Mabaku glared at him. “Only Lerako thought it was straightforward. And it seems he was right.”
Kubu wondered where to start. “I spoke to Ian MacGregor last night. You know that he’s a big lover of the Kalahari—he paints it and just enjoys the area a lot.” Mabaku gave a grunt that seemed to say there was no accounting for taste. “He knows quite a bit about Bushmen and their culture too.” Kubu didn’t add that he did also, because of Khumanego. He doubted that Mabaku would want to be reminded of where the case had started. “Anyway, he’s consulting a toxicologist at the university, who examined the gummy material on the arrow that shot Haake. He’s pretty sure it’s one of the Bushman poisons. It’s going to take a while to be certain, though—most of these poisons aren’t recorded.”
“We already guessed it was a poison.”
“Yes, but Ian’s comment on the arrow was interesting. And I’d noticed it too. It’s not a real Bushman arrow. He mentioned it at once.”
“Not a real arrow?”
“The arrow’s real enough, but it isn’t the way the Bushmen normally make them. They attach the head to the shaft with a short connecting piece so that the shaft falls off almost at once. That way the arrowhead and the poison stay in the animal. Otherwise the shaft might catch on something as the animal runs, and the arrow might be pulled out before the poison gets into the bloodstream. This arrow isn’t like that. The head is solidly attached to the shaft. In fact Haake tried to pull it out by the shaft. A real Bushman arrow would have come apart at once.”
Mabaku thought that over. “So what? They don’t hunt like that anymore anyway. Probably whoever set out to murder Haake decided to make a simpler arrow. He wasn’t going to get it back anyway.”
“Yes, but why make a special arrow? Why not just use one he had? If he was a Bushman.”
“If? Is this another one of your wild theories, like Haake killing Monzo?”
Kubu ignored that and continued. “I got a report from Detective Tau. Yesterday they went out to the spot where Haake was shot with the arrow. It wasn’t hard to find. He’d left some camping stuff there, and they could see where he pulled off the road. They searched carefully for footprints, and they found something.”
“And they weren’t Bushman footprints,” Mabaku guessed.
Kubu shook his head. “No. An ordinary boot print. Something like size ten, much too large for a Bushman. The same size as the prints we found at the Krige murder scene and the supposed fakes near where Monzo was killed. And something else. They found what looked like the tracks of a motorbike that had pulled off the road. Whoever it was tried to scuff out the tracks, but it was pretty dark by then—new moon—and he didn’t do a complete job.”
“So Haake could’ve been followed from Hukuntsi by someone on the bike. Wouldn’t he hear it?”
“Only if it was close and he turned off his engine. But as soon as he stopped, the murderer would have cut his engine too.”
“Was there a bike track on the road?”
“No, but if he drove in one of the ruts made by car wheels, it would be wiped out by the next vehicle. Haake driving to the hospital, for example. Or Tau driving out to the spot to investigate.”
“You think it’s a setup? Made to look like a Bushman? Riding on the Monzo and Krige business?”
Kubu nodded. “It’s quite possible.”
“What does Lerako think?”
“He’s not committing himself. The bike could’ve been there at a different time. He’s convinced all the boot prints are fakes.”
“But if that’s the case, where are the Bushman footprints? This whole thing’s giving me a headache!”
“There’s something else. Haake told me that when he found the koppies where he took the rock samples, there were off-road motorbike tracks there too. It would have been easy to follow Haake’s tracks through the desert. Maybe he was hunted all the way from the koppies until he was caught outside Hukuntsi.”
“Can we find this place? Send a helicopter to take a look?”
Kubu shook his head. “I’m sure Haake knew where it was, but wouldn’t tell me. And he claimed his GPS was stolen from his vehicle, so we can’t use that. We did find Haake’s map after he died. It was in his wallet in a side compartment. Not really hidden. It doesn’t seem to help much, though.”
He carefully unfolded a sheet of paper, and spread it on Mabaku’s desk. At first sight it wasn’t impressive. The folds had worn and started to tear, and a stain disfigured one edge. On one side, there was a hand-drawn sketch of three koppies, with two arrows pointing to them, labeled W and E. The other side had a patchwork of areas with different styles of shadings. But there were no coordinates or any other markings that could help determine the location, just a single inscription, annotated with the initials HS.
“It says ‘I have found it’ in German,” Kubu said. “I think the shadings may have something to do with geology.”
Mabaku grunted. “People were killed for this? It seems unlikely. I drew better treasure maps when I was a child. And we used to singe the corners in the cooking fire to make them look older and give them character.”
Kubu chuckled.
“Well, get someone who knows about geology to look at it. Maybe we’re missing something, but I doubt it.” Mabaku shook his head in frustration.
Kubu had one further piece of confusion. “We searched Haake’s vehicle. They found some interesting gemstones as well as rock samples in the glove compartment. Haake told me they were amethysts, but we’ll check that. But they found something much more interesting that he didn’t tell me about. A revolver. We checked the serial number with Detective Sergeant Helu in Windhoek. It belonged to Krige.”
Mabaku rested his elbow on the desk and held his chin in his hand. He was obviously digesting this new fact, but he said nothing.
“It’s a Smith and Wesson thirty-eight Special. Would fit with the damage to Haake’s vehicle. And there are three live bullets in the cylinder and three fired.”
“So that would fit with your theory that Haake murdered Krige, stole his gun, and shot at his vehicle himself. And also explain why there were no cartridge cases at the scene. But where was the revolver when Tau’s men looked through Haake’s vehicle after he reported the murder?”
Kubu shrugged. “They weren’t looking for a gun; they were looking for spent bullets. For that matter, Haake might have hidden it somewhere outside Tshane and picked it up on his way back to Namibia.” He hesitated. “Of course there’s another possibility. If Haake’s telling the truth about the GPS, then the gun could’ve been planted in his vehicle when the GPS was stolen.”
“But what would be the point?”
“Maybe just to confuse us. Misdirection.”
Mabaku snorted again. He was quite confused enough as it was.
“Any fingerprints? Where was the gun hidden?”
“There were a variety of prints on the vehicle and one partial on the cylinder. Obviously Haake’s are all over the vehicle, but there are also a few we can’t identify. And the partial on the gun matches one of those. There are also partials on the back casings of the cartridges. Those belong to Krige. So it looks like no one reloaded the revolver. It was shoved in the springs under the backseat. Obvious if you looked. But they never do at the border posts.”
“And not easy to get at if you’re attacked. That’s odd.”
“He wasn’t expecting to be attacked. He was probably worrying about someone following him from Namibia again.”
“But he saw motorbike tracks at the koppies!”
Kubu shrugged. “He didn’t know who made those tracks, and he didn’t know he was being followed by a motorbike. It was all a very big, very unpleasant surprise.”
Mabaku nodded, but said nothing. Kubu waited, wanting to give the director a chance to arrange all the new pieces of the puzzle.
“We’ll try a little subterfuge, Kubu,” he said at last. “Maybe we can turn this to our advantage. We’ll pretend we’re completely tak
en in by the whole Bushman story. Say nothing to the press about the arrow or the footprints. Let the murderer think we’ve fallen for his ploy. We’ll tell them about the gun, though. That should shake them up a bit.”
Kubu nodded but he realized that Mabaku had an ulterior motive. If the murderer turned out to be one of the Bushmen after all, then face would be saved by not mentioning the red herrings to the press. He was making a bet each way.
“Director, I think we should get the Namibian police to follow up with Muller of the Namib Mining Company again. He may know more than he’s letting on. Perhaps they know about the koppies and are keeping it to themselves. If Haake was right about it, it could be worth a huge fortune.”
Mabaku nodded. “Good idea.”
“And you’re not going to find anyone from the air. Forget about the Bushmen. You could walk right past them and not see them if they wanted it that way. And the others—whoever they are—are going to be keeping their heads down at the moment. We’re going to have to go out there ourselves and look.”
Mabaku frowned. “That could just be a wild goose chase. How many men would we need? And we don’t know where to start!”
“We know it’s a group of koppies. The Kalahari is pretty big, but it’s pretty flat. And we know where Haake went before, so that should give us the general area. I’ll try and narrow it down.”
Mabaku looked dubious. “Do that. See if anything turns up.” He looked at his watch. “Press conference at two p.m. And don’t forget our strategy—nothing about the arrow or the footprints.”
Clearly the discussion was at an end for the time being.
Kubu returned to his office deep in thought. Mabaku wasn’t the only one confused by what was going on. Haake had had a motive to kill Krige, and the mining company might have had a motive to kill Haake. Haake knew Monzo, but they hadn’t established any motive why he would want to kill him. And, as far as they knew, no one else had a motive to kill Monzo. Yet he was sure the murders were all related somehow. He flopped into his office chair and pulled a survey map of the Hukuntsi area toward him. It showed no hills. In fact it showed very little other than a few dirt roads and gradual elevation changes. Three murders, he thought. Was it all about Haake’s dream of treasure? Had that dream finally led to his death?
His musings were interrupted by a gentle knock on his door and when he looked up, Cindy Robinson was there.
“Cindy!” he said enthusiastically. “What brings you . . .” He let the sentence trail off. He knew what had brought her to his office.
“Hello, Kubu. I’m coming to the press conference later on. I thought you might want lunch. I can see you’ve lost weight. Been starving yourself?”
Kubu laughed. “Hardly. But I’m afraid I’m tied up for lunch.” He thought of the salad and tasteless low-fat cheese in his briefcase. But this wasn’t the moment for a relaxed lunch with a reporter, let alone an attractive female one. “Some other time, perhaps.”
By this time Cindy had settled herself in a chair. She looked at him intently. “Were we wrong, Kubu? Were the Bushmen the killers after all? I feel so guilty. I pushed your boss, and he pushed you, and now I’m wondering about that poor man dying horribly from a poisoned arrow.”
Kubu shrugged. “We don’t know whether we were wrong or not. The point is that Lerako didn’t have enough evidence. He’d have been forced to release them eventually in any case. Anyway, if it is a Bushman, it could be a different one.”
“You still think it may not be a Bushman?”
“Well, the poisoned arrow is pretty convincing,” said Kubu a little too quickly.
At that moment Edison came in, interrupting them.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you were busy,” he said. “I just wanted to tell you I took a call for you while you were with Mabaku. From an Ilse Burger in Windhoek. It’s about Haake. She said it was urgent. Here’s the number.”
“Thanks. I’ll call her now.” He turned to Cindy. “I’m sorry. Will you excuse me? It’s pretty hectic here at the moment.” He was relieved when she just nodded, said good-bye, and left. Edison watched her with appreciation.
“Who’s she?”
“A reporter from the U.S. after a story,” Kubu replied curtly. “I’d better make that call.” Edison got the message and left him alone.
What is she actually after? Kubu wondered. She always left him feeling uncomfortable.
He picked up the handset and hesitated, collecting his thoughts. One of the doctors had spoken to Ilse late the previous night after Haake died. Why did she want to talk to him? He sighed and dialed the number.
“Yes, hello?”
“Ms. Burger? It’s Assistant Superintendent Bengu from the Botswana CID. I’m very sorry about your friend Mr. Haake. I wouldn’t have disturbed you today, but I understand you wanted to talk to me.”
There was a brief silence. When Ilse spoke, Kubu could hear the strain in her voice. “Thank you. I wanted to ask you something. When you spoke to me you said that Wolfie might be in danger. That’s why I tried to help. So do you know what happened? Who was responsible for this?”
Kubu hesitated. “There had been two murders in the area, and Mr. Haake was heading there alone. I think that’s what I meant.”
There was another pause. “I thought you meant someone might attack him. He was worried about the Namib Mining Company. I think they were after him. Is it possible they were behind this?”
Kubu turned it around. “But why would they kill the private investigator they sent to follow Mr. Haake? What sense would that make?”
Ilse hesitated. “When I saw Wolfie after the trip, he knew he’d been followed. He said it was sorted out. I didn’t know what he meant. But now I wonder about it.”
Yes, indeed, Kubu thought. “Well, what would they gain by killing him?”
“Maybe they wanted the map. That could be it. Did you find it?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t say anything about the location. As you told us, it only has drawings of some koppies and geological structures. It’s useless for finding anything.”
There was a silence on the line.
“Ms. Burger, we will get to the bottom of this, whoever did it. I promise.”
“What will happen to his things?”
“At the moment everything here is evidence. Eventually it will go into his estate. Do you know if he had a will? Who his next of kin is?”
“No. It doesn’t matter to me. I just want a few keepsakes. Nothing else.”
Kubu found he had nothing more to say. It seemed that Ilse didn’t either, and soon the conversation was over.
Kubu thought about Ilse’s new information. It seemed to strengthen the theory that Haake had discovered that he was being followed by Krige and had murdered him. Had that led to the Namib Mining Company deciding to hit Haake—using the elaborate Bushman ruse as cover? Or was there another group involved?
Kubu wished he could get Henk Muller into an interrogation room. He would need to have a discussion with Detective Sergeant Helu in Windhoek very soon.
Kubu pulled the topographic map toward him again. Spotting Edison walking past, Kubu gave a shout and signaled him into the office.
“Take a look at this map, Edison. The murders seem to cluster in this area.” Kubu had carefully plotted the locations of the three murders; they made a small triangle in the southern desert between Mabuasehube and Hukuntsi. “Maybe there’s a group of bandits operating in the area. But maybe the murders are taking place because of something in the area—maybe Haake’s koppies full of diamonds.” He stabbed the triangle with his finger. “The first murder—Monzo’s—was made to look like an accident. Once the murderers realized we’d seen through that, they tried other misdirection. Krige’s murder was made to look like a copycat killing, and Haake’s like a Bushman killing. But suppose the murders aren’t related to each other, but rather to the location? Do you see?”
Edison nodded firmly. A sure sign that he didn’t see at all.
Kubu
drew a big circle on the map roughly centered on the place Monzo had died. “What I want you to do is to check this general area for deaths—supposedly natural deaths that could be something different. Say, over the last five years.”
“You think there may have been earlier murders? Ones that were made to look like accidents?” This Edison could understand.
Kubu nodded. He had another thought. “The lady at the Berrybush B and B outside Tsabong told Lerako about another prospector who died—a German called Koch. I think that was more than ten years ago. But maybe it’s related somehow. See if you can find out more about that. And where he died.”
Now it was time for lunch. With a sigh he lifted his briefcase onto his desk and opened it to reveal a Tupperware container of salad. It seemed very cruel to be forced to face the press on an essentially empty stomach.
Chapter Thirty
On Sunday morning Cindy was relaxing after a run, a cool shower, and a breakfast of fruit. She preferred to jog early in the morning when it was cool, although she didn’t mind the dry heat of Gaborone. She disliked the humid summers of her home in the Southern United States, which left her drenched and sticky after a run. She poured herself a cup of strong coffee and walked out onto the small veranda.
Her piece was written and e-mailed to the news agency, but she wasn’t entirely happy with it. It combined the nastiness of the murder with reactions from different individuals. What came through very strongly was the ambivalence with which people regarded the Bushmen. Interesting people living in difficult circumstances, she’d been told repeatedly. But there was always the sense that they were regarded as inferior and uncivilized. She wondered if she’d overdone that angle.
She also wondered if she’d overdone things with respect to Kubu and the press conference. She’d included several quotes from him, but none from Director Mabaku. She liked Kubu. He was so huggable. And she enjoyed his sense of humor. She smiled, thinking of his reaction to her full name.
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