Frederick Ramsay_Botswana Mystery 02

by Reapers

  Sanderson and Charles Tlalelo exchanged puzzled looks. Sanderson had not told him of her encounter with the threatening man. It would have to wait it seemed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Superintendent Mwambe watched Kgabo Modise as he walked up the path to the station. He did not like Modise. He represented everything that had changed from the old days. He was young. He was smart. He was successful. Mwambe had tracked this young man since the previous winter when he had insinuated himself into the business that properly belonged to Mwambe, to the Kasane Station. And now, here he is back again. What did he want this time? He picked up the Orgone Zapper from his desk and shoved it into a desk drawer. Modise did not need to know about that.

  “Inspector Modise, you have honored my station with your presence, yet again. May I ask the occasion? Surely there is nothing so important in the wilds of the north that requires the attention of the rising star from the DIS.”

  Modise let the not-so-subtle sarcasm slide. He did not want a match with this man. He needed his cooperation, as much as he wished it were not so.

  “Superintendent Mwambe, so good to see you again. I am here on behalf of the director and the H. E., the president, as it happens. There will be a heightened presence of police and security needed for the games in South Africa this June, you see.”

  “Heightened? I do not understand that word, Modise. The station here is able to meet any requirements and has always done so. After all the games are being played hundreds of kilometers away in South Africa. How can that affect us up here?”

  “As you know from your years of experience, we have a long border and it is easily penetrated. The people coming to these games will spill over into this country. They will have money to spend and appetites that can create trouble.” Mwambe started to say something but Modise held up his hand. “Furthermore, the Mowana Lodge will be receiving the personage of the American Secretary of State, and the other lodges will house many officials from the Middle East and elsewhere. There will be the usual security problems which will add to your duties here, and of course, there is always the threat of an assassination to consider.”

  Mwambe’s jaw went slack. It was too much. He started to say so.

  “Superintendent Mwambe, you will need some help here, I am sure. I am authorized to assign some auxiliary officers from other jurisdictions to you when the time comes and the BDF will increase their surveillance of the border. We will also be working closely with the local game ranger stations and—”

  “I am thinking that will be a large mistake,” Mwambe muttered. “That Sanderson woman was promoted over several men who were much better qualified for the position. She is not suited to the task. Her people may not be so anxious to follow her lead, you see. I think you should have her sent down to look to other duties.”

  “I understand your thoughts on this, but that will not be acceptable. And since you bring up her name, I understand she turned a murder over to you. What can you tell me about that?”

  “She says murder, but she is a game ranger, not a skilled policeman. It is not murder until a complete investigation is completed.”

  “If it is not a murder, Superintendent, what then? Surely you are not thinking suicide.” Modise knew that Mwambe was, in fact, leaning in that direction. “It is an absurd notion, of course. Why would someone drive all the way down from the Congo, enter the park by a surreptitious entry in the middle of the night, and then shoot himself. No, it is most likely he went to meet someone and that someone betrayed him, don’t you agree?” At the mention of a possible meeting, Modise noted that Mwambe became visibly uncomfortable.

  “A full investigation will tell us what we need to know about this business.”

  “Yes, of course. May I see the vehicle? Oh yes, and the medical report, if you will.”

  Mwambe’s expression became thunderous. Modise knew he was treading in where he needn’t, but he also knew that Mwambe might very well let this business slip out of his hands. His instinct told him it might be important well beyond another murder and that it might, like a crocodile who lurks just below the river’s surface, rise up to bite them later.

  “Modise, it is not necessary for you to investigate. I am in the process of doing so, and this station is fully competent in the procedures to be followed.”

  “I am sure you will do a fine job, Superintendent. I have every confidence in you, but I have a secondary purpose in mind. I need to inspect the vehicle and read the report. Please allow me this small thing.”

  Mwambe sorted through the stack of reports on his desk and all but threw one folder at Modise. “The vehicle is in the impound portion of the parking area. You may see it there,” he turned and stalked away. Modise sighed and sat down to read the report. After a few minutes he stepped out into the foyer and flagged down a junior officer and requested he make copies of the contents in the folder. He then let himself out the rear door of the police station and walked to the old Land Rover. He circled it twice before opening the driver’s side door. Evidence of the gunshot wound still stained the upholstery and had attracted many flies. He crouched and scrutinized the door opposite. The door frame sported a neat hole. He called over one of the officers Mwambe had evidently sent to observe him.

  “Do you see that hole in the door frame?”

  The young man seemed confused at being addressed but recovered. “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “What is your best guess as to the source of the hole?”

  “I cannot say, sir.”

  “Think, man. What does it look like?”

  “A hole.”

  Modise shoulders sagged and he turned his head toward the officer. “Try again, only this time try to remember you are a policeman. What’s your name?”

  “Derek Kgasa, sir. Might it be a bullet hole? It is round and it has penetrated much steel, I am thinking. So, a bullet hole?”

  “Brilliant, Derek. Now I want you to produce some evidence bags and see if you can dig that bullet out of the door frame. Do not worry if you have to take the door apart. It is more important we find the bullet than preserve the truck, you see?”

  Modise left Derek Kgasa to the task he’d assigned him and stepped to the rear of the Land Rover. “The report said there was nothing in the cargo area of this vehicle. Is that correct?”

  Derek looked up from his efforts to disassemble the door and nodded. “Yes, that is so. I was here when it was towed in. The only things in the back were some rubbish, bits of plaster or something like that.”

  “Didn’t that strike you as odd, Derek? If this man was murdered in the park doesn’t it strike you that he must have had something that someone else wanted and they took it before they left?”

  “I had not thought of that, no. That is very interesting. So, it wasn’t a suicide?”

  Modise didn’t answer but shook his head and opened the rear of the SUV. “What’s this?”

  “Sir?”

  “Is this the rubbish you described? Hand me another evidence bag. How are you doing with that bullet?”

  Derek handed Modise a clear plastic bag and gave one last tug at the window ledge. The door liner fell away and the bullet dropped onto the floorboards.

  “Bag that.” Modise carefully turned his attention back to the rear of the SUV. He swept the bits and pieces of resin into a bag, sealed it and turned back to the station. “I must resume my conversation with your boss. Please bring him to me in his office.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “What was that all about?” Sanderson asked an equally puzzled Charles Tlalelo. “He went out of here like his britches were on fire.”

  A spark of comprehension flickered in Charles eyes. He grinned. “Perhaps they were.”

  “What are you going on about, Charles? What do you know of this?” Sanderson felt left out. She did not like it. Men, she thought, had ways of communicating that sometimes sailed over her head and it annoyed her. In truth, she realized that her sex was often accused, rightly, of the same mystery,
but that did not make it any easier for her.

  “The ladies in the cinema recording, Sanderson. I said they did not seem to be ‘naturalists.’ I meant they did not strike me as people who were qualified to study animals in the wild. Then Modise said—”

  “I heard what he said, Charles, but I am thinking not as you did.”

  “He said I was right and I was wrong. You see? The women were naturalists in the other sense of the meaning.”

  “You have lost me.”

  “The French I was required to learn in school would put it, au natural. They were recorded in the state of nature and…”

  Sanderson blushed and understood. “They were making filthy pictures, you think?”

  “Most certainly. I think it is now safe for you to book this equipment permanently into our inventory. Those cinema people will not be returning to claim their cameras and tapes unless they wish to spend some important time in prison.”

  Sanderson shook her head and wondered at the male sex in general. What sort of people made such films and why did men seem to crave them? Did they not have someone to visit, someone of their own at home to love?

  “What is it about that which so fascinates men?” she asked, not really expecting a reply.

  “It is difficult to say, Sanderson. But since the world gifted us with the internet, it is there for anyone who wishes it.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yes. Just type in any word, the more specific, I should say the more graphic, the better. And there you will have pictures, videos, names and addresses, and opportunities to spend money, download, meet someone who says she shares your interests…whatever you wish.”

  “Amazing. This is true?” Charles nodded. Sanderson inspected his expression for traces of guilt. She saw some and assumed he spoke from experience.

  “Imagine, Charles, the trouble the poor man who forgot to retrieve the cassettes and cameras found himself in when they cleared out of here. His boss could not have been happy with him, for sure.”

  Charles nodded but his eyes told her his thoughts seemed far away. Sanderson let out an exasperated snort. “You are as bad as the rest of them, Charles.”

  “What? What am I? Sanderson, what do you mean?”

  Sanderson waved him away. Men!

  ***

  “There is a policeman up from Gabz, Mr. Botlhokwa. He has been to all the lodges and to the police station. I do not think it is a good thing.”

  “He can know nothing of any of the business with the man in the park. Someone shot him and that person cannot be connected to us, as we did not have anything to do with that. We only guaranteed entry to the park to the man who is now, unfortunately for him, dead. We have provided that service before and everyone knows it. What is the criminal outcome from that?”

  “If they find that shooter and if they roll him over he will lead them to someone local and that someone will be one of our people.”

  “Ours? Are you so sure? Then you must step up your inquiries, Noga, and find this rogue lion who is hunting in my territory. Find him and put him down.”

  “I am working on it. If I can find the men who bought the information from him, I may have better luck. I am wondering if they have contacted you.”

  “No. But sooner or later, Noga, they will surface, you can depend on it. I do not believe they got what they were expecting from the man, and they will soon be complaining about it to us. Then we will backtrack to our man, you see?”

  “Or the police will have them first and then, whether it was our doing or not, they will be in here breaking up the furniture,”

  “That will never happen. There are too many people who have invested in our, as you put it, furniture. Also, these same people will need our services in a few weeks when certain arrangements need to be made to transport certain people across the border, or away to private places without anyone the wiser. No, we have nothing to fear from the officials this day.”

  “Across the border? What do you mean?” Noga quickly picked up on the not so subtle reference to important people. Rumors of the impending visit from the Americans and the Middle Eastern delegates had been discussed by nearly everyone in the area for days. This might be the time to reconnect with the Russian, but he would have to be very careful. What he needed was a quick solution to this problem of the rogue in the bush. Botlhokwa would be put to sleep, so to speak, if he could deliver this man, any man. It wouldn’t make any difference in the end who Noga ended in throwing to the dogs—anyone. Botlhokwa would be pleased that the breach had been filled, and would be less likely to notice any new activity on Noga’s part.

  “All in good time, Noga. Just be ready to serve the purposes of world peace—for a price, of course.” Botlhokwa chuckled at his own joke and waved his man away. “Peace for a price. That’s a good one.”

  ***

  “What I mean, Charles, is that I do not understand how you think about these things. I am studying your face and all I see is a far away stare. You have conjured up in your mind how these ladies may have appeared naked, have you not?”

  “Certainly not.” Charles face took on an expression of shock. Sanderson was not impressed.

  “No? Describe them to me, the women as you remember them. Were they white or colored?”

  “They were white. They were Swedish, I think, or from that part of the world where women have that yellow hair and big…blue eyes.”

  “Swedish? You are sure of that?”

  “No, I…they were definitely white women, ntle even, but the men were not.”

  “Not? Not beautiful or not white? How did they look then?”

  “Asian or something along those lines. Not typical white men.”

  “I see. So, how are you imagining those women now, Charles?”

  “Sanderson, that is not fair. I am a game ranger like you. I only am concerned for the problems those cinema people may have created with the animals.”

  “And I am thinking that you look like one of those men who travel to Swaziland each year or to Nongoma and King Zwelithimi’s Emyoken, pretending to be Zulu so that you can witness the Reed Dance and all the young girls dancing with their breasts exposed.”

  “Why would you think such a thing, Sanderson, I would never do that. They expose their…chests at that dance?”

  “Fifteen thousand of them, perhaps many more, it is reported. Dancing as near to naked as you could care. Do not tell me you do not know of this. Shame on you, Charles.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Modise waited for Superintendent Mwambe to finish his sulk and return to the office. He knew the big policeman wished he would go away, knew he resented what he assumed to be interference from the capital, but he could not concern himself with Mwambe’s petulance now. Something about this murder in the park did not add up and the sooner he or Mwambe’s people unraveled it, the better. The vehicle had been carrying orgonite rubbish and who would steal that? There were people, he knew, who had no patience with this business. He numbered himself among them, but surely no one would kill a carrier of the materials to stop it. Arrest, harass, humiliate them, yes, but murder? It didn’t make sense. Surely Mwambe would see that. And, he had the license plate number of the men who were seen dumping the same stuff in the American’s skip. Lab tests would show if they were from the same source, but he felt he had enough for him to move forward. Suicide? What was he thinking?

  He ran his hands across the desk’s smooth surface and opened a drawer or two. He saw the Zapper and recognized it for what it was. Mwambe was a believer in the benefits of orgonite. That might either explain or complicate things. He quickly closed the drawer and lifted a piece of paper from the pile on the right hand side of the desk.

  Mwambe loomed in the doorway and took his seat behind his desk. “My aide informs me you wish to see me again. What is it this time?”

  Modise ignored the superintendent’s rudeness and outlined what he had been thinking. Mwambe’s expression slowly transformed from irritated to curious.
Modise explained that the bullet fragment found in the Land Rover’s door frame might or might not be suitable for ballistics but as the caliber made it clear it most certainly did not come from a pistol. Further, the orgonite in the rear of the vehicle might or might not be from the same source as that from the skip. So, not a suicide and evidently linked to something else. If they knew what, they might have a lead to follow.

  “But, it doesn’t matter at this point, Superintendent. What we must do is find these men who disposed of the orgonite and question them. They do not need to know what we can or cannot prove, you see?”

  “And how,” Mwambe grumbled, “are we to find these men who were seen at the American casino? Surely you do not think they are cruising about on the streets of Kasane.”

  “Ah, that is where we are lucky. I have a license plate number. It is South African and perhaps stolen or from a rental vehicle, but it is a start. You can have your people trace it, put out a bulletin for patrols to look for it. You know the drill.”

  “I do. Let me have that number and we will see.”

  “Good. Now, there is one other thing. Sanderson has found a breach in the park fence close to Kasane. It appears this is the spot where the murdered man came into the park.”

  “You wish me to send a detachment to seal the fence? That would be Sanderson’s duty, I think.”

  “No, I don’t want it sealed. I think we should pretend to know nothing of it. I believe it would be better to have her put it under surveillance and see who else comes through.”

  “A break in the fence makes no sense. You are from the south. You do not know these parts as I do, Modise. What reason some person has come up with for cutting the fence I cannot imagine, but it is a silly idea. The park is crisscrossed with tracks where guides drive their safari trucks. The airport is within the parks boundaries, for heaven’s sake. This is a wide open range. Anyone can, if they wish, and with the proper vehicle and a map, drive into the park and onto these tracks and go where they wish, do what they wish. As long as they do not tempt the animals, of course.”