“Karibu!” he called.Jace opened the door to see two uniformed men, Kenyan police, about thirty years old, standing shoulder to shoulder. “Dr. Rawlings?”“Yes.” Jace held out his hand.The officer on the right had a scar with a heaped-up edge on his chin. Jace recognized it as a keloid, a common problem in the healing of dark skin. “We are investigating a hit-and-run,” he said, shaking Jace’s hand. The scar dimpled when he spoke.The second man was of very dark complexion, a Luya perhaps, maybe Luo. “Yesterday,” he said. “Near Dagoretti corner.”“I was there.”“The man who was killed was Mungiki.”Jace said nothing. Keloid-chin spoke again. “Why would you be associating with him?”“I only happened to be there at the time.”The second officer consulted a notepad. “We have witnesses who say you were at the scene with the Mungiki.”“I was traveling with my friends to have lunch with the Honorable John Okombo, the minister of health. I’m sure he can verify this.
