“He owes me a lot. He’d do a lot for me, too. Not anything. What do you mean?”
Tatwa shrugged. “Just talking. Were you with him when they got to the farmhouse? Where they were attacking Salome and her family?”
Enoch nodded.
“Must have been bad.”
Enoch shrugged. “I saw a lot of bad stuff in those days.”
“That night, Enoch, the night of the murders here. Can you tell me anything about it?”
Enoch shrugged. “Nothing to tell. I was asleep. I saw nothing. I heard nothing. I didn’t talk to anyone.”
“You know Mma Salome did it, Enoch. Tinubu was one of the terrorists at the farmhouse. She recognized him. That’s how it all started.”
Enoch looked stunned. “But it was Zondo!” he exclaimed.
Tatwa shook his head. “Zondo was just caught in the middle, wasn’t he, Enoch?”
“You’re talking shit! You’re crazy! Mma Salome wouldn’t kill anyone!”
“Maybe she had someone to help her.”
Enoch turned away, meticulously sorting his tools into the toolbox. When he turned back, he was calm again. “It’s silly,” he said. “It’s nonsense. You should be looking for Zondo.” He picked up the toolbox and started toward the camp. Tatwa watched him go.
Fifty yards into the river was a sandbar. As Tatwa watched, a ten-foot crocodile clambered onto it, settled, and opened its jaws exposing vicious teeth. Tatwa shuddered, thinking of his brother, and followed Enoch back to the camp.
∨ The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu ∧
68
Kubu strolled to a point where he knew he could get a decent signal for his cell phone. He wanted to check on Joy, and he needed to report back to Mabaku. There was a chance that Beardy had finally spilled some beans. He called Joy first.
“Hello, Kubu.” There was noise in the background and for a moment Kubu was disoriented. “Where are you, my dear?”
“I’m at work, Kubu. At the daycare center. Where should I be on a Thursday morning?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” The noise was the children playing. He had forgotten that she had insisted on going back to work today. “How are you feeling?” he asked, covering his slip.
“Fine. How are you?”
“Not bad. We’re making progress here. Still confusing, but we’ll get there.”
“Good. I’d like you to come home.”
Kubu felt guilty. The conversation was not going well, it felt stilted. “Karate session this afternoon?” he asked, hoping he had the day right. For once he was glad of her sport. A karate dojo should be safe enough.
“No, I canceled. Didn’t feel like it, really. I said I had a cold. I want to get home. Remember Pleasant’s staying while you’re away.”
Kubu hesitated. Joy loved the karate. She always felt like it.
“You’re still not well, are you?”
“Kubu, don’t fuss. Just a bit uncomfortable. The funny food in Francistown.” She made it sound like a foreign country.
Kubu squared his well-padded shoulders and put down his substantial foot. “Darling, this is enough. You must see a doctor. I insist. I’m worried about you.”
“Kubu, don’t nag. I’m busy. If I don’t feel better…”
Kubu had a flash of inspiration and interrupted, “What about Dr. Diklekeng? You’re always saying how good he is. That he doesn’t patronize the kids and really listens to them. I’m sure he’d be good. And you know him and like him.” Joy always spoke highly of Dr. Diklekeng – the doctor for the daycare center. He struck gold.
“Yes, that’s not a bad idea. I’ll think about it.”
“Do you promise you’ll go to see him?”
Joy hesitated. “Yes,” she said at last. “It’s a good idea.”
Kubu pressed his advantage. “This afternoon?”
Joy dug in her heels. “I’ve got shopping to do, and I don’t want Pleasant to be on her own. I’ll go tomorrow. Or the next day. I’m a bit busy at the moment.”
Kubu realized he would have to be satisfied with that. There was an outburst of childish noise, and Joy shouted that she had to go. Kubu put down the cell phone and thought about his wife. Suppose she was really sick? What would he do? He felt lost already. He wanted to get home, fetch her, take her to Dr. Diklekeng. Do what was necessary. Make everything as before. Instead, he was stuck on a paradise island in the Linyanti, surrounded by people he did not trust. And by crocodiles, he thought sourly.
He pulled himself together and dialed Mabaku’s cell phone number, but got a recorded message. Mabaku must be in a meeting. He tried Edison at the CID.
“Kubu! How’s it going?”
“Okay, Edison. I can’t reach the director. Is he around?”
“Mabaku? Didn’t you hear?”
Kubu sighed. How was he supposed to follow the director’s movements from the Namibian border? “Hear what? Break in a case?”
“Break in his stomach, more like. He’s in hospital. Perforated ulcer. Couldn’t take all the black coffee and stress, I suppose.”
“He’s what? In hospital? That’s impossible, I mean…”
“He had awful pain yesterday afternoon, so his wife took him to casualty at the Princess Marina. They admitted him right away, and they’re operating this morning.”
Kubu had the awful lost feeling again. “But we need him!”
“Kubu, he’ll be okay.”
“Yes, of course,” said Kubu, embarrassed. “Who’s running the show?”
“I suppose I am at the moment.”
“Good,” said Kubu, not meaning it. Now he really would have to get back. “Is there anything we need to handle while he’s in hospital?”
“He’s worried about the African Union meeting. But it’s all under control. No problem. We’re not really involved. It’s Special Service Group stuff.”
Kubu tried to regroup. “What about Beardy? Get anything out of him?”
“Well, he says he’s willing to cooperate. But so far he always has an excuse. Some reason to delay. First he wanted a lawyer, so we got him one. Then he wanted a deal. Now he isn’t satisfied with the lawyer and wants one who speaks the Ndebele language. That’s not so easy. I think he’s stalling, but I’ve no idea why.”
“Is it possible he expects Madrid to rescue him?”
“From Central Prison? He can’t be that stupid. Besides, he doesn’t look like a kingpin. If they get to him, it will be to shut him up. There are easier and more permanent ways of doing that than trying a jailbreak. I’m trying to convince him that he’ll be safest if he tells us everything he knows. Then they’ll have no reason to stop him talking. He agrees, but then has another excuse.”
Kubu ground his teeth. The calls were not going well.
“There is some good news, though,” Edison added. “The sting the South African police set up for your Ms. Levine’s contacts. It worked! They put a tracer on her car, and followed it to a house in Bryanston – that’s a fancy Johannesburg suburb. Anyway, they found a cozy distribution center in the middle of the city. They arrested the lot.”
“How high up in the food chain did it go?”
Edison sighed. “Hard to say. Depends what they can get people to cough up. But there are cut-off points. Hell, it was a big hit. You win one step at a time.”
Yes, thought Kubu. But the real drug moguls always seem one step ahead of that. And don’t have to play by the rules. Still, it was a triumph as far as it went. And Van der Walle would owe Mabaku one. That would make the director happy. He would need something to cheer him up in that hospital. Kubu shuddered, remembering his own sojourn there. The food had been awful.
“Okay, Edison, I have to get back to work here. Give the director my best wishes. Tell him…never mind. Ask him to phone me when he’s up to talking. And let me know how it all goes.”
After the call, Kubu thought about Mabaku. He is the CID, he thought. What would we do without him? He shook his head as if to erase these thoughts. He forced
himself to think about Beardy. Why was he stalling? Just putting off the inevitable? Or was he waiting for something, and if so what? Could it be that the convenient fiction he had created of Madrid attacking Jackalberry a second time actually was part of the plan?
Kubu felt a wave of urgency. He needed to solve this case before…something. And he needed to get back to Gaborone before…something. He’d had enough. It was time to stop teasing. It was time to put three aces on the table and to firmly bluff another in his hand. One more day, he thought. Then I’m going back to Gaborone. With everyone at the camp, if that’s what it takes. He heaved himself to his feet and went to look for Tatwa. They would need to plan a strategy. And there was something he wanted Tatwa to find in Dupie’s office tent. He intended to make the communal lunch an interesting occasion.
∨ The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu ∧
69
Kubu pushed his chair back from the table. “I can’t eat another thing,” he said. “Nothing more. Perhaps a cup of coffee later. But not now.” He waved Moremi back. His interest shifted to Dupie’s rifle leaning against the back of his chair. “What vintage is that Lee-Enfield of yours, Dupie? Nineteen thirties? Can I take a look?” Dupie passed the rifle to Kubu who examined it with professional interest. “Still in good condition. And loaded, I see. I presume you have a license?” Dupie nodded, and Kubu seemed to lose interest in the weapon, but did not return it.
“What an excellent afternoon. But the clouds are building up. What do you think, Dupie? A thunderstorm later on?”
Dupie looked at the blackening horizon and shrugged.
“Bit too obvious, isn’t it?” Kubu said. “Lots of noise but no rain. Probably won’t be a drop. Funny how we miss the obvious. There’s a daddy longlegs spider that’s spun a web by the washbasin in our tent. Quite a character. Catches the mosquitoes. But if you touch his silk, he starts to oscillate in the web. Faster and faster ‘til you can’t see him anymore. Gone. You see right through him because of persistence of vision. No spider. Nothing to see. Nothing to catch.” Kubu had their attention. Everyone wondered where this discourse on arachnidean behavior was heading.
“That was our problem with Zondo. He was there all the time, but we couldn’t see him.” Kubu nodded as though this comparison would be obvious to everyone and said no more.
Oddly, it was the normally reticent Solomon who ventured the question. “What do you mean, Superintendent? Where was he, and why couldn’t we see him?”
“He wasn’t moving quickly,” offered Moremi. “Not quickly. Oh, no.”
“No, he wasn’t. Moremi’s right,” said Kubu. “We were always a murder short, you see. We seemed to have enough.” He smiled. “Too many, even, according to my boss. But we missed out on Zondo.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Salome. “Is he supposed to be dead?”
“I’m talking about Ishmael Zondo, or Peter Jabulani, if you want to use his real name. I should say the late Peter Jabulani. He was the third person murdered that Sunday night. Or maybe the second.” Kubu turned to look at Salome.
“It started with you, didn’t it, Salome?” Kubu asked, using her given name for the first time. “It started when you recognized Goodluck. And you wanted revenge. Understandable enough after what had happened even though it was a very long time ago.”
Salome blushed. “I wasn’t sure it was him. It could’ve been my imagination. As you say, it was a very long time ago. Dupie said so too. He convinced me. I just withdrew. Settled down. It was my imagination. They all said so.”
“All?” asked Kubu. “Were they all involved?” His hand encompassed the group.
“No. I mean Dupie. I was shocked. But then I accepted that it was just my mind playing tricks.”
“But someone agreed to check. Take a look. Moremi, Solomon, Enoch, Dupie?”
“No, no. I just thought it through. No one checked.”
Kubu ignored that. “The one who stole the keys, right? Didn’t need keys to the tent. To the suitcase? Yes. But also to the briefcase. That was a surprise, wasn’t it, Dupie? A briefcase full of U.S. dollars. You didn’t expect that, but it was just what you needed with things going downhill here.”
Dupie shook his head. “What the fuck are you talking about, Superintendent? What are you trying to pull here? Whatever it is, it’s not going to work.”
“Because you’ll all stick to the same story, right? And Salome? She’s just a victim. Thought she saw a nightmare from the past. Put it behind her. Nothing there, is there? Just like the spider. And you, Dupie? Everyone’s mate. But with a background in the Scouts. Not the Boy Scouts, eh? You know about efficient killing, don’t you? And how to turn it to advantage. And Enoch. Your sergeant – yes, I know that background, too.” He stared at Enoch who looked around as if for a weapon.
“Is this what you’re looking for?” asked Tatwa. Casually he held up the Watching Eye he’d taken from Dupie’s office. Enoch crossed his hands on his chest as if protecting his heart. Then he got control of himself and forced his hands down. He said nothing.
Kubu pretended to ignore this exchange. “Maybe Moremi? He owes you, too. No one else would give him a job. He’d help you, wouldn’t he? And Solomon? Good reliable Solomon. He has a family to support.”
Kubu looked around the stricken table. “You could really pull strings with anyone you liked, couldn’t you, Salome? An embarrassment of riches, you might say.” He nodded. “I think we could have that coffee now, Moremi.” Moremi rose without a word and walked off. But he must have whispered something to Kweh, because raucous clucks and even a ‘go-away’ came from the kitchen. No one said anything until Salome broke the tension.
“I don’t understand any of this. What happened to Zondo?”
“He never left the island,” said Tatwa.
“Of course he did!” Dupie exclaimed. “I took him across to the mainland on Monday morning. I left him at the airstrip.”
Kubu shook his head. “You took someone across. Someone dressed in a felt hat with guineafowl feathers and a canvas bush jacket. Zondo’s hat and jacket were later discarded on the mainland. And that person got back to the island in Solomon’s mokoro. Solomon himself, maybe?” He glanced at the waiter, who shook his head, but did not contradict the detective aloud.
“That was a neat trick, Dupie, but just a hairsbreadth too clever. There was a problem, wasn’t there? William Boardman was up before dawn for his bird-watching trip. Had his binoculars as usual. He wondered why someone else was heading across the lagoon wearing Zondo’s hat. But he found out soon enough, didn’t he?”
Dupie was shaking his head. “It’s all nonsense, Superintendent. I took Zondo across to the mainland, and then we drove to the airport. The reason he was wearing Zondo’s hat was because he was Zondo, and he was wearing his own hat. Not as intriguing as your story. But a lot simpler. Occam’s razor!” he concluded triumphantly. Everyone looked at him blankly.
“Is that what you used to cut Goodluck’s throat?” asked Tatwa, dryly.
Dupie snarled, “This is all bullshit. I took Zondo to the airport. It’s not my fault if he dumped his hat and coat there. Maybe he wanted to be incognito? How should I know?”
“I didn’t say he dumped his hat and coat at the airstrip. Just that they were left on the mainland.”
Dupie was quiet, but just for a moment. Then he stormed ahead. “Then Zondo disappeared. You can’t try to pin this on us just because you can’t find him!”
“Oh, I know where he is,” said Kubu. “It’s like the daddy long-legs. You can’t see him, but he’s right in front of you.” He looked out at the lagoon. Everyone followed his eyes. They heard a motorboat starting up on the mainland.
Moremi approached, carrying a tray with coffees, milk, and sugar.
Kubu turned to Salome. “But you had to get rid of William, didn’t you? Madrid’s visit was quite a bonus in a way, wasn’t it? The perfect cover for a hit. Yet another perfect murder your team could put together.”
“Not quite,” said Kubu quietly, pointing across the table. “Enoch wasn’t here.”
“He was stuck in the bush!” Salome snapped. “Dupie had to go out and fetch the trailer. He was stuck halfway to Kasane, for God’s sake!”
“So he said,” commented Tatwa mildly. “Anyone want the sugar?” He helped himself to three heaping teaspoons.
Kubu nodded. “The perfect alibi. Enoch supposedly leaves for Kasane, dumps the trailer, and goes in the opposite direction down the cut-line to Maun. Radios Dupie, pretends he’s broken down and needs help. Dupie heads out, also supposedly toward Kasane, but actually toward Maun. Picks up the trailer, takes his time, heads back. Perfect alibi for Enoch, who’s halfway to Maun by then. To keep the appointment Dupie set up with William Boardman!”
Dupie got to his feet and, a moment later, so did Enoch. “This is raving nonsense! Enoch got stuck. He radioed me. Salome heard the conversation for shit’s sake! I went to help him, we fixed the trailer well enough so I could get it back, and Enoch headed on to Kasane in the morning. He was there about nine! Dozens of people saw him. He hadn’t driven to Maun! That’s hundreds of tough miles through the bush and sand.”
“It can be done,” said Tatwa quietly. “Check the map. We did. But, of course, you know that already, don’t you?” He was also on his feet facing Enoch. He let the Eye swing from side to side like a pendulum, as though he was trying to hypnotize Enoch. Dupie subsided and sat down. For a few moments no one said anything.
Moremi broke the silence. He turned to Salome. “Mma Salome, what the policemen say may be true. Or it may not.” He shrugged as though he was discussing the failings of the local football team. “But this is true. They cannot prove anything. They suspect all of us. But they cannot prove any one single thing.”
Detective Kubu 02; The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu Page 33