Dying to Live

by Michael Stanley

  Not very helpful, he thought.

  Kubu decided it was time to update the director, so he walked over to his office.

  “What’ve you got?” Mabaku asked as Kubu opened the door.

  Kubu gave him all the details he’d just found out.

  Mabaku thought for a moment. “Alert Interpol and let them run with it there. Perhaps they’ll be able to track the parcel once it gets to China. Probably there’s someone in customs or with a courier company who’ll intercept it before delivery. It would be too risky for the address to be the real destination.”

  “Thank you, Director. I think things are about to break.”

  * * *

  IT WAS AROUND four o’clock that afternoon that Kubu picked up his phone and dialed the Collins’ number in Minneapolis.

  “Mrs. Collins? Assistant Superintendent Bengu here.”

  “Do you have any news about Chris?”

  Kubu took a deep breath. “No, I haven’t. Mrs. Collins, you have to prepare yourself that he’s not coming back. Sadly, we think it’s very likely that he’s dead.”

  She started to sob.

  “Nothing’s been heard from him for a month now, and the last two emails you received were from unregistered cell phones here in Gaborone. The last place we believe he was, was where the Bushman Heiseb was murdered, because we found his abandoned vehicle near there.”

  “Have you searched the whole area?”

  “As much as we can. Unfortunately, the Kalahari is a big place, and we may never find his body. I’m so sorry.”

  There was silence on the line for a few moments. “I’m going to come to Botswana, Assistant Superintendent. Brian Ross and I will hire some people to help us. And a helicopter. Whatever it takes to find him—or his body.”

  “Mrs. Collins, obviously you must do whatever you need to do, but I must urge you not to get your hopes up. We know the country and haven’t been able to find your husband. It’s not likely you’ll find him alive.”

  “But I have to try…”

  “I understand that. If you do come, please phone me as soon as you arrive. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  “Thank you. I will.”

  Kubu sat for a few moments, thinking about love. Petra Collins was willing to do anything to find her husband, and Joy was willing to do anything to save Nono.

  But me—my head gets in the way of my heart.

  CHAPTER 46

  When Kubu arrived at work on Monday morning, he was keen to move forward on the cases. The weekend had been relaxed, but not without anxiety. On Saturday, the family had visited Nono twice. The good news was that she was holding her own—her CD4 count hadn’t deteriorated, and she felt less tired than before. The bad news was that she wasn’t improving. In the evening, Joy decided they all needed a change, so they had dinner at Riverwalk Mall and went to an animated children’s movie, the name of which Kubu had already forgotten.

  On Sunday, he’d wanted his mother to visit them in Gaborone, but she’d refused to allow him to drive up to fetch her in Mochudi and then make the return trip to bring her home.

  “My son,” she’d said, “when my Wilmon was alive, you used to visit us here. It is time you come here again. Now, do as I tell you.”

  Kubu had acquiesced. On the way, they’d visited an unchanged Nono, and although Joy had packed a lovely cold lunch, as in the old days, the mood had been restrained.

  Just after ten o’clock, Kubu received the call he’d been anxiously awaiting—from Interpol in China. A Chief Superintendent Lu in Beijing told Kubu that the police in Shanghai had watched the parcel being picked up at the Shanghai airport, then followed it to an address that they’d had under surveillance for some time. It was not the one on the parcel. As soon as the parcel was inside, the police raided the house and arrested seven men and three women for possession of illegal substances. They’d recovered the parcel and verified that the contents were rhino horn powder.

  “We thank you for the information, Assistant Superintendent,” Chief Superintendent Lu continued. “Four of the men and one of the women are wanted for other offenses, so we will deal with them harshly. We think two of the other men are high up in the chain that is responsible for the smuggling. We are confident that they will tell us who is higher up.”

  Kubu shuddered as he thought about what would make them talk.

  “Please email me the names of all the people you arrested and note which are the two most important ones. I may need them here for my follow-up.”

  Kubu gave Lu his email address.

  “One last thing, Chief Superintendent. We would appreciate the return of the rhino horn powder. When can we expect it?”

  “It may be a few years, because it will take time to bring all of these people to trial. Obviously we need the powder as evidence.”

  “I understand. But please send me a letter stating that you have the powder and confirming that it is the property of the Botswana police. We, too, will need it as evidence.”

  Chief Superintendent Lu agreed to do that and hung up.

  I wonder if we’ll ever see that powder again, Kubu thought. At least we can now move forward.

  * * *

  A CROWD GATHERED as soon as two police cars stopped in front of Botswana Logistics and a third raced around behind the building. There was a buzz when a handcuffed Mma Tomale was led out and pushed into the backseat of one of the cars. She was followed out of the front door by the manager, Mendepe, who was arguing with Kubu that he must have arrested the wrong person.

  “What has she done?” he kept asking. “You can’t take her away. She’s my best employee.”

  When he reached the police car, Kubu turned to him. “Rra Mendepe, after I have questioned her, I’ll tell you what this is all about. In the meantime, carry on as usual.”

  Mendepe opened his mouth to protest once again, but Kubu climbed into the car and shut the door.

  “If he keeps on like this, I’ll arrest him too,” he muttered to the driver. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  KUBU AND SAMANTHA kept Tomale waiting in the interrogation room for several hours while they had a leisurely lunch, spending most of the time planning their approach to extracting the information they needed—mainly the names of the people she worked with and the names of those involved in the two murders.

  When they eventually opened the door to the interrogation room, she sat looking sullenly at them.

  After he’d completed the formalities for taping the session, Kubu pulled out his notebook and turned to Tomale.

  “Mma Tomale, you have been arrested for smuggling an illegal substance out of the country, namely rhino horn.”

  “That is not true! I—”

  “Mma Tomale, let’s not waste time here. Let me explain the evidence we have already.”

  Kubu then laid out the whole scenario: that the police had received information that a Jonah Gampone had been told to deliver a parcel to her, that he was already facing charges of smuggling, that she had prepared the manifest, and finally, that the parcel had been intercepted in China and was found to contain rhino horn.

  “All your friends in China have been arrested. Just like you.”

  “Mma Tomale.” It was now Samantha’s turn. “We’re investigating two cases that we think are related. The first is your smuggling case. We want to know who else is involved here in Gaborone or any other southern African country, as well as who your contacts are in China and Vietnam. The second case is the murder of—”

  “I know nothing about any murders!”

  “Listen and don’t interrupt,” Kubu growled.

  “The second case is the murder of a Bushman known as Heiseb and a traditional healer whose name was Ramala—Kgosi Ramala, as he called himself.”

  “I tell you I know nothing about any murders!”

  “That’s what they all say,” Kubu said to Samantha. “It’s amazing how innocent everyone is until they’re in court and the judge is going to sentence them.�
�� He turned back to Tomale. “You know that we have the death penalty here in Botswana, don’t you?”

  “I didn’t kill anybody!” Tomale was screaming now.

  Again he and Samantha laid out what charges they could already bring against her and what information they wanted on both the smuggling and the murder cases.

  “I promise I don’t know anything about any murders.” Her voice was now low and breaking.

  “Who is helping you with the smuggling? If you don’t help us now, you’ll spend the night in jail and we’ll continue in the morning. This is your last chance to answer today; otherwise, I’m going home to my family.”

  Tomale slumped.

  “There are two others in Gaborone that I know: Clarence Khumalo and Boy Sedombo. They bring me parcels sometimes. If I want to contact them, I leave a message at a number. If you give me my phone, I can tell you what it is.”

  Kubu nodded at Samantha, who left to find it.

  He turned back to Tomale and grilled her for the next fifteen minutes, learning only how she was paid—in cash, given to her by Sedombo by hand.

  When Samantha returned with Tomale’s smartphone, it took her only a few moments to find the number and give it to the detectives.

  “Thank you,” Kubu said. “We’ll see you in the morning. A constable will come and take you to your cell in a few minutes.”

  Tomale jumped up. “You said I could go if I told you what you wanted,” she screamed.

  Kubu shook his head. “No. I said I’d go home to my family if you didn’t. Have a good night.”

  As Kubu and Samantha walked back to their offices, Kubu said, “Put a trace on the number she gave us. Do that right away and say it is urgent. I want the information first thing in the morning. Then we’ll bring in the two men she mentioned. We probably should take a SWAT team—they could be dangerous. Hopefully that will lead us to Dr. Hairong or Mr. Ho or whatever he calls himself. Then we’ll be close to catching the people who committed those murders.”

  CHAPTER 47

  When she got back to her office, Samantha learned that Lani Muru, the man Legotlo said had witnessed the abduction of Ramala, had been found and was being brought to the CID. Torn between the imminent arrest of the smugglers and following up on Muru, Samantha went to ask Kubu what to do.

  “Muru could be important,” Kubu told her. “Tomale’s given us nothing that links the smuggling and the murders. Probably Khumalo and Sedombo will break, but it’ll help if we have an eyewitness, and Muru might have seen one of them when Ramala was taken. You follow up on Muru. I need to arrange surveillance on Khumalo and Sedombo’s homes. Then we can both focus on the smugglers when they’re brought in.”

  So Samantha went back to her office and dug out the file she’d been building on Muru. Actually, there wasn’t much: a few complaints of loitering, and a couple who had accused him of being a pickpocket, but nothing provable. She stuffed some scrap paper into the back of the file to make it look thicker, added a couple of pictures of the elusive Ho aka Hairong, and waited to be called.

  Muru wasn’t an impressive individual. He sat slouched in his chair. His clothes looked as though he slept in them—which he probably did—and he smelled as though he hadn’t had a shower for weeks—which he probably hadn’t. He looked at her insolently.

  “Why’ve you brought me here? I’ve done nothing.”

  Samantha sat opposite him and opened the file. “Oh, you’ve done plenty. It’s all in here.” She tapped the file. “But what I want right now is some information. Maybe all this can go away.” She tapped the file again.

  “I don’t know anything, either,” Muru responded.

  “Yes, you do. What did you see at Riverwalk on the fifteenth of last month?”

  Muru frowned. “How am I supposed to remember that? That was three weeks ago.” He shrugged. “Who says I was even at Riverwalk?”

  “That’s what you told Legotlo.”

  “That rat,” Muru sneered. “That’s what he does—rat on people. On his friends. I don’t care what he told you. I didn’t see anything. I wasn’t even there.”

  “So where were you?”

  “How do I know? Like I said, it was weeks ago.”

  “So how do you know you weren’t there?” She indicated the file again. “It says in here you’re always loitering around there, trying to find an unguarded pocket.”

  “That’s lies. The shops don’t like me being there because I sell tourists stuff cheaper than they do.”

  “Look, we know what happened to Ramala. We just want you to confirm it. Tell me what you saw.”

  Muru looked at her as though he didn’t believe what he was hearing. “You crazy or something? These people are bad, really bad. They’ll have you for breakfast.” He snorted. “You’re going to protect me? They send a girl to protect me.”

  “I’m not a girl!” Samantha could feel herself losing her temper, and let it happen. “Look, you pathetic excuse for a man, you cooperate, or we’ll hit you with this.” She waved the thick file at him. “You’ll do time. You won’t like that.”

  “Don’t make me laugh. None of that stuff will stick. I’ll be out of here in half an hour, once I get a lawyer. And I want one. You’ve got to get me one.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Samantha said thoughtfully. “Why bother with you? Maybe we’ll just let you go. We’ll tell the press you were just helping us with your account of seeing the men who grabbed Kgosi Ramala.”

  That had the desired effect. “You can’t do that!” he said, jumping to his feet. “I’ll be mincemeat. They’ll kill me. You can’t do that.”

  Samantha said nothing, but she didn’t break eye contact, and it was Muru who looked down first. “All right, if I help you, you’ll keep me out of it, and that file gets lost?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Muru sat down. “Well, I was at Riverwalk. I remember now.”

  Samantha nodded.

  “I spotted Ramala. He was walking round the front of the shopping center, coming towards the Mugg and Bean. I thought he’d remember me, maybe want to buy something, or lend me a few pula, or at least give me a cigarette.” He paused. “You got any cigarettes?”

  Samantha shook her head. “You knew him?”

  Muru nodded. “Sometimes he helped me with stuff. Before he became so famous and rich.”

  “What time was this?”

  “Early afternoon.”

  “And then?”

  “Then I saw this big Chinese guy get up from a table and wave him over. After that I backed off. You don’t get involved with those guys. Ramala joined the men at the table. Three of them. All Chinese. Thugs. It seemed fine at first, but then they start arguing. The big Chinese guy gets up and goes over to Ramala and says something into his ear. After that, there’s no more arguing, and they all leave. The big guy holding Ramala’s arm.”

  “They must’ve threatened him.”

  “Something like that,” Muru said. “Their car was parked right at the front of the lot. Ramala and the guy walking with him get in the back, one of the others gets in the driver’s seat, and the third walks away. Then they drive off.”

  Samantha dug in her file and produced the pictures of Ho.

  “Was this one of the men?”

  Muru looked at them carefully. “I’m not sure,” he said. “It could be. These Chinese people all look the same. Is this a big guy?”

  Samantha realized that she didn’t know. “What happened to the third Chinese man?”

  Muru shrugged. “He walked off round the back. Maybe he went to drive Ramala’s car. I don’t know.”

  “Can you describe the car the Chinese were in?”

  “Come on. It was three weeks ago.”

  Samantha sighed. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to get Muru talking, but so far he’d added nothing to the story Legotlo had already told them. There had to be something more. She stared across the table at Muru until he looked away.

  “Okay, look, I do rem
ember something about their car,” he said at last. “Actually, it was a double cab. I don’t know what make, but it was silver, or maybe metallic blue—anyway a light color. Maybe gray, but not white.”

  Samantha felt a stirring of hope. There couldn’t be too many cars like that around.

  “Did you get the registration number?”

  Muru shook his head. “But when it went out, I saw it had a sticker in the window. Like a Chinese flag. Yellow stars on a red background.”

  “Listen, Muru, you better not be holding anything back or you will need someone to protect you. I can talk to the newspapers anytime.”

  He shook his head. “That’s it. Look, you going to get these guys? If you don’t, I’m going to end up as dead as Ramala.”

  “We’ll get them once we know where they are,” Samantha said.

  Muru looked at her incredulously again. “People say they run the casinos, everything! What’s the problem?”

  Samantha shook her head. “You better hope I find them.”

  CHAPTER 48

  It wasn’t difficult for the police to find out where the two men that Tomale had named lived. Clarence Khumalo rented an apartment in Old Naledi and Boy Sedombo owned a house in Extension 48, not far from the A1 highway.

  Starting on Tuesday morning, each place was staked out by a plainclothes policeman armed with photos lifted from the men’s driver’s license records. They were to report back to Kubu and Samantha as soon as they’d made a positive identification. If the men left again, they were to be followed discreetly. Kubu didn’t want them to become suspicious.

  While this was happening, Kubu, Samantha, and Mabaku formulated a plan to take the men into custody with the least amount of risk.

  “Remember, they may be dangerous,” Mabaku warned. “We don’t want any more bodies lying around.”

  They decided that the best plan was to ready two SWAT teams, one for each home. If the men returned home for the night, each SWAT team would attempt to arrest its man, hopefully while he was still asleep, in the early hours of Wednesday morning. Once in custody, the men would be taken to the holding cells at CID headquarters. Both places would then be searched for anything that would help with the poaching and murder cases.