Dying to Live

by Michael Stanley

  “Well, perhaps you should raise that with the police also,” Thabo suggested.

  Festus nodded. “Oh, we certainly will, Professor. You can be sure of that.”

  Ross had taken no trouble to hide his surprise at Festus’s question, and now he took back control of the conversation. “I don’t think we need to pursue this aspect further. Professor, I have a couple of technical questions related to your area of expertise. Do you have a few more minutes?”

  Thabo nodded without enthusiasm.

  Ross turned to Festus. “Festus, I’d like to speak to the professor in private.”

  It took Festus a couple of seconds to realize that he was being dismissed. He was furious. He was pretty sure that Ross was going to talk to the professor about the real issues behind Collins’s disappearance, and he very much wanted to be in on that.

  “I’ll meet you in the secretary’s office in a few minutes,” Ross persisted.

  “Okay.” Festus nodded curtly to the professor and left, closing the door behind him.

  Ross turned back to Thabo.

  “Professor Thabo, my business is finding new drugs. I’m not a philanthropist—I’m not rich enough to have that luxury. Collins has discovered a plant in the Kalahari that shows promise with healing skin lesions. Did he discuss that with you? After all, I believe you have a professional interest in herbal medicines from the Kalahari.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do, but Collins never discussed anything like that with me. Our discussions were all around Bushman oral traditions and his theory about a Bushman who narrated these events as if he’d been present himself. We never discussed anything to do with Bushman remedies or healing properties of plants.”

  Ross nodded, then continued. “Do you have a moment to tell me about your research, Professor? I’d be interested, and perhaps Ross Pharmaceuticals might be able to work with you on something.”

  That was enough to set Professor Thabo off on a description of his projects and what his students were doing. Ross listened carefully but soon came to the conclusion that it was the anthropology rather than the medicinal properties of plants that interested Thabo. After ten minutes he said, “Professor, that’s been fascinating. Thank you. I mustn’t take any more of your time, but perhaps we could meet again while I’m here, to discuss this further? And, of course, if you can think of anything more concerning Dr. Collins, I’d be very grateful. Here’s my card. I’ll be staying at The Grand Palm.”

  The professor took it. “By the way, Mr. Ross,” he said, “I’m sure you’ve heard of biopiracy? What Collins was doing—or appears to have been doing—could infringe the rights of the Bushman people who discovered this plant, so you should be very careful about the exploitation of anything found in the Kalahari. If you need advice, I can be of help.”

  Ross thanked him, took his leave, and headed off to link up with Festus.

  It’s exactly the same here as it is in the States, Ross thought. The way to an academic’s heart is through his wallet.

  * * *

  IN THE SECRETARY’S office, Festus sat and fumed. The secretary was quite good-looking and tried to be chatty, but he was in no mood to flirt. He grabbed the Daily News and started skimming the headlines. On page two he spotted an article that seemed interesting, although at first he wasn’t sure why. He read it through.

  TRADITIONAL HEALER FEARED MURDERED!

  The police fear that a well-known traditional healer, Botlele Ramala, has been murdered. Ramala, often called Kgosi by his clients, has been missing for nearly two weeks, and the police have evidence that makes them believe he was abducted and later murdered.

  The police have called on anyone who has seen Ramala, or knows anything about his whereabouts over the last two weeks, to contact them immediately.

  Mma Ramala was too distraught to speak to this reporter. She …

  There was more stuff about Ramala’s background and reputation. Festus read the article a second time, thinking about Ramala’s abduction. His mind returned to the conversation with Legotlo. I’ve heard nothing about a snatch. Not of a white guy.

  Of course, there was nothing to connect Ramala’s abduction to Collins’s disappearance, but Festus had a feeling that there just might be a link. Legotlo would be getting another call very soon.

  CHAPTER 26

  Kubu was frustrated by his lack of progress on the Collins case. His one lead was the mysterious Festus with his silver truck, but a search of the vehicle registry had turned up nothing. Perhaps Festus was a middle name or a nickname. Perhaps the vehicle was owned by someone else. It seemed to be a dead end.

  Collins’s 4x4 had been towed to Ghanzi, and forensics had been through it. There was no sign of blood or anything else that might point to a struggle in the vehicle. And although the vehicle was covered in fingerprints, Zanele was not optimistic. Apparently, cleaning between rentals didn’t include polishing off fingerprints. She said there were at least half a dozen different people who had been in the vehicle at some point. And even Collins’s prints couldn’t be positively identified. Kubu had asked the police in Minneapolis for a copy of his prints, only to discover that they weren’t on record.

  He’d also asked Detective Sergeant Segodi to check the hotels in Ghanzi to see if Collins had stayed over in the area, but he doubted anything would turn up.

  Kubu’s gloomy mood was interrupted by his office telephone.

  “Assistant Superintendent Bengu.”

  “Good afternoon, Assistant Superintendent. This is Professor Thabo. You spoke to me last week about Dr. Collins and the dead Bushman.”

  Kubu perked up. “Yes, Professor. I remember. Did you come up with some more information?”

  “No, not really. But this morning two men came to see me, and it turned out they’re also looking for Collins. I gave them your number and suggested that they contact you, but I thought I should let you know about it. It’s probably nothing, but…”

  “You did the right thing, Professor. Some people aren’t keen on contacting the police. Who were they? Do you know what they were after?”

  “One of them is an American called Ross, who’s just come out from the States. He’s the head of a pharmaceutical company there. He asked about Collins, as you did, but he was also interested in knowing about plants that the Bushmen might use for medicinal purposes. I warned him to be careful not to fall foul of biopiracy laws.”

  Kubu was more interested in how Ross linked with Collins. “So what was Ross’s connection with Collins?”

  “Apparently they are old friends. But there’s more to it than that. Collins had come up with something potentially valuable, and I think Ross was worried about missing out on that.”

  “I thought Collins was an anthropologist?”

  “He is, but apparently he has some sort of deal with Ross to look out for plants that could be useful to the pharmaceuticals industry.”

  “What sort of plants? How would he know about them?”

  “He’d be asking his Bushman contacts which ones they used for their traditional remedies.”

  “Something that might extend life?”

  “Very unlikely! More something like hoodia, which the Bushmen use as an appetite suppressant.”

  “Speaking of herbal remedies, did Collins ever mention a Kgosi Ramala to you?”

  “Ramala? The witch doctor? No, why would he?”

  “Because it seems he had a meeting with Ramala. I wonder if that was connected to these plants he was looking for.”

  “Well, he said nothing to me about it. I doubt a Western scientist would take someone like Ramala seriously, but I really can’t help you with that.”

  Kubu decided he would get better information on what Collins had been up to directly from Ross. “Did Ross say where he was staying?”

  “Yes, at The Grand Palm. He asked me to contact him there if I had any suggestions about medicinal plants.”

  “And the other man?”

  “I think he was hired to drive Ross aroun
d and so on. Rather a rude man. His name was Moeng. Festus Moeng.”

  Suddenly, Kubu’s mood greatly improved. He was sure that Festus was doing more for Ross than driving him around, and he wanted to know what he was doing, and why.

  “Professor, this has been very useful. Thank you very much for taking the time to contact me.”

  “I would’ve spoken to you earlier, but I’ve been busy all day.”

  “No problem. Thanks again, and have a good evening.”

  Kubu hung up, wondering why the professor was suddenly going out of his way to help. He hadn’t seemed particularly cooperative before. Nevertheless, he was grateful for that change of heart, whatever had caused it.

  He pulled out a telephone directory and looked up the name Moeng. There were many, but he skimmed through them quickly. And there it was. Festus Moeng—Private Investigator. So that’s what brings Festus to this party, he thought. He’s been hired by Ross.

  Kubu picked up the phone again and called Zanele.

  “Hello, Zanele. I think I may have something for you on the fingerprints in that vehicle. Would you check the prints they sent you from Ghanzi against those of a Festus Moeng? He’s a PI, so they’ll be on record. I think he’s the one who was looking for Collins before me, and I’m looking forward to asking him why.”

  * * *

  FESTUS CALLED LEGOTLO and told him there’d been further developments and that they needed to talk face-to-face. Legotlo was reluctant, but agreed when Festus promised him a beer. He nominated a bar at the Africa Mall.

  After taking a first gulp of the beer and wiping the froth off his lip with the back of his hand, Legotlo asked, “What’s so urgent?”

  Festus took his time. “Nice place,” he said, taking in the dilapidated, smoke-filled room.

  “The drinks are cheap,” Legotlo responded. “So what’s up?”

  Festus waited until Legotlo was taking another mouthful, then asked, “What do you know about the snatch of Kgosi Ramala?”

  Legotlo finished the mouthful without reacting. “What makes you think I know anything about that?”

  Festus sighed. “Look, Legotlo, let’s not waste time. Why don’t you just fill me in? I’m willing to add a few pula to the beers.”

  Legotlo hesitated. “This goes no further, understand? And, anyway, it didn’t come from me. These are nasty people. I don’t want to get involved. You know what I mean?”

  Festus nodded.

  “Five hundred pula.”

  Festus nearly choked on his beer. “Ridiculous! A hundred.”

  Legotlo drained his glass. “Two fifty. And I’ll have a whiskey first.”

  Festus felt he was being cheated, but he called the waitress over and ordered the whiskey. “So what have you got?”

  “What I’ve got,” said Legotlo thoughtfully, “is a friend who hangs around Riverwalk Mall. He makes a few thebe, you know, from the tourists. Sells stuff.” He shrugged.

  “Go on.”

  “He keeps his eyes open for customers and for cops and security. He’s not always welcome there, you know?”

  “This friend have a name?”

  Legotlo shook his head.

  Festus frowned, realizing he wasn’t even going to get a name for his two hundred and fifty pula.

  “Anyway,” Legotlo continued, “he knows Ramala.”

  “Ramala’s expensive, I hear.”

  Legotlo nodded. “That’s only after he came up with his eternal-life scam. He used to sell potions for luck and sex, like the other muti pushers.”

  “Okay, so what did this friend see?”

  “Well, he sees Ramala walking round the front of the mall towards the Mugg and Bean, so he goes over to see if he can interest him in a little dagga or something. But then he sees where Ramala’s heading—towards this group of tough-looking guys sitting at a table at the back. One of them gets up to greet Ramala. My friend gets lost fast, but keeps an eye on what’s happening because he’s the curious type, you know? They start talking to Ramala. At first, it’s all very friendly, but then there seems to be an argument. One of the men gets really close to Ramala, and a few moments later Ramala goes off with them, no more argument. My friend sees them get into a car together. Except one of the men is left behind, so I guess he goes and drives Ramala’s car off.”

  “You think the man pulled a gun or a knife or something?”

  Legotlo nodded.

  “What did these guys look like?”

  “That’s the interesting part. They were Chinese.” Legotlo nodded again, as if that explained everything.

  “Chinese?”

  “Don’t you get it? It’s the Chinese mafia! They’ve got their paws in the casinos, whatever. I bet Ramala owes them big bucks. He’s in trouble.” Legotlo finished his whiskey.

  “Ramala gambled?”

  “Sure he did. He owed them money. Why else would they be after him?”

  “Your friend should tell his story to the police.”

  “You crazy? These are not nice people. If he does that, he’ll be joining Ramala in some hole in the ground somewhere. Or maybe thrown out for the hyenas.”

  “So how come he told you?”

  Legotlo shrugged. “People tell me things. I’m a good listener. And like you said, discreet.”

  Festus summed it up in his head. Ramala meets these Chinese people at Riverwalk. They talk, argue, maybe one pulls a weapon and hustles him into their car while the other drives his car. That’s what I’ve got for two hundred and fifty pula of my client’s money. All the rest is just Legotlo’s speculation.

  “But what’s this got to do with Collins?” he wondered aloud.

  Legotlo gave him a quizzical look. “Who said it had anything to do with Collins?”

  He’s got me there, Festus thought, as he forked out the money.

  * * *

  WHEN FESTUS DROVE up to his house, he noticed a car parked in front. He pulled up at his gate and, as he climbed out to open it, a man he didn’t recognize approached him.

  “Festus Moeng?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Who are you?”

  “I’m Detective Sergeant Banda of the CID. Is that your twin cab?”

  Festus nodded. “What’s this about?”

  “We need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Okay. I’ll park and we can go inside.”

  “At our offices, rra.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes. It’s quite urgent. I’ll drive you there.”

  Festus was irritated, but there seemed to be no point in making a fuss.

  “Okay, I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “No, just park and come with me.”

  Reluctantly, Festus drove in, parked his car, and rejoined the detective. They drove in silence. Festus knew enough about police procedure to realize there was no point in asking what this was about again—he wouldn’t be told. Then his cell phone rang, and he answered.

  “Festus? This is Ross. I’ve been picked up by the police! I’ve no idea what it’s about, but I’m at the Criminal Investigation Department. Get out here right now. Bring a lawyer.”

  “I’m on my way,” Festus said wryly, and hung up.

  CHAPTER 27

  Kubu introduced himself to Brian Ross and sat down opposite him in the interview room. He noticed that the American looked upset, but at least he wasn’t making a fuss.

  “Thank you for coming in to answer our questions, Mr. Ross,” Kubu said.

  “I wasn’t aware I had a choice,” Ross replied.

  Kubu chose to ignore that. “I understand you’re a friend of Dr. Christopher Collins. Is that correct?”

  “That’s right. I’m an old friend of Chris and his wife. Understandably, she was very upset after the call from the police here, and I hadn’t heard from Chris for a while either. So I felt I should come out and see for myself what’s going on.”

  “Were you in contact with him before?”

  “He’d call me from time to time on his satellite phone, b
ut I hadn’t heard from him for a week or so. I wasn’t too concerned, because he was traveling around. But when Petra told me about your call to her, I got really worried.”

  “Were these calls about the work he was doing for you?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “And just what was it that he was doing for you?”

  “He’d been given some ointment by a Bushman friend that seemed to accelerate the healing of wounds. He was trying to find the source. Of course, we’d have followed all the proper channels if he had found it. My company follows strictly ethical procedures.” He paused, but Kubu didn’t comment. “He was also looking at other desert plants that might have useful properties.”

  “I see. Who was Collins’s Bushman friend?”

  Ross hesitated. “I don’t know. He had his academic studies, and he interviewed many Bushmen about a variety of topics, I suppose.”

  “Did he mention a man called Heiseb?”

  “He may have. I don’t recall.”

  “And when was the last time you heard from Dr. Collins?”

  Ross thought about it for a moment. “I think it was on October tenth.”

  Kubu made a note of that. The date correlated quite well with Heiseb’s death.

  He changed the subject. “What’s your connection with Festus Moeng?”

  Ross looked surprised. “I hired him to help me trace Chris.”

  “And when was that?”

  Ross shifted in his seat. “It was a few days after the last call from Chris,” he said at last.

  “So before my phone call to Mrs. Collins?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you said you weren’t worried about Dr. Collins at that time?”

  “Well, we’d lost contact. I just thought it would be good to have someone here…”

  “Keep an eye on him?”

  Ross nodded.

  “You didn’t trust him, did you? You thought he might’ve discovered something and was keeping it to himself.”

  “No, no. Nothing like that,” Ross replied.

  “Mr. Ross, as I told you before, I’m engaged in a murder investigation here. If you have any information, anything that might be relevant, that you’re not telling me, the consequences for you will be very serious. Is that clear?”