“You go through his desk, and I’ll take a look at his filing cabinet.” Kubu pulled a chair in front of a green four-drawer cabinet. Although it had a lock, the drawers slid open easily; none of them were labeled even though they had label holders. Helu rifled through the drawers of the large wooden desk.
Kubu started at the top and began flipping through the files. After a few minutes, he turned to Helu and said, “Krige was a private investigator. Look here.”
He passed Helu a sheet of paper from the first file. “See, he had to locate this person. This is the letter telling the client where to find him. The second is the same thing. The third is different. Take a look at these!”
He handed Helu a sheaf of photos of a balding man with a young blond girl. The Namibian detective flipped through them and whistled.
“I’d say he’s screwing around behind his wife’s back,” he said, handing the photos back.
“You’re right,” Kubu said, reading a letter from the file. “Mrs. Vorback wants all the dirt, and quickly. She wants to take him to the cleaners, it looks like.” He extracted another letter. “And here’s his report.” He paused as he scanned the letter. “Vorback’s been very naughty. There wasn’t only one, it seems. I’m sure this divorce got very messy.”
“So how can we find who Krige was working for in Botswana? If he was working for someone.”
Kubu sighed. “We may have to go through all of these files one by one. And then we still may not know any more. What have you found?”
“Nothing much in the drawers. The usual: pens and pencils and stuff. He has a desk diary on top though—almost like a blotter—with names and times on it.”
“What’s there for last week?”
“A line starting on the twenty-sixth of February for a week with the name Muller.”
Kubu flipped through the files. “Nothing under that name. Give me a couple of other names from the diary.”
“Okay. On the seventh, there’s the entry ‘Dorfmann.’ ”
Kubu found the Dorfmann file and opened it. “Looks like a bad loan. Trying to find the guy who owes Dorfmann twenty-five thousand Namibian dollars. Here’s the final letter, dated the seventh, and there’s an invoice attached for one thousand Namibian. He found the guy.”
Together Helu and Kubu went through several of the names in the diary. In all cases, there was a folder with a final letter and an invoice.
“I’ve got an idea,” Kubu said. “A trip to Botswana is a big job. If I were Krige, I’d get an advance. Can you get his bank records?”
“That should be no problem. Should I get his phone records too?”
“Good idea. Then we can fit a few of these pieces together. Can you have one of your guys come in here and make a list of all the names on the files and the date the final letter was sent, as well as the invoice amount? Shouldn’t take too long. You can ignore ones that are over a year old. It looks as though there are only about sixty or seventy files total.”
“I’ll get someone in here early tomorrow. If we’re lucky, we could have all that information tomorrow by lunch.”
Kubu looked at his watch. It was already nearly 6:00 p.m.
“Well, if there’s nothing else we can do now, we may as well go and have a drink. Care to join me?”
Helu nodded. “Let’s go and have a beer, and I can tell you what the best eating places are.”
The two drove in Helu’s car to Joe’s Beerhouse—a Windhoek fixture, according to Helu. “Even locals come here,” he said. Kubu smiled, looking forward to the evening.
Kubu didn’t sleep well. He kept waking up thinking of Joy or Krige or Haake. At about 7:00 a.m. he decided to take a walk around the city center to find an appropriate place to eat.
After a decent breakfast with steak, tomato, fried potato, and eggs, not to mention the toast and jam, Kubu walked over to the police station at about 8:30 a.m. He was looking forward to meeting Wolfgang Haake.
When Kubu arrived at the police station, Helu met him and handed him a piece of paper.
“Here’s the list from the files. And I’m getting the necessary authority to get the phone and bank records. One of my guys is working on that right now. Anyway, come along. Haake’s waiting for you in one of the conference rooms.”
“Will you join us?”
“No thanks.” Helu shook his head. “It’s your case, and I’ve a lot to do.”
Kubu walked into the room, introduced himself, and shook hands with Haake. There was a tea tray on the table, and Haake had already helped himself. Kubu poured himself a cup and sat down, indicating to Haake to do the same.
“It must have been a shock to find a body in the desert, Mr. Haake,” Kubu began.
“It certainly was. And more of a shock when I was shot at. I was really scared.”
“I believe that. I read your statement, but please go through exactly what happened once again.”
For the next few minutes Haake recounted what had happened in the desert, and Kubu noted that it matched the statement closely. There was a pause after Haake finished.
“I find it an amazing coincidence that you stumbled across the body in the middle of nowhere. How could that happen?”
“I’ve no idea. I went as far as I could, then turned round and followed my tracks back to the road. And when I came over that small rise, there he was.”
“And you’d never seen him before?”
Haake shook his head. “I couldn’t tell at the time. Krige was lying facedown in the sand. I didn’t recognize his vehicle.”
Kubu caught his breath. How did Haake know the dead man’s name? He stood up and poured himself another cup of tea. He needed to proceed carefully.
He sat down again and passed Haake a copy of Krige’s passport photo, watching Haake’s face. “That’s a photo of Krige. He’s also from Windhoek. It’s not such a big city, Mr. Haake. Are you sure you didn’t know him?”
“I’m sure! Never seen him in my life.”
Kubu took the photo back. “How did you know his name was Krige? I didn’t mention his name.”
Haake frowned. “I suppose I read it in the newspaper. Or maybe heard it on the radio. A Namibian getting murdered in Botswana is big news.”
“Think carefully. Can you remember exactly how you learned his name?”
“No. I don’t remember things like that.” Haake hesitated. “I think it was on the radio.” He shrugged. “Do you know why he was in Botswana?”
Kubu had to decide whether to keep pushing on the name issue or to check it later. He chose the latter route. He knows something that he’s not telling me, Kubu thought.
He shook his head. “We are still checking him out. We expect to have more details in the near future.” Kubu turned the page of his notebook. “When you saw the dead man, did you go up to the body?”
“I took a look and then went straight back to my vehicle. To call your people.”
“Were you ever behind Krige’s tent?”
“No, I walked towards the body and then ran back.”
“In that case, how do you explain the fact that we found footprints that matched yours on the far side of the body?”
For a moment Haake looked nonplussed. Then he burst out, “Well that was probably the man who shot at me! Lots of boot prints would look the same. It’s obvious!”
Kubu nodded, and said nothing for a few moments. Then he changed tack.
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Haake?”
“I’m a geologist and have worked for a number of companies in Namibia. At the moment I’m between jobs. Enjoying my freedom.”
“What were you doing in Botswana?”
“I love the desert and love going where there’s nobody around. Solitude—that’s what I look for.”
“Why not in Namibia? There’s plenty of space for solitude here.”
“True. But I like to follow the trails of old explorers, especially the Germans. And Botswana appeals to me for some reason.”
Kubu dec
ided to push him. “What were you looking for, Mr. Haake?”
Haake frowned. “I told you—solitude. I was exploring.”
“Mr. Haake. I don’t believe you. You told Detective Tau that you were following a map. What were you really looking for?”
Haake shifted in his seat. “Detective Tau’s got it wrong. I said I often follow old maps. I’ve told you already. I follow the trails of old explorers.” He stood up and poured another cup of tea. Kubu could see he was agitated.
“Tell me more about these maps.”
“They’re just old maps. Nothing specific. I get some from the library. Some from old books by explorers. It’s interesting to follow where they went, imagining their difficulties and bravery.”
“Did you have one with you on this trip?”
Haake shook his head. “No, I was just wandering around.”
“Let’s return to Krige. Is it possible that he was looking for you?”
“Why would he do that?”
“He was a private investigator.”
Haake gave him a strange look. “He was? I can’t imagine why he’d be looking for me. Much more likely he was tracking the person who killed him. Maybe he found him, and the killer didn’t want to be found.”
Kubu nodded. That possibility had occurred to him also.
“Where do you live, Mr. Haake?”
Haake hesitated before answering. “I have a house in Luderitz.”
“How about last night? I’m sure you didn’t fly up from Luderitz just to see me. And tonight? Where will you stay tonight?”
Another hesitation. “I stay with a friend here in Windhoek.”
“And the address, Mr. Haake?”
“My friend’s got nothing to do with this.”
“That may be true. I just want the address, please. And I wouldn’t play games if I were you.”
Haake jumped to his feet. “What the fuck is going on here?” he shouted. “You’re treating me like a fucking criminal. I could’ve left the body in the desert, and no one would’ve known any better.”
“I’m not treating you like a criminal, Mr. Haake. You’re behaving like one. What are you hiding?”
“I don’t have to answer your questions!”
“That’s true, Mr. Haake. But if I suggest to the Namibian police that you’re a suspect in a murder, you will have to answer questions. All I want is the address where you’re staying. That’s not difficult, is it?”
Haake glared at Kubu. He spat out the address. “Now can I go?”
“Yes, Mr. Haake. Thank you for your time.” Kubu heaved himself out of his chair and offered his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Haake shook it.
“How often do you go to Botswana?” Kubu asked as they walked to the door.
“Once every month or two.”
“Always to the same place?”
Haake shook his head. “I go to a lot of different places. Botswana’s got plenty of interesting areas.”
“Do you ever run into Bushmen?”
“No. They’re all in settlements now, aren’t they? None roam around anymore like they used to, do they?”
Kubu didn’t answer that. “I hope you find your solitude, Mr. Haake,” he said.
Kubu sat thinking about Haake. He’s got a quick temper, he thought. Still, he said nothing that made me suspicious, except that he volunteered Krige’s name. And I didn’t feel he was really surprised about Krige being a private investigator. But maybe it was just a coincidence that both he and Krige were from Namibia. He shook his head. Sometimes there are coincidences.
At that moment Helu walked in.
Kubu sighed. “I didn’t make any progress. I think Haake’s clean. But do me a favor, please. Can you check whether there’ve been any radio, TV, or newspaper reports of Krige’s death? Haake knew Krige’s name even though I never mentioned it.” Helu’s face expressed surprise, and he promised to find out. “Also can you find out who lives at this address? Haake says he stays with a friend there. He didn’t want to give me the address. I’d like to know why not.” He scribbled the address Haake had given him onto a slip of paper.
“Finally, is there an office I can use?” he asked, wanting some time alone.
Helu showed Kubu to a vacant office and told him to use the phone as much as he wanted. Kubu shut the door, took his shoes off, put his feet on the desk, and closed his eyes. Not to sleep, of course, but to let his subconscious massage the few known facts in the case.
After lunch Helu walked into Kubu’s office.
“The address Haake gave you—it’s an apartment, which he rents but, according to the manager, a young woman lives there. He’s not sure whether she’s Haake’s girlfriend—he stays there quite often—but she has occasional visitors when he’s away on business. Her name is Ilse Burger, and she’s a part-time receptionist. No record. And we did release Krige’s name to the press after we’d spoken to his mother, but now we’ll have to check to see whether they used it and when.”
Helu tossed a piece of paper onto the desk, and Kubu glanced at it. It confirmed the address Haake had given him, as well as the details Helu had told him. There was also a phone number, which Kubu assumed was for the apartment.
With nothing left to do, Kubu wandered around the city center before returning to his hotel. He called Joy and told her he would be back on Thursday evening. He hoped he was right and that he wouldn’t have to disappoint her again.
On Tuesday morning there was indeed progress. Helu met Kubu shortly after 9:00 a.m. with a big smile. “I’ve got the bank statements and phone records. And amazingly quickly. Normally they’d take a week to get to me.”
He sat down next to Kubu and they compared the most recent bank statement with the list of payments recorded in Krige’s files. All the large deposits checked out except the last one, an amount of N$10,000.
“What’s the date of the deposit?” asked Kubu.
Helu checked it. “Friday, twenty-fifth of February.”
“That’s just a few days before he left for Botswana. Who paid it to him?”
It took Helu some time to get that information, while Kubu waited impatiently wishing he was doing the job himself. At last Helu hung up the phone and turned to him.
“It’s an operation called the Namib Mining Company. Never heard of them. And I’m sure that Krige didn’t have a recent case file for them. But we’ll check again.”
Kubu was already exploring the telephone directory. “They’re here in Windhoek. Let’s give them a call.”
Finding the right person and persuading her to give the information they wanted over the phone didn’t take long. Kubu hung up and turned to Helu with a disappointed grunt.
“The person who authorized that payment is a Mr. Muller—Henk Muller. The same name as on the diary. He’s their managing director. But he’s in South Africa until tonight and not reachable there. And we still don’t know why Krige was hired, if he was hired at all. Muller’s secretary told me Muller would be in at about nine tomorrow morning, so I made an appointment with her.” He flipped through the file of papers. “Let’s look at those phone records.” Sure enough, they found several calls from Krige to the mining company in the two weeks before his trip.
“I’m sure this is why Krige went to Botswana, Helu. Would you check your database for Muller and this company? See if there is anything on them?”
He climbed to his feet and started to pace. How was he going to wait until the next morning to find out?
Chapter Twenty
Tau had returned to the gas station several times since his first visit. To no avail. None of the cashiers or attendants remembered either of the men in the pictures he showed them.
Now it was Wednesday morning, and Tau hoped the last of the cashiers was going to be on duty. He’d discovered that the roster he’d so carefully copied was only a guideline of who would be on duty when. The reality was quite different.
“Hello, Mma,” Tau said politely to the cashier. “Have you seen
either of these two men recently?” He handed her the two photographs.
“Hmm. They look familiar. I think they were here about a week ago. Maybe two weeks.” Tau’s heart jumped—she knew them!
“Were they together?”
“No. I don’t think so. One came in around lunch. This one came in later in the afternoon.” She pointed at the picture of Krige.
“Did he say anything to you?”
“No. Bought some gas and bottled water, then left.”
“How do you remember that? You must have hundreds of customers.”
“We don’t get too many white customers. This one, he wanted sparkling water, but we were out of it. But he made me go into the back and check. Wasn’t happy that we had none. What have they done?”
Tau pointed to the picture of Haake. “We just need to ask this one some questions. If he stops in again, please call me.” Tau wrote his name and phone number on the copy of Haake’s passport photo and left it on the counter.
Just as Tau was getting into his car, the cashier came running after him. “Rra Tau. Rra Tau. I just remembered. The man who came later did ask me something. He asked me if I’d seen this one.” She waved Haake’s photo in the air. “He also showed me a photo. On his camera. I’m sure it was the same man.”
Tau jumped out of the car in excitement. The other detectives would be very pleased with him. He pulled out his notebook and laboriously took down all the details, ignoring the shouts of several customers wanting to pay for their gas. He checked that the attendant was sure which of the two men had asked about the other. It was definitely Krige who had asked about Haake. When he was finished, he thanked the woman, and she scuttled back inside to deal with a restless line of drivers.
Death of the Mantis Page 14