Who spiked former Police Commissioner’s drink?

By Amos Kareithi

Tuesday July 29, 1997

A maroon Land Rover Discovery cruises out of the leafy compound, speeds over some bumps and joins Thika Road highway.

There are only two occupants in the sports utility car. It gobbles up miles like a monster, leaving heads turning. At the moment, it is goes at a speed of slightly more than 100 kilometers per hour.

The atmosphere inside the car is relaxed as the two elderly men converse with a familiarity bred and polished by 17 years of friendship.

The man behind the wheel is the chauffeur, while the boss is chuckling, relaxed and amused by the jokes he has heard on other occasions.

Former Police Commissioner Philip Kilonzo.

Matuu Nursing Home where Kilonzo was pronounced dead.

His then watchman Josephat Kamonyi. Photos: Amos Kareithi/Standard

"Where to boss?" the driver asks to which the reply is an instant, half-hearted reprimand. "All these years and you have never known the way home. I should have sacked you long ago."

"Boss, I have been pleading with you to do it and get an age mate but you have refused," came the reply.

Just after nearing Thika, Mr Patterson Tumbo branches off to Thika-Garissa Road and hits the acceleration pedal a little harder as the boss, Philip Mule Kilonzo mentally checks off a list of things he must attend to before the end of the day.

This is a road the two have taken on numerous occasions, and Tumbo does not need any directions or prodding as he nudges the car to move faster. Tumbo screeches to a halt inside a Caltex Petrol Station, quickly rushes to the back left to usher out his boss, who strides out like the Police Commissioner he once was.

Usual place

"Please lock the car and keep the shot gun in the usual place, under the mat. Make sure you get something to eat quickly because we are going back to Nairobi very soon. Do not delay," the former police chief says as he briskly heads to his popular place.

Mr Kilonzo’s destination is Station Bar, a circular structure within his petrol station. There are two other such bars but he likes this one, at the edge of the station, just next to the gate of yet another property.

Before he saunters in, he greets his watchman, Josphat Kamonyi, who has just reported for work.

The watchman acknowledges the greetings politely. He ambles away to stand to attention a few metres from the entrance until his boss enters.

Inside the bar, there is only one patron, Mwanzia, a manager with a beer manufacturing firm, sipping beer and watching the sun’s rays dancing away on the Yatta plains. He senses Kilonzo enter, turns and waves him to join him. The two men are friends and Kilonzo pulls a high bar stool opposite Mwanzia and shakes his hand at the same time.

Kilonzo does not need to raise his voice or state the command. From behind the counter, in a forest of crates and beer bottles, tall young man rushes to the former Police Commissioner and wipes the table.

The former police boss wants a beer and the man who is alone at this hour manning the bar goes to the counter and fishes a bottle of White Cap brand. The bottle is removed from a crate, which is isolated in a corner. This crate is a present from Kilonzo’s in-laws. He and only he alone can drink from this ‘reservoir’.

And his workers know this. The man, who also doubles as the cashier, opens the bottle and leaves his boss sipping it leisurely as he catches up on the local updates from Mwanzia.

The bottle is halfway down when Mwamba comes from across the fence behind Station Bar to greet his boss. Mwamba oversees the construction of Matuu Ndallas Hotel, Kilonzo’s pet project.

The project is one of the reasons why the former commissioner came home since he monitors the construction work closely. Since it commenced a few months ago, he has been coming almost daily.

Mwamba tells his boss a cow has been brought by his (Kilonzo’s) friend, Councillor Kilonzo Kathiru. The cow, of exotic breed, is supposed to be a gift since one of his daughters is getting married.

He leads the former police boss to the construction site office, where the cow has been temporarily kept.

Befitting gift

Here, Kilonzo eyes the heifer critically, before nodding that he found it a befitting gift and can be transported to his farm in Ndalani to join a bigger herd. He calls a driver to ferry the cow home in a lorry. However, there is a hitch. The driver discovers the lorry’s lights are faulty and he cannot navigate it in darkness. Kilonzo directs him to Dennis Auto Garage across the road.

The driver cautiously takes the lorry to the garage, with the heifer inside and meets the proprietor, Denis Katua, who has repaired the former commissioner’s vehicles for long.

Darkness fast approaches as Katua tinkers with the lorry’s lighting system until he resolves the problem. He releases the lorry and the cow is driven out of Matuu to Ndalani.

Back at Station Bar, drama is unfolding. Kilonzo returns to his seat in the bar to quench his thirst as he waits to eat the half-kilo meat he ordered to be prepared.

Without ceremony, he picks up the glass, lifts it to his mouth but stops midway. He sniffs it and declares it smells differently. His instincts and years of training tell him something is amiss. However, he delicately places the glass at his mouth and cautiously takes a sip, then a gulp. He has just committed a fatal mistake.

"This beer tastes differently. What have you done to it?" Kilonzo wonders, directing his gaze towards the counter but he falters, and then tumbles off his high stool.

Mwanzia and the bar man, who has now been joined by Anna, the waiter, popularly known as Malimba (so called because her home, a few kilometers from Matuu, has black cotton soil) rush to break Kilonzo’s fall but the big tall man drops to the ground with a thud.

A commotion ensues. There is pandemonium as Anna, screams.

Somebody else shouts for help, calling on Tumbo to come quickly. The chauffeur runs inside and is horrified by the scene. His boss is lying on the floor groaning and writhing. Kamonyi, who is about 10 feet from Station Bar, also darts in, attracted by the commotion.

Tumbo rushes out, hurriedly reverses the car near the door, which he quickly opens and dashes out to grab his boss. All this time, Kilonzo groans as somebody in numbing pain.

The one-kilometer journey to Matuu Nursing Home seems to take an eternity as Tumbo hurtles the Land Rover at breakneck speed and screeches at the entrance as the gates are opened.

Tumbo assisted by medical workers, hastily remove Kilonzo from his car and wheel him into the hospital and onto an examination table.

The atmosphere is electric with expectation as the medics examine the now motionless man and his workers wait for reassurance. A check of the pulse, followed by the breathing is all it takes for medics to utter the dreaded words.

The unthinkable has happened. The patient is declared dead on arrival. The world crumbles as Tumbo, a veteran of many battles, weeps openly. The family and workers too are overwhelmed and wail as an ominous cloud hangs over the rural town.

Word spreads quickly as bushfire and wailing starts shortly before 10pm. Matuu has lost one of its most illustrious sons and Kenya a vital personality, who knew some answers in one of the country’s most intriguing deaths — that of former Foreign Affairs Minister Robert Ouko.

A thick cloud of sorrow envelopes the town as police officers from the nearby station, which Kilonzo himself established when he was commissioner, are dispatched to ensure mourning is orderly and peaceful.