“Useful, but probably not enough to convict. And what about Gampone? Do you have anything hard on him?”
“There’s always a weak link, Director,” Kubu replied, “and in this case it’s our Rra Li. I spoke to the prosecutor about him. He is willing to ask for a reduced sentence if Li cooperates—a life sentence with the possibility of parole, instead of the death penalty. We confronted Li with two things: Zanele just confirmed that his hairs and prints were among those found in Collins’s four-by-four, as well as prints on the phone in Ramala’s car. He jumped at the chance and confessed to being present at the murder of Collins and Ramala. He says that Hairong and Sin pushed the limits on the torture, and both Collins and Ramala died because of that. But he insists that Heiseb’s death was accidental.”
“Is he willing to testify in court?”
Kubu nodded. “We also asked him who was paying Hairong, but he didn’t know. Of course, Gampone confessed to that when I was at his house, so we have that link established.”
“And what did he say about the rhino horn smuggling?”
“Nothing. As I suspected, the only link between that and the plants is Gampone. The two groups didn’t know about each other.”
Mabaku stood up and walked over to the window. The baboons from Kgale Hill were in the parking lot again. “They’d better not crap on my car,” Mabaku muttered, “or I’ll shoot the lot of them.”
He turned back to Kubu. “So what can we charge Gampone with?”
“Kidnapping; accessory to murder, unless Hairong testifies that Gampone told him to kill Collins and Ramala, in which case, murder; and manslaughter, for Heiseb’s death; as well as a number of lesser charges, including a variety of charges around smuggling; and theft. Also, last night we grabbed the things Gampone had shown me—the pressed flowers, and notes that Collins had made. We also found Ramala’s stone box—empty, of course. We’ve definitely got Gampone, but unfortunately it’ll be difficult to get the death penalty since he wasn’t present at any of the murders.”
“And the rhino horn gang?”
“We’ll get all of them lengthy sentences. For once, the Chinese are cooperating. Unfortunately, when we checked with CITES, they knew of the powder that Gampone had and had approved of him using it to land the big fish in China and Vietnam, so we can’t link him to the smuggling.”
“And what’s happened to the Americans?”
“I spoke to them on the phone this morning. They found nothing, as I expected. They’re leaving the country today. It’s very sad for Mrs. Collins. Must be difficult not to have closure. I was hoping that one of the Chinese thugs would tell us where Collins’s body is, but Hairong and Sin aren’t talking, and Li can’t describe the place. I don’t think we’ll ever find it.”
“And Ross?”
“He’s probably torn. He was a good friend of Collins, but he would have loved to find the plant.”
Mabaku shook his head. “All this over rhino horn that does nothing and a plant that doesn’t exist. It’ll be interesting to see what the judge makes of it! Anyway, you and Samantha did a really good job on this one, Kubu. Take the rest of the day off; you deserve it.”
“It’s Saturday, Director.”
Mabaku smiled. “So it is.”
With that he sat down and opened a file.
* * *
ON HIS WAY home after the meeting, Kubu stopped at Game City to buy a bottle of South African sparkling wine and a tub of chocolate ice cream. After all, he thought, it’s time to celebrate. This evening the family is going to be together for the first time in what seemed like ages.
Joy and Tumi were on their way back from Mochudi with Amantle, who was going to stay for the weekend. And he was going to the hospital to take Nono home. The doctor had phoned the day before to say she’d improved enough to be at home.
And, of course, he’d successfully solved two cases—with Samantha’s help, he had to admit. He’d considered inviting her for dinner but had decided against it because he wanted the evening to be for family only.
* * *
KUBU WAS SITTING on the veranda when Ilia jumped up and raced for the gate, yapping enthusiastically. Obviously she’s heard Joy returning, Kubu thought.
He stood up to open the gate, but before he’d even left the veranda, Tumi rushed up the stairs.
“Where’s Nono?” she asked.
“In her bed,” Kubu replied.
Tumi rushed inside and seconds later he heard her squeal with delight.
“I’m so happy you’re home,” he heard her say. “You’re not allowed to get sick again.” Kubu smiled. Oh to be young again.
He then greeted his mother, and the two of them sat down to chat while Joy headed off to the kitchen. And it wasn’t long before she carried a tray onto the veranda, with all the trappings for the kind of afternoon tea that Kubu liked. There was a plate of mixed cookies and, to his surprise and delight, a homemade carrot cake.
When Joy called, Tumi ran out and shouted, “Mommy, Mommy, we don’t want tea. We want ice cream. You promised. You promised. I’ll take it to Nono.”
Joy hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Go and get it, Tumi. And two bowls, and two spoons. And don’t forget the chocolate sauce. It’s on the counter.”
Minutes later, Tumi disappeared with their two bowls, and Kubu was sure they were shoveling ice cream into their mouths as fast as they could swallow it. It wasn’t long before Tumi ran out and asked for more.
“I see you didn’t eat much,” Joy said. “Most of it’s on your face.” She smiled. “You can have a little more now—half a scoop only, otherwise you’ll spoil your dinner. I have a big treat for you.”
* * *
KUBU SERVED THE sparkling wine before dinner, then opened his best bottle of South African cabernet sauvignon for the meal that Joy was preparing. In reality, it was an inexpensive wine, but given his delight at Nono’s return, it tasted like a fine Bordeaux.
The treat was a roasted leg of lamb that Joy had liberally spiced with many cloves of garlic, smothered with olive oil, dusted with rosemary, and served medium rare. As sides, she served roasted potatoes and fresh beans, lightly fried with butter and almonds.
The dessert was, of course, chocolate ice cream covered with chocolate sauce. Amantle and Joy passed on the ice cream, and Tumi and Nono could only manage small helpings. However, Kubu couldn’t resist, and he enjoyed two big servings.
“That was a delicious dinner, my daughter,” Amantle said as Kubu stood up to clear the plates. “Thank you for having me stay with you. I am tired this evening and will go to bed now.”
She turned and went into the kids’ room, which she always used when visiting.
Tonight, Kubu thought, is the perfect time to put what happened between us to rest. We’re both mellow, and Nono’s home and on the mend.
“Joy, my darling, I’ll do the dishes in the morning. It’s such a beautiful evening. Let’s go and sit on the veranda. I have something to say.”
CHAPTER 54
For Kubu, the intense few weeks ended the way they had begun—with a quiet morning at the CID and a call from Ian MacGregor.
“How are you doing, Kubu?”
“Not bad, Ian. And you?”
“I’m fine. If you’re not busy, why don’t you come over? I’ve something to show you.”
Kubu checked his watch. “Sure. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
When Kubu arrived at Ian’s office, he found him sucking on his pipe, unlit as usual. Ian gestured to a chair. “How are Tumi and Nono?”
“Fine. Tumi’s full of beans as usual; it’s hard to keep up with her. And Nono’s almost back to her old self. The doctors are pleased with her progress since she left the hospital. The cocktail of ARVs she’s taking now seems to be doing the trick. But…”
Ian nodded. “It’s a worry. Probably always will be. You need to take it one day at a time, my friend.”
“I suppose so.”
“And Joy? How are the two of yo
u getting on?”
“We’re doing well, Ian. After Nono came home, we had a good talk. There are still a few rough edges, but they’re not sharp enough to cut anymore. I think we were just so stressed that we didn’t really know what we were doing.” He hesitated. “I never really thanked you properly, Ian. Without you, this might all have ended in disaster. Did you know Joy would reject the muti if she was actually faced with her daughter using it?”
Ian laughed. “If I were that good, I’d have my own TV program and lots of money! Relationships are hard, Kubu. Even the really good ones, like yours with Joy.”
“Well, anyway, I owe you a drink. In fact, several.”
Ian smiled. “I look forward to taking you up on that. I know a place that has a pretty decent single malt.” He paused. “Anyway, as I mentioned, I want to show you something. I got back the report on the teeth.”
For a moment Kubu was puzzled, until he remembered the teeth Ian had extracted from Heiseb and sent for analysis. “From the Danish laboratory?”
Ian nodded. “They found it very difficult. But take a look at the conclusions.” He passed a document to Kubu, who was relieved to see it was in English. He turned to the last page.
By using the two independent techniques described in detail above and taking the overlap of those two estimates, we have been able to obtain an estimate for the age of the specimens you sent to us. Again we emphasize the experimental nature of the techniques, should these be necessary for presentation in a court of law. A 95 percent confidence interval for the age would be no older than 180 years and no younger than 130 years.
We hope this helps you with your work and research.
Kubu read it twice. “They’re saying he was at least one hundred thirty years old? Maybe more?”
Ian nodded. “Their mean estimate was one hundred fifty-five, but there’s a twenty-five-year error of measurement with their tests.”
“So those stories he told were true. He had been hunted by the Germans; he had been shot with a black-powder bullet.”
“It looks like it. I know this will sound strange to you—especially coming from a rational Scot—but this is what I expected. When you’ve cut up as many bodies as I have and looked at as many organs, it’s pretty obvious when something is highly unusual.”
“So the plant will be real, as well. There’s something growing in the Kalahari that can at least double a human life span.”
“That’s not so clear, laddie. Maybe Heiseb was just a genetic freak. Did we ever trace his body? I’m still angry about that break-in.”
“That’s a dead end. The herbal medicine operation in Qingdao denies any knowledge of it, and I’m sure the body disappeared pretty quickly once the police came to call.”
“Too bad,” Ian commented, but he didn’t sound particularly upset.
Kubu hesitated for a few moments and then said, “Gampone had a little of the ointment Collins told his wife about. I took it as part of the scam I pulled to get Gampone to confess on tape.”
“Ah, the Kubu who never bends his principles,” Ian said, with a twinkle in his eye. “And what happened to this ointment?”
“I still have it. You’re the only person I’ve told about it.”
Suddenly, Ian’s smile faded. “Kubu, I’ve been thinking about this ever since that report came through from Copenhagen. Suppose there is a longevity plant out in the desert. Suppose we confirm it with my reports, the Danish analysis, and your ointment. Think about what would happen.”
Kubu had already pondered the consequences. Just the rumor of the plant had led to greedy people being attracted like flies to a carcass, resulting in three murders. The news that the plant actually existed would start a stampede to the Kalahari, bringing with it waves of bribery, corruption, and violence. It would be the end for the Bushmen. And countries had collapsed under outsider greed for resources much less valuable than this.
“Do we really need to live longer lives?” Kubu asked eventually. “Are we short of people on the planet?”
Ian said nothing.
“What will you do with this?” He passed the report back to his friend.
“I’ll write, thanking them for their trouble, and file it. If anyone asks about it, I’ll say it’s full of a lot of scientific jargon but the results are inconclusive.”
“Mabaku never believed in it anyway,” Kubu mused.
There was silence for a few moments, and then Ian asked, “And what will you do with that ointment?”
That was a difficult one for Kubu, and he took his time over it. Suppose Nono … But he refused to think about that.
“I’ll give it to you,” he replied. “For your file.”
“You are a brave man, my friend,” Ian said. “But it is better for all that no one knows about it.”
AUTHORS’ NOTE
Throughout sub-Saharan Africa, witch doctors hold influential positions in society. Most people believe in them and their powers to some extent. Even Western-trained scientists may carry a residue of belief.
Most witch doctors are traditional healers. That is, they use a combination of potions and suggestion to help people. For the most part, these potions, called muti in southern Africa, are made from a variety of herbs and plants. Occasionally, they add some part of an animal’s body, such as the heart of a lion. A few may even use human body parts.
Biopiracy is the exploitation of a country’s endemic plants and the protection of traditional knowledge of their properties. Many countries now have outlawed biopiracy.
Hoodia, mentioned in this book, became a test case when the South African Council for Scientific and Industrial Research wished to exploit its appetite-suppressing properties in partnership with an international pharmaceutical company. The CSIR’s interest was sparked by the Bushman tradition of chewing the plant to suppress feelings of hunger. After protests that traditional knowledge was being stolen, a royalty arrangement was eventually worked out with the Bushmen. Ultimately, the proposed drug was never developed, and the Bushmen received no royalties.
The Kalahari is a huge area, and it’s known to host a variety of unusual plants and creatures. They are well worth protecting, if for no other reason than that they may turn out to have remarkable medicinal properties.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
With each new book, we have more people to thank for their generous help and support, because we keep leaning on those who have helped us before while finding new ones to impose upon.
We were very fortunate to have a variety of readers of drafts of this book giving us input and suggestions and catching errors. Our sincere thanks to: Steve Alessi, Linda Bowles, Pat Cretchley, Pam Diamond, Pat and Nelson Markley, Steve Robinson, and the Minneapolis writing group—Gary Bush, Sujata Massey, and Heidi Skarie. With all their comments, it’s hard to believe that the book still has mistakes. But it probably does, and we take responsibility for any that remain.
Many people in Botswana have generously given us their time to make the book as authentic as possible. It’s amazing to us that so many people in Botswana are willing to take the time to be bombarded by odd questions from two authors about muti, police procedures, and the like. We particularly want to thank Andy Taylor, headmaster of the wonderful Maru-a-Pula School in Gaborone, who has been extraordinarily patient with all our questions and requests, and invaluable for introducing us to people in the know. We received helpful information from Alice Mogwe, director of the human rights organization, Ditshwanelo; and Unity Dow, former high-court judge of Botswana, for which we thank them.
We would like to thank our editor, Marcia Markland, for her input and her support of Detective Kubu. We also thank Todd Manza for his careful copy editing.
Finally, we thank our partners, Pat Cretchley and Mette Nielsen, for their support, patience, and unfailing good humor.
GLOSSARY
Aardvark
Large ant eater which makes deep burrows. Orycteropus afer.
Bakkie
Slang for pickup t
ruck.
Batswana
Plural adjective or noun: “The people of Botswana are known as Batswana.” See MOTSWANA.
Dagga
Marijuana. Cannabis sativa.
Dumela
Setswana for hello or good day.
Hoodia
Cactus-like plant, eaten for energy and as a hunger suppressant. Hoodia gordonii.
Kubu
Setswana for hippopotamus.
Mma
Respectful term in Setswana used when addressing a woman. For example, “Dumela, Mma Bengu” means “Hello, Mrs. Bengu.”
Motswana
Singular adjective or noun. “That man from Botswana is a Motswana.” See BATSWANA.
Muti
Medicine from a traditional healer. Sometimes contains body parts.
Pap
Smooth maize meal porridge, often eaten with the fingers and dipped into a meat or vegetable stew.
Pula
Currency of Botswana. Pula means rain in Setswana. One hundred thebes equals one pula. One US dollar equals roughly ten pula. See THEBE.
Rra
Respectful term in Setswana used when addressing a man. For example, “Dumela, Rra Bengu” means “Hello, Mr. Bengu.”
Setswana
Language of the Batswana peoples.
Steelworks
Drink made from kola tonic, lime juice, ginger beer, soda water, and bitters.
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