precise, but his eyes had raked back and forth over everyone at the table, like a searchlight, looking for resistance, weakness. He let no one escape.

He was like an animal in the wild, Natalie thought, defending its young, or its territory.

In theory Natalie should have been relieved that she was, for the time being anyway, no longer in a minority of one, that Sutton was taking her side. But his manner of doing it, the menacing contradiction behind his precise movements and vague threats, the raw force in his quiet tone, merely embarrassed her and caused her to doubt the strength of her own position.

Matters had deteriorated even more when Sutton had said that, during the afternoon, he wished to be shown the Maasai burial ground. Eleanor had refused point blank, and forbidden anyone else to go there.

Whereupon, Sutton had turned to Natalie. “You can show me.”

Natalie had colored. “I will not.”

“What do you mean? I wish to see the burial ground. So does Nancy.”

“No!” said Natalie vehemently. “It will make the situation worse.”

“Not for my son it won’t. I wish to know … is this a proper burial ground—or some primitive jungle junkyard—?”

“Stop!” cried Natalie. “Stop. I’ve told you about my testimony, I’ve told you I won’t change, that I will tell the court what I saw. Yes, I believe that your son didn’t deserve to die.” Natalie’s throat was clammy with sweat. “What happened to him was barbaric and unjust. How many times do I have to say that?” She pushed her plate away from her. “But I will not take you to the burial ground. Things are complicated enough as it is, and it doesn’t matter what sort of burial ground it is—it’s sacred, and I accept that we have to respect that. It’s not a tourist attraction.”

“Listen—”

“No!” Natalie jutted her chin forward. She wasn’t often stubborn but she was good enough at it when she needed to be. “No.” She breathed out audibly. “No.”

Sutton sat upright, motionless, and without speaking. His eyes again swept from one person to the other. They came back to rest on Natalie. He nodded. “Have it your way.”

Then he looked at Eleanor, and in the same quiet tone added, “I want justice for my son, Dr. Deacon. Call it vengeance if you prefer. It’s all the same to me. But don’t underestimate me … I can damage you and …” He pointed at Natalie. “If she doesn’t give evidence, you’ll find out what I mean.”

“Are you threatening me, Mr. Sutton?” Eleanor too was sitting very upright.

Sutton shrugged and got to his feet, and they left.

He had made a point of shaking hands with Natalie but he’d said nothing else. Presently, they had all heard the sound of the Suttons’ plane taking off and disappearing into the afternoon sky.