ASHES OF AUGUST

Chapter Seven: The Detectives

The conference room at Nairobi Police Headquarters was dim except for the bluish glow of the screen replaying the footage. Inspector Mwangi stood at the head of the table, his face carved in shadow. A cigarette smoldered forgotten in the ashtray, smoke curling toward the ceiling like a restless ghost.

The robbery flickered again in grainy color. Customers dropping to the floor. Display cases rattling as shots cracked the air. And there-Elena, frozen in the frame, the silver chain glinting in her hand.

Mwangi’s gaze never left her. He had replayed this moment a hundred times since that night. Most robberies were predictable: jewels, cash, a dash for the exit. But this...this was different. The leader’s eyes weren’t on the diamonds or the registers. They were fixed on Elena with a predator’s precision.

“Pause,” Mwangi said.

The young officer at the controls froze the image. The room leaned forward. On the still frame, Kariuki, the gunman in the cap, was staring straight at Elena. His mouth was caught mid-word.

“Zoom.”

The picture blurred, then sharpened just enough. His lips were forming a phrase. Mwangi knew it by heart now, but he let the clip play again, the muffled audio straining against static.

“You should have stayed gone.”

A silence thickened the room.

Detective Amina Odede tapped her pen against her notebook, her dark eyes gleaming. “That’s not random. He wasn’t improvising.”

Sergeant Kibet grunted, crossing his arms. “This wasn’t about jewels. It was about her. They came for her.”

Mwangi nodded slowly. His instincts had been clawing at him since the moment he saw her body on that shop floor. Now the footage gave those instincts teeth.

“Rewind,” he ordered.

The footage spun back, the robbers bursting through the door again. This time Mwangi studied Elena herself. The instant the guns appeared, the other customers shrieked, dropped, scrambled. But Elena...she froze, staring at Kariuki as if she recognized him. Fear, yes. But also recognition.

“She knew him,” Mwangi murmured. “Or at least she knew what he represented.”

Odede leaned forward. “Samoa?”

Mwangi’s jaw tightened. “Possibly. I’ve already put in a request to Interpol. If she crossed paths with anyone dangerous overseas, they’ll have records.”

Kibet’s voice rumbled from the corner. “Why kill her here? Why not in Samoa?”

Mwangi exhaled slowly, eyes still locked on the frozen image of Elena’s pale, terrified face. “Because she came back. Because whatever she left behind followed her home.”

The cigarette had burned itself to ash in the tray. Mwangi stubbed it out, his expression grim.

“Make no mistake,” he said, his voice carrying across the room. “This wasn’t a robbery gone wrong. This was an execution attempt. And if we don’t find out who ordered it, they’ll finish the job.”

The team absorbed his words in tense silence. Outside, the city moved with indifferent rhythm-matatus blaring horns, hawkers calling out, skyscrapers catching the first light of dawn. But in that room, the air was thick with revelation.

For the first time, it was official: Elena wasn’t collateral damage. She was the target.

And someone, somewhere, wanted her erased.