Juba Good Read Online Free PDF Page A

wine glass in long thin fingers. “It was around nine. I’d been held up at work and was late getting here. I saw a car pulled over. Against the wall, at the bend in the road.”
    â€œCan you describe it?”
    â€œA Land Cruiser. White. I remember thinking that was odd. There’s nothing there. Not in the nighttime, when the water trucks aren’t lining up. No one would park there.”
    My heart sped up. That familiar feeling I never get tired of. “Notice anything about it? A name, maybe? License plate prefix?” Most of the NGO vehicles have the name of the group printed on the side. Many have a symbol of a gun with a red line through it—no weapons on board. Some NGOs have special plates. Government vehicle plates begin with GOSS . The army’s say SPLA .
    She thought some more. She shook her head. “Sorry. No. Nothing.”
    â€œDid you see anyone inside the car? Or around it?”
    â€œNo. I’m sorry. It was dark. I wouldn’t have noticed except for the damage to the back.”
    North America or Africa. Sometimes it could be like pulling teeth.
    â€œWhat sort of damage?”
    â€œTo the rear bumper. On the left side. It was twisted. Some of it bent in and some sticking out. Like it had been rear-ended. I remember because that’s what my car looked like after someone ran into me in LA.”
    â€œThanks.” I scribbled my cell number on the back of my card. My RCMP one with a phone number in BC. I handed it to her. “Call me, please, if you remember anything more.”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œWhat happened, Sergeant?” the Brit asked.
    I didn’t bother to answer as Deng and I showed ourselves out.
    â€œThat was good policing, Ray,” Deng said. “Let us go out and find a white Land Cruiser with a damaged bumper.” He laughed heartily, teeth white in his black face in the black night.
    â€œShut up,” I said.
    There are hundreds—thousands—of white Land Cruisers in Juba. I’d be surprised if any of them didn’t have damage.
    â€œIt’s all part of building a case,” I said. “You never know what’s going to be important until it is important.”
    I wasn’t fooling even myself.

Chapter Eight
    Coincidences do happen. But they’re rare.
    I was making breakfast the next morning. Nigel came into the common room.
    â€œHear about Sven’s car?” he asked, chuckling.
    â€œNo. What happened?”
    â€œStolen.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œLast night. Fool couldn’t get parking in front of a restaurant. He left the car around the corner.” Meaning out of sight of the restaurant guards. “Gone when he got back.”
    â€œHe musta been pissed.”
    â€œOh, yeah. In more ways than one.” Nigel chuckled. “It was his own vehicle.”
    My toast popped up. I ignored it. Sven had bought a used car. Fixing up old cars was his hobby, he’d said. “Remind me again what it looked like.”
    Nigel laughed. “What, you’re going to put out an APB ? Get real, Robertson. You’re too keen for your own good. You’re not getting any brownie points for being a good copper here, you know.”
    â€œYou’ve got nothing to do today?” I said.
    â€œAs little as I can get away with.” He took a Coke out of the fridge and left.
    Peter was in his usual place. In front of the TV , watching soccer.
    â€œIt was a white Land Cruiser,” he said. “Sven bought it from an NGO, painted over the logo.”
    â€œWhat sort of condition was it in?”
    He shrugged. “Not bad. Had been in an accident. Rear-ended, I think. But the engine was good.”
    â€œIs Sven around?”
    Peter laughed. “He’s got no place to go, does he? And no way to get there.”
    Sven was sitting in his plastic garden chair when I walked up to his container. He glowered at me. He didn’t lower his sunglasses. His pale blue