Detective Kubu 03; The Death of the Mantis

by Michael Stanley

  After half an hour the tracks turned right off the river bed into the bush.

  “Where were you going? You must’ve been heading somewhere.”

  Haake hesitated. “There’s a hill about ten kilometres away. You can’t see it from here, but I thought it would have a good view of the surrounding area. Maybe interesting historical stuff. I was heading for that using my GPS.”

  “Did you find anything there?”

  “No. The going was too hard. It was further than I thought. So I found a nice ridge above the river bed and explored there instead. I camped there for two nights and headed back to the road this morning.”

  Now they had to follow the tracks through the bush. It required care but wasn’t difficult. Eventually they climbed a ridge and paused for a moment on the hard calcrete cap. From here they could see the group of hills that had interested Haake still some way off in the distance. On the far side of the ridge was a lake of fine Kalahari sand; Tau stayed in the grooves from Haake’s vehicle to avoid getting stuck.

  Ten minutes later, Haake turned to the detective. “His camp is just ahead. Maybe you should warn the constables.”

  Suddenly Tau stopped. A new set of tyre tracks came in from the right and converged with Haake’s. Did they have something to do with the murder? he wondered. Ahead, through the trees, he spotted a parked truck. He edged towards it, stopped fifty metres away and looked around.

  “Okay. You stay here, Rra Haake. Therapo will stay with you. Lato, you and I will take a look around.”

  Tau got out into the sweltering sun, pulled his gun from its holster and told Lato to keep his eyes open for an ambush. Gingerly they walked towards the one-man tent. Lying on the sand in front of it was the body of a man, bloated after the hours in the sun and crawling with flies and other insects. They gave it a disgusting illusion of movement. There were marks of sharp teeth and tears at one of the arms. The scavengers had begun their work.

  Suddenly there was a movement in the bush, and Lato jerked his gun up, hands unsteady. But it was only a jackal scurrying away into the bush.

  Tau turned back to the body, trying not to gag at the awful stench. The back of the man’s head was a mass of congealed blood. From the dent in the cranium, it looked as though he had been hit from behind and fallen face down into the sand.

  A camp stool lay on its side; perhaps the man was sitting on it when he was attacked. A half-empty bottle of beer stood upright in the soft sand, and a cooler box lay on its side with torn food wrappers spread about. Some animal – probably the jackal, or perhaps a baboon – had been investigating the provisions. The area around the body had been scuffed, probably to hide any footprints. Tau sighed. It was all pretty much as Haake had described it. They would need a senior CID person from Tsabong, forensics people, and maybe the pathologist from Gaborone. He would have to stay until they arrived. Once he was sure no one was about, and they had unpacked the gear from the Land Rover, Lato could drive Haake back to Tshane. He couldn’t see any reason to keep the Namibian in the middle of the scorching desert.

  They spent an hour carefully searching the area, photographing tyre tracks and footprints and looking for cartridge cases, which they didn’t find. One of the constables stayed on guard all the time, but the only activity was the arrival of two hooded vultures, which took up hopeful residence in one of the nearby thorn trees.

  Tau was intrigued by the number plate of the dead man’s truck. A Namibian registration. He made careful notes, intent on doing a good job. This was a chance to be noticed, a chance to make a name for himself as a detective, maybe a chance to move to the city.

  ∨ The Death of the Mantis ∧

  Fourteen

  Late that afternoon, Kubu was preparing to leave his office. When he’d walked in the day before, after a relaxed weekend, he’d found an oppressive amount of work awaiting him. The week away in Tsabong, and the three days’ leave afterwards that he’d wrung out of Mabaku to be with Joy, had taken their toll. Reports, emails, meetings. The work I really enjoy, he thought sourly. It had taken him both days back in the office to catch up.

  He’d called Lerako on Monday, first thing. Monzo’s girlfriend in Tshane had been traced with little trouble, but it was a dead end. Her husband was a contract worker at the Orapa diamond mine, and a call confirmed that he had been there when Monzo was killed. And she was adamant that he didn’t know about her affair and begged them to keep it that way lest they have another murder on their hands.

  As for the issue of Monzo’s bush trips, Kubu got the impression that this was not high on Lerako’s agenda.

  Kubu had decided not to phone Khumanego to tell him that the footprints appeared to be fakes; he guessed that if he did so, his next call would be from Cindy.

  He checked his watch and started packing his briefcase. He’d managed to put off – at least for the moment – the full meal he’d promised to cook, and had weathered some acerbic comments from Joy. As a compromise, rather than sitting on the veranda while Joy cooked, he now joined her in the kitchen, helping with small jobs and entertaining Tumi. Tonight she was doing a curry; he didn’t want to be late.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by the entry of the pathologist, Ian MacGregor. Ian was a Scotsman with slender, sensitive hands that were equally at home painting watercolours as they were exposing secrets at an autopsy. He and Kubu had been friends for many years.

  “Ian! What brings you to my side of town?”

  “I had to brief Edison for the inquest hearing on those poisoned students. Two young lives thrown away. Tragic. Anyway, I thought I’d pop in and see how you were getting on.” Ian settled himself into Kubu’s guest chair. “I’ve got the report on the Monzo business for you too. There’s no doubt that the calcrete rock found in the gully was the murder weapon. It had traces of hair and tissue that matched those of the body, and so did the dried blood. And calcrete particles were recovered from Monzo’s skull fracture.”

  Kubu nodded; this was no surprise.

  “There’s another issue I wanted to ask you about, Ian. Can you say anything about the angle of the blow? I’m interested in the physique of the murderer. Could it have been a Bushman?”

  Ian took out his pipe, filled it with tobacco from a small tartan pouch and carefully pushed it down in the bowl with his thumb. Then he sucked on it contentedly while he thought. It was many years since he’d actually lit the tobacco.

  “The wound is on the back of the head on the right. That indicates the assailant was probably right-handed. It’s likely the blow came from behind, but not from a Bushman. Monzo was too tall. But, of course, there’s another possibility. He could have been knocked out first with something like a crowbar, or a tyre iron, or a knobkierie, and then battered with the rock in the same spot. That’s possible. Otherwise it would’ve had to be a very powerful assailant.”

  They were interrupted by the telephone. It was the director’s assistant, Miriam.

  “Kubu, the director wants to see you at once. You better come right away.” She sounded nervous. That was not good. She normally negotiated the choppy waters of the director’s office as if they were pond-calm.

  “Thanks, Ian. I’ve got to see the boss. But this has been helpful.”

  Ian nodded, returned his pipe to his pocket, shook Kubu’s hand and left for home. Kubu headed to Mabaku’s office.

  The director was standing at the window, watching the shadows lengthen on Kgale Hill. He returned to his desk and waved Kubu to a chair. Not a good sign either, Kubu thought.

  When Mabaku spoke, his voice was taut, and there was no hint of the usual sarcasm.

  “Kubu, you and I have a serious problem. There’s been another murder out near Tshane. Seems like the same MO. But this time it’s a foreign tourist, a white man from Namibia, they think. Another tourist spotted the body and was shot at.”

  “What happened?” Kubu was shocked. At least Mabaku had lumped the two of them together as the owners of the problem.


  “That’s all Lerako told me. He had a call from the police in Tshane – Detective Tau. He’s going up to the scene tomorrow. I told him to wait in Tshane until you joined him at noon. I can’t say he was delighted.”

  “You’re sending me to Tshane?”

  “Kubu, you’re not thinking!” The temper Mabaku had been fighting to keep under control erupted. “You and that damned reporter talked me into letting you mess around with Lerako’s case – mess up Lerako’s case, as it turned out. To make sure the Bushman suspects were fairly dealt with, you said. But you fell for the fake footprints that appeared so conveniently, and we released the men Lerako wanted to hold.” Mabaku took a deep breath. “Then they disappear, and now two weeks later someone else is killed nearby in a similar way. What’s the implication of that for you and me?”

  Mabaku was right. Kubu hadn’t thought it through. “But the cases may not be connected…” Kubu petered out. Of course they were connected. Neither of them believed in coincidences. He pulled himself together. “If I’m right, and Monzo was involved in some shady dealings out in the Kalahari, then the crimes could be related but have nothing to do with the Bushmen.”

  “You better hope that’s true! And more than that, you’d better be able to prove it. Because if this turns into a tourism disaster, and the Bushmen turn out to be the murderers, I’ll be running a private security company and you’ll be demoted to constable – whatever your contacts in the media!”

  Kubu tried to think of something reassuring to tell his boss, but Mabaku wasn’t waiting.

  “Be at Tshane police station at noon tomorrow. Lerako will take you to the murder scene. Work with him this time. And keep me informed of every development. Is that clear?”

  ♦

  Kubu went back to his office, the sun gone from his day. He should never have let Khumanego drag him into a political matter. But it was too late now. The Bushmen had to be innocent. He had to be right about that.

  And the evening still lay ahead. He wasn’t looking forward to telling Joy he was going away again. But I’ll tell her it’s just till the weekend, he decided.

  He hoped that would be true. The case needed to be solved quickly. There was a murderer in the Kalahari, and now they’d struck again.

  ∨ The Death of the Mantis ∧

  Fifteen

  When Kubu left at six the next morning, Joy and Tumi were fast asleep together. Joy must have got up during the night to feed the baby and brought her back to bed, but Kubu had no recollection of that. He wanted to say goodbye but didn’t want to wake them, so he brushed Joy’s cheek with his lips. She didn’t stir, but he thought she smiled slightly.

  It was already broad daylight, and the city was beginning to go about its business, but the traffic was light and he was soon out on the main road to Jwaneng. There he filled up the car and topped up on the breakfast of toast and jam that he’d had before he left home. Surprisingly, the fast-food place attached to the petrol station actually served decent coffee, and he swallowed two cups before getting back on the road.

  Kubu enjoyed long trips because it gave him a chance to play CDs of his favourite operas and take the baritone parts. The kilometres flew past as he sang lustily. Strange, he thought, I’m off to investigate what seems to be another brutal murder in the middle of nowhere, but I’m happy. Well, it is my job. Still, he felt a twinge of guilt.

  Four and a half hours later he reached Kang and filled up again. After his experience in Tsabong, he wasn’t going to rely on the fuel supply in small towns in the Kalahari. Then he headed south-west towards the three towns of Tshane, Hukuntsi and Lehututu, which formed a triangle around the pans of the Kgalagadi. Although it was a good road, he was struck by how few vehicles he encountered. It was exactly noon when he arrived at the small police station in Tshane. He recognised Lerako’s Land Rover parked outside in the sun, and sighed.

  ♦

  It was a hot, dusty drive, but Lerako was cheerful. “No doubt about this one, Kubu. Tau says the victim was hit from behind, hard enough to smash the skull. He’s found the murder weapon, too. Good man, Tau. Another chunk of calcrete. What do you make of that?” His good humour faded. “Still no sign of the Bushman suspects, however. They’re lying low – once you gave them the chance to get away.”

  Kubu ignored the bait and just grunted. He’d hoped for lunch before they left, but Lerako had said they must go at once to have enough time at the murder scene before nightfall.

  “Who is the victim?”

  “We don’t know yet. I told Tau not to disturb anything until forensics got there.”

  Kubu nodded. He would’ve preferred a bit of a head start with that information, but couldn’t really fault Lerako for wanting to prevent contamination of the scene.

  When they arrived, it was well into the afternoon. Even so, when they opened the car doors, heat engulfed them. Kubu took a few moments to drag himself from the vehicle and introduced himself to Tau. Then he stood bending his back for a few minutes to remove the cricks. Only then did he move towards the body, keeping his distance. Dead human bodies repelled him, especially ones that had been in the blazing sun for two days, even if covered by a tarpaulin.

  With a grimace he asked Tau to expose the remains. He slipped a mask over his face and, breathing only through his mouth, went in for a closer look. He nearly gagged as the stench reached him.

  There was a severe dent in the skull, the result of a very heavy blow, and that was almost certainly the cause of death. Once he and Lerako had viewed the corpse, they gave the forensics team the go-ahead to search the body.

  Tau had found the calcrete lump some distance from the body. He’d left it in place, carefully protected. Kubu took a good look. It was a large rock, hard to wield with the sort of force required to smash-in someone’s head. It would take a big hand to hold it, certainly not a Bushman’s. It had a brown-red stain, very probably the dead man’s blood, but Kubu was suspicious. He wouldn’t use such an object to attack someone. He said nothing to Lerako and Tau, however. Let Ian and the forensics people come to their own conclusions. He merely agreed that the rock could be collected and sealed in an evidence bag. Then they completed a careful tour of the area while the forensics people hunted for footprints and cartridge cases.

  “We set up the tents over there,” said Tau, pointing a considerable distance away from the murder scene. Kubu noted with approval that one of Lerako’s men had started a fire, and was preparing a three-legged pot of pap to go with meat. Hopefully there were also drinks that were merely warm rather than disgustingly hot.

  “Have you found out who the victim is?” Kubu asked Tau.

  “No. But he probably has identification on him.”

  “Tell us about the man who discovered the body.”

  Tau fidgeted, realising that this was a crucial point in the interview with the senior officers. He filled them in on what he’d learnt from Haake.

  “Why didn’t you keep him here?” Lerako interjected.

  “Did he say why he came to exactly this spot?” Kubu wanted to know.

  Tau looked from one to the other. At last he answered Lerako first. “He volunteered all the information, but wanted to get on home. And I didn’t think we should hold him here at the scene where he’d been attacked. He made a full statement at the police station in Tshane.”

  “And why was he here?” Kubu repeated before Lerako could respond.

  “He said he wasn’t looking for anything in particular. I asked him about that very carefully, but he said he was just following an old map.”

  “Did you see the map?” Lerako again.

  “No, I… I didn’t ask to see it.”

  “Where did he get the map?” Kubu asked. Tau shook his head vaguely, but Kubu’s thoughts had already moved on. “What exactly did he say about being shot at?”

  Tau consulted his notes. “He went back to his vehicle to call for help – he has a satellite phone. Then he heard a shot, and it hit his vehicle. He took
off as fast as he could, following his own tracks back through the bush. He phoned from the main road. I told him to wait, but he insisted on coming in to Tshane. He said he wasn’t waiting out here alone with a murderer.”

  “Did he have any idea where the shots came from?”

  “It was from behind the vehicle.”

  “How many shots did he hear?”

  “He thinks he heard three, but he was concentrating on driving, and there was a lot of noise. Two hit the vehicle. One went through the body over the rear wheel, and the other smashed the back window.”

  “Did you find the bullets?”

  “Just the one inside. I gave it to the forensics guys. The other one must’ve bounced off the chassis. It’ll be in the sand somewhere.” He hesitated. “One of our men looked through Haake’s vehicle while he was taking us to the body, but found nothing else. So after Lato got Haake back to Tshane, we let him leave. He was in a hurry to get home to Windhoek, and it’s a long way.”

  By this time the sun was setting, producing bands of golds and reds in the wispy, sterile clouds. The leader of the forensics group walked over and handed Kubu a travel wallet.

  “From the dead man. His name is Joseph Krige. There’s a passport and a Namibian driving licence in it. We’ve taken prints off all three. We also found a portable Garmin GPS in one of his pockets.”

  Kubu looked through the wallet. Driving licence, passport, some Namibian dollars and Botswana pula – several hundred of each – and a page of notes giving what looked like GPS co-ordinates, against each of which was a short description of terrain, presumably at that location. What made them special? Why had Krige stopped at each and described it? Presumably the last one referred to where they were now.