marble-topped table.
‘Mind if I smoke?’
‘Go ahead.’
Thorn took a soft leather pouch from his shirt pocket and proceeded to roll a joint.
Jenny glanced away, thinking her time would have been better spent shopping after all.
‘What can I tell you?’ he said.
‘Were you close to Adam Jordan?’
‘Shared a tent with him for the last year, and most of the two years before that.’ He twisted one end of the cigarette paper and put the other to his mouth. Jenny noticed the tremor in his fingers as he struck a match.
‘Sounds like you were somewhere pretty remote.’
‘South Sudan. I guess that’s about as far off the trail as you can get outside of the Sahara.’
‘Putting in irrigation, I hear.’
‘No,’ he corrected her. ‘We subsidize the kit, show them how to dig the trenches, hook it all up to a well. They do the work.’
‘Helping them to help themselves.’
‘Only way.’ He dragged the fumes into his lungs and held on to them, the tight lines on his forehead starting to slacken as the dope seeped into his blood.
‘Does it work?’
‘Like a dream – until some bastard comes along and rips it all out again.’
‘Who would do that?’
‘That’s Africa. Tribal factions slitting each other’s throats since the dawn of time. It’s like a bad habit.’
Jenny felt his anger buffeting against her like a hot wind. She waited until she sensed the flare of emotion had burned itself out.
‘Something must keep people like you and Adam Jordan going back.’
‘You get to save a few, sometimes even a whole crowd. It’s a numbers game: life in your average East African village is plentiful and cheap.’ He leaned back in his chair and slowly blew smoke towards the sky like an offering. ‘If you’re keeping more above ground than beneath, you’re ahead.’
Jenny said, ‘Did Adam enjoy his work?’
‘Oh, yeah. He’d talk irrigation like a born-again talks Jesus. He was going to help them bypass all the industrial crap we’ve been through the last two hundred years and lead them straight to eco-paradise. I’m not making fun of the guy – it’s what you need out in the field to keep going: a vision.’ His eye was caught by something inside the house. ‘Shit.’
Jenny glanced round and saw a tall, slender woman strolling naked across the sitting room. She was beautiful and graceful, her skin the colour of oiled ebony.
‘Will you put some clothes on, Gabra, for Christ’s sake,’ Thorn shouted.
Ignoring him, she continued into the kitchen. Her voice travelled through the open window. ‘You two want something to eat? I’m making eggs.’
‘I want you to get fucking dressed.’
Jenny shrugged, as if to say she had no problem with Gabra going naked if that’s how she liked it.
‘I must be getting old,’ Thorn said. The tension lines reappeared on his face. He sucked hard on the joint. ‘What else?’
Jenny said, ‘Any indication as to his recent state of mind?’
‘He was a serious guy. Motivated. Had a Master’s degree in environmental science. The kind who’s always in a book or at his computer. Drank a little beer but never so much as you’d see any change.’
‘Was he happy?’
‘He seemed to be. We had a good project, left a village with green fields where there’d been a dust bowl. We had to quit a little early because of some local trouble, but that’s how it goes. It doesn’t get much better than that out there.’
‘You didn’t notice anything upset him?’
Harry thought about it and shook his head. ‘Not in Africa. He couldn’t wait to go back. We were due in Chad next month.’
‘On a similar project?’
‘Bigger. A real game-changer – five thousand acres.’
Jenny ran through her mental checklist of issues to cover in suspected suicides. ‘Any financial problems that you were aware of?’
Thorn smiled. ‘Hand to mouth, like we all are. No bastard chooses this life for the money.’
Jenny thought his answer odd. Small as it was,
‘Mind if I smoke?’
‘Go ahead.’
Thorn took a soft leather pouch from his shirt pocket and proceeded to roll a joint.
Jenny glanced away, thinking her time would have been better spent shopping after all.
‘What can I tell you?’ he said.
‘Were you close to Adam Jordan?’
‘Shared a tent with him for the last year, and most of the two years before that.’ He twisted one end of the cigarette paper and put the other to his mouth. Jenny noticed the tremor in his fingers as he struck a match.
‘Sounds like you were somewhere pretty remote.’
‘South Sudan. I guess that’s about as far off the trail as you can get outside of the Sahara.’
‘Putting in irrigation, I hear.’
‘No,’ he corrected her. ‘We subsidize the kit, show them how to dig the trenches, hook it all up to a well. They do the work.’
‘Helping them to help themselves.’
‘Only way.’ He dragged the fumes into his lungs and held on to them, the tight lines on his forehead starting to slacken as the dope seeped into his blood.
‘Does it work?’
‘Like a dream – until some bastard comes along and rips it all out again.’
‘Who would do that?’
‘That’s Africa. Tribal factions slitting each other’s throats since the dawn of time. It’s like a bad habit.’
Jenny felt his anger buffeting against her like a hot wind. She waited until she sensed the flare of emotion had burned itself out.
‘Something must keep people like you and Adam Jordan going back.’
‘You get to save a few, sometimes even a whole crowd. It’s a numbers game: life in your average East African village is plentiful and cheap.’ He leaned back in his chair and slowly blew smoke towards the sky like an offering. ‘If you’re keeping more above ground than beneath, you’re ahead.’
Jenny said, ‘Did Adam enjoy his work?’
‘Oh, yeah. He’d talk irrigation like a born-again talks Jesus. He was going to help them bypass all the industrial crap we’ve been through the last two hundred years and lead them straight to eco-paradise. I’m not making fun of the guy – it’s what you need out in the field to keep going: a vision.’ His eye was caught by something inside the house. ‘Shit.’
Jenny glanced round and saw a tall, slender woman strolling naked across the sitting room. She was beautiful and graceful, her skin the colour of oiled ebony.
‘Will you put some clothes on, Gabra, for Christ’s sake,’ Thorn shouted.
Ignoring him, she continued into the kitchen. Her voice travelled through the open window. ‘You two want something to eat? I’m making eggs.’
‘I want you to get fucking dressed.’
Jenny shrugged, as if to say she had no problem with Gabra going naked if that’s how she liked it.
‘I must be getting old,’ Thorn said. The tension lines reappeared on his face. He sucked hard on the joint. ‘What else?’
Jenny said, ‘Any indication as to his recent state of mind?’
‘He was a serious guy. Motivated. Had a Master’s degree in environmental science. The kind who’s always in a book or at his computer. Drank a little beer but never so much as you’d see any change.’
‘Was he happy?’
‘He seemed to be. We had a good project, left a village with green fields where there’d been a dust bowl. We had to quit a little early because of some local trouble, but that’s how it goes. It doesn’t get much better than that out there.’
‘You didn’t notice anything upset him?’
Harry thought about it and shook his head. ‘Not in Africa. He couldn’t wait to go back. We were due in Chad next month.’
‘On a similar project?’
‘Bigger. A real game-changer – five thousand acres.’
Jenny ran through her mental checklist of issues to cover in suspected suicides. ‘Any financial problems that you were aware of?’
Thorn smiled. ‘Hand to mouth, like we all are. No bastard chooses this life for the money.’
Jenny thought his answer odd. Small as it was,
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