by Reapers
“Not that fast.”
Sanderson grinned and slowed. “Just there,” she said, and pointed to a bush that stood as high as their vehicle. She wheeled around it and leaned on the car horn. It blared loud enough to scatter the hyenas that were tearing at the carcass on the ground. She pulled to a stop just short of the body. Modise started to step out.
“Wait,” she said her tone sharp and insistent. She unsheathed her rifle, loaded it and unlatched her own door. “Now.” She stepped out onto the ground. Modise followed suit. He patted the gun at his side. Might he need it? He hoped not. One shooting a day was more than enough.
Sanderson waved and shouted and the hyenas retreated still further. “It is one man only.”
“So it seems. Who knows, we may find another later. That is very interesting.”
“A dead man is interesting? You have strange interests, Modise. But then you are a policeman so that would explain it.”
“It is interesting from an investigative point. He has no head. Well, almost no head.”
“Yes, so? The hyenas have beat us to him.”
“You miss my point. You are the animal expert. Would not they first tear into the soft parts? The head is a tough nut to crack. Sorry, bad joke—not intended.”
“Yes, that is so.”
“But they did not. The head is nearly gone. Now, if a man is first shot in his head with the right sort of bullet, it will create the sort of conditions that might make an attack on it by animals easy, yes?”
“Yes. So you think this man is shot first?”
“Yes. So it would seem.”
Modise bent and scrutinized the corpse. “It is Rra Botlhokwa, I think.”
Sanderson looked at what was left of the man—the hyenas had been both hungry and efficient. Not much remained of the recognizable portion of the man. “If you say so, but how can you tell from this mess?”
“Your hyenas do not like finger food, I think.”
“What? No, I suppose daintiness is not something they are famous for. So what?”
“It was a pun, Sanderson, another bad joke. Look at the hands. They are intact. There is a ring on the left one. It is what they call a pinky ring. Apparently whoever brought Botlhokwa here did no believe removing it worth the trouble. Because your hyenas do not like finger food, the hands are still intact.” He bent closer to inspect the ring, consulted a scrap of paper in his hand, and straightened up. “It is Botlhokwa’s ring and it is fitting so snugly I must assume it is his hand and, therefore, the rest of this, such as it is, must also be the man himself.”
“If he was as bad as they say, I will have a sick pack of hyenas this day.” She turned and surveyed the area close by. The hyenas suddenly bolted away.
“Oh, oh. Modise, into the truck, now.”
“Wait, I want to check this body and then—”
“Modise, get into the truck now!”
Modise looked up irritated. That was when he saw the lions. He couldn’t recall how he got into the truck. Only that he had and had slammed the door closed and locked it before Sanderson had even moved. But then she knew about the animals.
“What do we do now?”
She put the truck in gear and drove over the body, being careful to straddle it. She braked when it lay directly beneath them. She stared for a moment at the pride of lions and reached for her radio.
“Now, we call for help.”
Chapter Fifty-two
Modise had lived his entire life in Botswana, but like many who grew up in tight communities in the south, this was as close to a pride of lions as he’d ever come. He watched as they shifted their positions. It was as if they were consulting one another. Which shall be the appetizer, which the entrée? Sanderson or Modise? He didn’t see a male. Where was the boss? He twisted in his seat and glanced out the rear window. The hyenas had returned. They milled about waiting for the lions to make a move, he guessed. Sanderson chattered away on the radio.
“Sanderson, we have to do something.”
“We are doing something. We are protecting this body until we can remove it. I have called my rangers and your police. I am not sure Superintendent Mwambe was so pleased to hear from me, though. He sounded more positive when I said you were here. So, help is on the way.”
Two of the lions began a slow advance on the Land Rover. Sanderson tapped the horn button and they shied away.
“Won’t that make them angry?”
“Probably, but if we do not keep them back, they will come here and try to pull that Botlhokwa out from under the truck. Then we are done.”
“But we are parked over him. Isn’t that enough? I thought the lions did not bother vehicles this big.”
“They don’t, as a rule, but most times there isn’t any food for them underneath, either. Lions are almost always hungry, Modise. We are keeping them from a meal.” She tapped the horn again. The lions did not respond quite as quickly this time as they had before. “You are not afraid, are you?”
Modise shrugged. In fact, he was.
“Modise, you are so strange. You can stare at a man with a gun who shoots at you and nearly kills you but you sit here in this nice safe auto and are afraid of those animals?”
“Aren’t you?”
“If they were shooting at me, I might be.”
“What if they try to drag Botlhokwa out from under the car?”
“That would be too bad. This old Land Rover is high from the ground. They might push us over.”
“They could do that?” Now he really was frightened.
“I have seen a large and very hungry pride of lions pull down a medium sized elephant. If they wanted to, they could.”
As she spoke, the pride started to shuffle forward. Tapping the horn only deterred one smaller lion. Sanderson slid the hatch back on the roof, grabbed her rifle, and stood on the seat, her head and shoulders exposed.
“Are you going to shoot them?” Modise almost hoped she was.
“No, that would be silly.” She squeezed off two shots. The lions wheeled and returned to their original spot. She slumped back in the seat. “Let us hope help comes soon.”
“That seemed to work. The gun, I mean.”
“Yes, but at a small price, I am thinking.”
“Price? What price?”
“Those cats, they are not stupid, you know. They do not like the guns and will stay back, but they also saw the roof has a hole in it. If they decide to circle this vehicle they can get on top of the roof. Even with your help with that pop gun of yours, I can’t shoot them all that fast.”
Modise swallowed. “The roof hatch, it will hold, won’t it?”
Sanderson bobbed her head from side to side. “I hope so. But they can be very strong and if they can slip their claws into the gap, well…Why did you ask me about leave time?”
“What? Leave time? Sanderson, we are under attack by a pack of—”
“Pride. It is called a pride.”
“A pride of lions, then. By your own admission they could rip open the roof like a can of sardines and have us for dinner, and you want to discuss leave time? Why don’t we just drive the hell out of here?”
“You would lose your body. If we leave now, there will be nothing left in an hour. What the lions don’t eat, the hyenas will. How will you complete your investigation? You wish to know who killed this man. You need his body, I think. So we will wait for rescue. And you are the person who asks about leave time, remember?”
Modise turned and tried to read Sanderson’s face. Was she having him on? A horn sounded off to one side. He looked up and saw two more Land Rovers bouncing over the rough terrain toward them. Sanderson spoke rapidly into the microphone.
“Modise, roll down your window and fold that rearview mirror back.”
She already had her window down and the mirror on her side folded. He followed suit. He was sure the lions took note of his exposed arm. He rolled the window up and nearly snagged his sleeve in it. The two other vehicles pulled up on eithe
r side, their fenders nearly scraping.
“Now they cannot reach under and get our friend.”
“Good. But neither can we.”
“Patience, Modise.” Sanderson rolled down her window again. “Hello, Charles. This is nice. Old Nathan has two new cubs, it seems.”
Charles Tlalelo, sitting in the adjacent SUV waved a greeting to Modise. “Just two? I thought the driver from the Safari Lodge said he saw three.”
“Who’s Nathan?” Modise’s head swam. How could these people be so calm?
“Nathan is the male who rules this pride. He must be snoozing somewhere.”
The lions, who had been contemplating this new and more complex arrangement that prevented them from gaining the food they wanted, stood as one and edged back into the bush. To have another consultation, Modise imagined. The hyenas lingered. An ambulance and two police vehicles drove in. The lions had had enough, wheeled and strolled off. How far was anyone’s guess. The hyenas gave up their vigil as well and trotted away. Sanderson directed the ambulance to back up until its rear bumper touched hers. Then she pulled forward. She stopped when her vehicle formed a rough cross with the other three. The body, now exposed in its center, but screened from the animals, could be collected. She was certain with so many vehicles moving in and the noise, neither the lions nor the hyenas posed a threat, but the police and the ambulance personnel would not know that. Better safe than sorry.
The attendants cautiously opened the rear doors of the ambulance. Pictures were taken and Botlhokwa, or what was left of him, deposited in the van. Doors slammed. The group caravanned out of the park and to on police headquarters.
“So, what is this about my leave time?”
Chapter Fifty-three
It took the better part of two hours to sort out the events of the day. Sanderson listened, occasionally standing to refill their cups. Modise told her as much as he could about his urgent recall to the capital.
“That is why you asked about leave? You imagined I might follow you?”
“I only hoped.” He drummed his fingers and fidgeted in his chair. “You see I am not very smooth in these matters, the asking and so on.”
“Kgabo Modise, yes, you are very not smooth, you are sandpaper. You know I cannot leave a teenaged daughter and a dying son and flounce off to Gaborone with you. What would I be doing while you are out chasing international crooks? You should not even ask.”
“I’m…you are right. It was out of line. For a moment when we spoke on the phone, I had this picture of us together and it…well, the complications did not appear in the picture, I guess you could say.”
She smiled at him and laid her hand on his. “Modise, I will tell you this, if the complications did not exist, I would go to Gaborone with you, for sure.”
Modise shifted in his chair and drained his cup. The tea had gone cold. “I do not know how long it will take to investigate the bombing attempt. It will be complex and involve other agencies probably…but I promise you this, I will be back here, and soon.”
“You are so sure?”
“There are two big reasons I am guaranteed a return to the Chobe. That American’s casino is a bright light that will surely attract all the crooked moths in the area. They will be flying here trying to take him over and perhaps the other lodges as well.”
“And the second reason?”
“You are here, Sanderson. That is enough.”
She felt the heat climb up her neck and on to her face. “What is that? I am just a woman past her time with children and holding down a job. That cannot be such a wonderful thing that the famous detective from Gaborone is coming to Kasane.”
“No, you are right. This detective must be crazy. But he will come anyway.”
Modise looked at his watch. He had just enough time to meet his flight. He would have to hurry. He grabbed his bags and headed to the door, then turned.
“What shall I call you? I do not find it so easy to use your Christian name.”
“Call me the Lion Queen.”
“No, that is appropriate, certainly, but…no.”
“Then just call me Sanderson and I will call you Modise. And that will be the way it will be until there is significant change in our circumstances.”
He waved and left.
***
“Mr. Painter, we found this with some other things.” Painter’s foreman stood in the office door holding an oblong object that had evidently seen some hard use.
“What is it?” He reached forward and took the item from the rough calloused hands of his worker and read the markings on its front, Garmin etrex H GPS. “It’s a GPS tracking device, I think. Where did you find it?”
“That monkey took Sammi’s keys and this time we chased it. Sammi cannot lose his keys, so he threw a stick at him and the monkey drops the keys. At the foot of this tree are many things the little thief has taken. This was one of them. What is that thing used for?’
“Hunters, fishermen, reporters and hikers, like that, use them to mark places they’ve been so they can find the spot again if they want to. Fishermen especially like to return to their special fishing holes.”
“A person wishing to hide something might use this to find it later, yes?”
“Could be. Plot for a book I expect.”
“Maybe it is a treasure map.”
Leo tossed the device into a drawer and shoved it closed. “What’re the chances?”
***
It had been two weeks since Modise returned to Gaborone. Sanderson had had a dozen calls from him already. So much attention.
She left Michael sitting up in a chair. His fever had subsided and he seemed stronger. Perhaps this pneumonia is finished. Perhaps the orgonite cone worked after all…no, it could not be. She was a modern woman…still, who can know what the Lord God is thinking. If He wants it to be this or that, it will be. She moved the cone closer to his chair.
She stopped at her office only long enough to be told that Superintendent Mwambe needed to speak to her urgently. The Land Rover backed into the area reserved for visitors and she walked into police headquarters. She’d been summoned. What did the Baboon want with her now?
Mwambe waited for her in his office. He did not get up when she entered. Typical. She sat, without waiting for an invitation. Two could play the game of rude behavior.
“Sanderson, sit. I have some news that I thought I should tell you personally.” He leaned back in his chair, folded his hands across his stomach, but said nothing.
“And that would be?” Really this was so silly, this man-woman business Mwambe and his cohorts played.
“It is in the matter of the death of Rra Botlhokwa. The official report is here.” He leaned forward and shoved a sheet of paper across the desk to her. She was to read it, it seemed. She lifted it from the surface and fished her reading glasses. They were missing one stem. She’d been meaning to find a new pair at the store but…she read.
“What is this? Superintendent Mwambe you are not seriously saying this. You have suicide on the brain. First it is the poor Congolese man is murdered and you say suicide, and now this?”
“Sanderson, it is the way the finding is being made. We—”
“It is foolishness. Botlhokwa was murdered.”
“The report says—”
“It says nothing that makes sense. What sort of man is it who decides to kill himself, then drives into the park in his pajamas and lets the predators eat him?”
“He shot himself in the head. The animals were secondary.”
“He shoots? This again? Where is your gun for this shooting, Superintendent?”
“The report will read that he did this. There will be no mention of a gun. It is implied, you see.”
“No one will believe this. It is nonsense.”
“Everyone will believe this and you will be the one to make sure they do.”
“I? I will spread this rubbish about? I do not think so. I am a game ranger and I tell you, Superintendent, the evide
nce is clear. There were two vehicles entering the park that night, only one comes out. The body was only partially devoured. That means it is lying out there for some time before the animals found it. That means our Botlhokwa was deposited in the park dead or nearly so by someone else. That is the truth. Suicide!”
“Mma Michael, we have our differences. I doubt we will ever sort them out. Personally, I don’t have any great desire to do so, but, and this is important, understand please this version of the events in the Chobe Game Park comes from the highest level, not me. For the purposes of future investigations and other circumstances about which your friend Modise has recently spoken to you, I believe, you will report this to any who ask, as a tragic suicide of one of Kasane’s leading citizens. You do understand those particular circumstances?”
“The Russian gangsters, you mean?” Sanderson let that sink in. “Modise says this?”
“He does. The director of the DIS does as well, you see?”
“Then it must be so.”
Chapter Fifty-four
Andrew Takeda had to be the luckiest man alive. He appeared at his arraignment certain he would spend an important part of his life behind bars. He’d been fired from his position as game ranger, but that had been expected. But this?
He’d immediately recognized the magistrate assigned to his hearing and within an hour he had been sentenced to a year in jail, but to be released daily to perform an unspecified amount of public service. Specifically, he was to spend whatever time it took to locate the orgonite presumably dumped in the park, and under the supervision of Superintendant Mwambe of the Police Department, deal with it in an appropriate manner.
Sanderson was appalled.
***
Early morning mist lifted from the forest floor. Sunlight streamed through the canopy and the morning songs and sounds eased aside the night stillness. Patriarche moved cautiously down the hillside toward his former feeding grounds. He passed the body of the man whom he had hit with his stick. He paused and stared, curious, at the crumpled body. The forest creatures had already found it and begun the recycling nature requires of all that it creates. He huffed for his group to follow and moved down to the area where the men had started digging. The men were gone. Nothing remained of their recent presence but some tents that were already beginning to sag from their guy ropes, and a pile of miscellaneous items including the remains of two of Patriarche’s group and a dying infant left in its cage.