A Death in the Family

by Michael Stanley

  After about ten minutes, Amantle sat upright. “I am sorry for behaving like a schoolgirl,” she said. “But I miss him so much.”

  Kubu leaned over and took her hand but said nothing.

  “Thank you.” Amantle squeezed his hand. “Thank you both.”

  Joy stood up, took Amantle’s plate, and replaced the now cool food. When she put the plate down, Amantle said, “I must go back to Mochudi tomorrow. I can’t wait any longer. I have to prepare for the funeral. That is what Wilmon would want.”

  Kubu frowned. “Mother, as I said this morning, I think you should stay a few more days. The funeral arrangements can wait.”

  “No. I have made up my mind. I am all right now, and my friends will expect a proper funeral. They will be with me all week to help me.” She dried her eyes and smiled. “It will be a big day with many people coming. Sometimes I thought Wilmon knew everyone in Mochudi. I would not be surprised if there are five hundred people.”

  “Where will you hold it, Mother?” Joy asked. “Your house is too small for that many people.”

  “I will speak to our priest,” Amantle replied. “I am sure he will let us use the church hall. And it has a kitchen big enough to cook for everyone.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready to go back?” Kubu asked.

  “I have made up my mind.” Amantle’s voice was now strong. “We will return to Mochudi in the morning, if that is convenient for you.”

  Kubu glanced at Joy, who nodded.

  “Then we’ll leave after breakfast tomorrow, Mother. And I’ll stay with you until the funeral. I want to help with the preparations, and I’ll pay for all the food.”

  “That will not be necessary,” Amantle said sharply. “We have a funeral policy to pay for it.”

  Kubu decided not to pursue the matter, even though he knew that the payout of such policies seldom kept pace with inflation.

  “As you wish, Mother. You and Father planned so well for this sad occasion.” He stood up. “We should all get an early night, so I’ll go and pack. You and Joy can have some tea on the veranda; then I’ll join you.”

  “You are a good son, David. Thank you.”

  As he was packing, Kubu realized that an early return to Mochudi was actually a win for him. Whether Mabaku liked it or not, he was going to poke around, even if it was behind the scenes and unofficially.

  PART 2

  CHAPTER 9

  After breakfast, Kubu took his suitcase and Amantle’s cloth bag to the Land Rover and put a couple of bottles of chilled water in a cooler.

  “When will you come up?” Kubu asked as he kissed Joy good-bye.

  “On Thursday evening with Pleasant and the kids. I’ll borrow some foam mattresses, unless you can get some from the neighbors. We can all sleep on the floor.”

  “Can’t you come up sooner?”

  “I’ll try, but I’ve so much on the go at work at the moment.” She saw the disappointment in Kubu’s eyes. “I’ll do my best, darling. But I’m sure your mother will keep you busy.”

  Kubu shrugged. He could really do with Joy’s support during the week. It was going to be a long few days looking after Amantle and putting up with her friends.

  They kissed once more. Then Kubu lifted Tumi and Nono, hugged them close, and gave them a big kiss each. “Be good, girls. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

  With that he and Amantle climbed into the Land Rover and, with a tap on the horn, they set off for Mochudi.

  * * *

  FOR THE MOST part, the trip to Mochudi was quiet. Amantle didn’t speak much, and Kubu did little to encourage her. They both used the time to reflect on the man they had loved—loved in different ways, of course, but loved with similar intensity.

  As they turned into Kgafela Drive, Amantle said, “Thank you for coming to Mochudi, David. It will be a big help to me.”

  He nodded. “It’s what I want, Mother. So it’s not a problem for me.”

  Kubu stopped the Land Rover in front of his parents’ house. He climbed out and went to open his mother’s door. He could see that she was struggling to keep from crying. He took her by the arm and walked up the stairs to the veranda.

  “Give me your key, Mother.”

  She rummaged in her handbag and handed it to Kubu. He inserted the key and tried to open the lock. The key wouldn’t turn. He put a little more force on it, but it still wouldn’t move. He turned the door handle, and the door opened immediately.

  “Are you sure you locked the door when you left, Mother?”

  “I think so.”

  “Well, it was open. Your mind was elsewhere, I’m sure.”

  He pushed the door open and gasped. “You’ve been robbed, Mother. Someone has ransacked the house.”

  Amantle pushed past Kubu and walked in. She looked around at the chaos and burst into tears. Drawers had been pulled out of cabinets and dumped on the floor. Sofa cushions had been ripped open and their stuffing strewn everywhere. And through the open bedroom door, Kubu could see that the two mattresses had suffered the same fate.

  “Don’t touch anything, Mother,” Kubu said. “Please go and sit outside for a few moments. I need to call the police here in Mochudi and some people at work.”

  This is no ordinary robbery, he thought. It has to be something to do with Father’s murder. He wondered what on earth Wilmon could have been up to. What did he have that somebody wanted so much?

  He called the Mochudi police station and reported the break-in. Then he called Director Mabaku.

  “Director, my parents’ house has been torn apart. Obviously, someone is looking for something they think my father had.” Kubu’s voice started getting louder. “And what’s next? My mother killed? My wife and children attacked? I need to be on the case. I know everyone around here. You’ve never lived here, and Samantha hasn’t lived here for years.”

  “Kubu, calm down! We’re doing everything we can. I’ve put everyone possible on the case. It’s top priority. You know full well we can’t have you involved. If you’re part of the team, and we prosecute someone, the defense will shred your objectivity to pieces. They’ll say you’re biased and prejudiced. And they’ll be right.”

  “But you’ve accomplished nothing so far. You’ve—”

  “Shut up, Kubu. We’ve been on the case just over a day. And you expect—”

  “Director, you know as well as I do, that the chances of catching a perpetrator go way down after the first forty-eight hours. It’s nearly two days now, and you’ve got nothing. You’ve got to put me on the team.”

  “I’ll call you right back.”

  Kubu couldn’t believe that Mabaku had cut him off. Didn’t he understand that everything was urgent?

  His phone rang again. It was Mabaku.

  “I’ve arranged for Zanele and Samantha to go to Mochudi immediately to see if they can find any sign of the intruder. And I’ve arranged twenty-four-hour protection at your home and your mother’s. Just in case. You’d better let Joy know.” Mabaku paused, then continued, “Listen to me carefully, Kubu. You are not to go back into the house until I say so. You are not to go snooping around talking to neighbors. You are not to contact any member of the team investigating your father’s murder. Do you understand? Take your mother back to your home in Gabs—she’s had a bigger loss than you, and she’s behaving a lot better. Pull yourself together, man. We’ll do our job as well as we can, and having you interfering is only going to slow things down.”

  Before Kubu could respond, Mabaku hung up.

  Kubu stood for a few moments, cell phone in hand, seething with anger. His father had been murdered, his mother’s house broken into, and he was meant to do nothing about it.

  “We’ll see!” he snorted. “We’ll see.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Kubu called Joy and told her about the break-in. He did his best to persuade her not to worry, but she was understandably concerned. When he’d finished talking to her, he turned to his mother, who had buried her face in a handk
erchief.

  “Come on, Mother. Let’s go next door and get a cup of tea.” He took her by the arm, but she shrugged free.

  “I am not leaving. This is my house, and I have things to do.”

  “But, Mother—”

  “It is my husband who has died. I have a responsibility to—”

  “Mother, you can come back later. You can’t go in now. It’s a crime scene. Let’s go next door for the moment.”

  “I do not know what this country is coming to. Everything is getting worse. Nobody is safe.”

  “Come along, Mother.” Again he took her by the arm. This time she let him help her to the neighbor’s house.

  “Hello again, Mma Ngombe,” he said when the front door opened. “Would it be possible for my mother to stay here for a couple of hours? Somebody’s broken into her house, and we’re waiting for the police.”

  Mma Ngombe frowned. “But aren’t you with the police?”

  “Of course, mma, but we can’t go in until the forensic people have taken fingerprints and so on. And I can’t do that. Besides, they won’t let me do anything because I’m personally involved.”

  “Oh dear. That must be hard for you.” She turned to Amantle. “Amantle, my dear. What is the world coming to?” She patted her friend on the back. “Come on in.”

  “She was at my home in Gaborone last night, thank God. Did you hear or see anything unusual?”

  She shook her head. “No. As you know, there are people in the street until nine thirty or ten every night. I’m sure someone would have seen whoever broke in if it was before ten.”

  “And after ten?”

  “Well, you would have to speak to everyone in the neighborhood. We were on the veranda until just before ten, and we saw Rra Seema and his wife, and old Rra Nini. And Mma and Rra Macha. And a few people I didn’t recognize. But they looked as though they were just out for a stroll. Nobody paid any attention to Amantle’s house as far as I can remember.”

  “And did you hear anything after you went to bed?”

  “No, I slept very well, but you should speak to my husband. He’s a light sleeper. And I’m told that Rra Roze doesn’t sleep well either—probably too much beer, I think. He lives on the other side of Amantle’s house.”

  “Thank you, mma. You’re very kind. I’m sure Mother would like a cup of tea. It’s been a very difficult time.” He hesitated. “And I’d like one also, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

  “And now they do not want me to go into my own house,” Amantle said. “My own house! And I have to prepare for Wilmon’s funeral.”

  “Don’t worry, my dear,” Mma Ngombe said. “All your friends will be here to help. Go and sit down.”

  * * *

  “MOTHER, WHERE DID Father keep his front door key?” Kubu asked as they waited for Mma Ngombe to brew the tea. “Would he have taken it with him the night he was killed?”

  Amantle shook her head. “I do not know if he took it. Usually, if one of us is in the house or if we go for a walk, we do not lock the door. But that night…” She broke off as she tried to regain her composure. “But that night, he was acting so strangely, I do not know what he did.”

  “Where do you normally keep the keys?”

  “There is an old clay pot on the table in the living room—”

  “The one with the piece missing? I know it,” Kubu interrupted.

  Amantle nodded. “It was a gift from my parents when we got married.”

  “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Kubu heaved himself out of his chair and walked next door to his parents’ house. Before he went inside, he walked slowly around the building to see if there were any signs of a break-in. It would be ironic, he mused, if the intruder had broken in instead of just walking through the unlocked front door. However, there were no signs of anything having been forced.

  When he reached the front again, he climbed up on the veranda and pushed the front door open, making sure not to touch anything. He picked his way through the debris on the floor, and then, using his handkerchief, he lifted the pot and turned it upside down. It was empty.

  Kubu put the pot back in its place, carefully left the room, and returned next door to his cup of tea.

  “I’ll arrange to have the locks changed today,” Kubu told his mother. “The key is missing, and I don’t want you worrying when we go back home. I’ll get both outside doors changed.”

  Amantle nodded. “Why are they doing this to us?” she asked. “We have nothing valuable.”

  “Are you sure Father didn’t say anything about a person he was meant to meet or an arrangement he was making?”

  Amantle shook her head. “He never said anything to me.”

  * * *

  WHEN HE’D FINISHED his second cup of tea, Kubu took his leave and went to speak to the people Mma Ngombe had suggested. He learned absolutely nothing, drew a complete blank. Nobody had heard or seen anything. Mostly, they wanted to talk about the funeral arrangements and were concerned that Amantle would have to get a move on to complete the rituals in time.

  As he was walking back to Mma Ngombe’s house, he noticed that Director Mabaku’s car was parked in front of his parents’ house, but Zanele’s wasn’t.

  He’ll have to wait for her before he can take a good look around, he thought. But when he walked into Mma Ngombe’s house, he was surprised to find Mabaku there, also having tea.

  “Sit down, Kubu.” This was a command rather than an invitation. Kubu settled himself on the sofa, mentally bracing himself for a typical Mabaku tirade.

  “Where have you been?” Mabaku snapped.

  “I just went to see if Father’s front door key was in its usual place.”

  “You did what?” Mabaku jumped to his feet.

  “I went to see—”

  “I told you to stay out of the house!” Drops of saliva flew out of Mabaku’s angry mouth. “What don’t you understand about what I told you?” Mabaku was close to shouting. “You could contaminate the crime scene and wreck the whole investigation! What makes you so important that you don’t have to listen to me?”

  “The door was unlocked…”

  “So what? I told you not to get involved.” Mabaku took a deep breath. “And what were you talking to the neighbors about? I saw you. From my car and from this window.”

  Kubu squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. “I just wanted to know if they had seen anything last night. I was just trying to save you some time.”

  “What did I tell you?”

  “You said I should keep well away from the investigation into my father’s murder.”

  “And don’t you think this break-in is linked to your father’s murder? And don’t dare say no!”

  “But, Director—”

  “This is my final warning, Kubu. One more time, and you’ll be stationed in Tshane or Kang. For five years! With no chance of an appeal. Do you understand?”

  Kubu decided discretion was the better part of valor and nodded. “Yes, Director. I understand.”

  Mabaku turned and thanked a shocked Mma Ngombe and stalked out.

  As Kubu watched through the sitting room window, Mabaku strode toward Amantle’s house and Zanele Dlamini, who had just arrived.

  I hope she finds something, Kubu thought. If she doesn’t, Mabaku’s going to rip her to shreds.

  * * *

  KUBU STOOD UP and thanked Mma Ngombe. Then he turned to Amantle.

  “Come on, Mother,” he said. “We’d better go home. I’ll phone Joy and tell her we’re going to be there for dinner.”

  “I am not going back to Gaborone.” Amantle’s voice was firm. “I need to prepare for your father’s funeral on Saturday. And now I have only four days left to do it. You go home, and I will stay here and arrange everything.”

  “But, Mother—”

  “I have made up my mind, David. I am staying. If I cannot use my own home, Mma Ngombe will let me stay here, I am sure.”

  Mma Ngombe nodded.

  �
�Then it is settled. When will you return to Mochudi, David?” his mother asked.

  Kubu sighed. He couldn’t argue with his mother over something as important as her husband’s funeral.

  “All right, Mother. You win. We’ll both stay as planned. And we’ll stay in your house. We’ll just have to wait until they’ve finished with all their work. I’ll see you in an hour.”

  With a nod to Mma Ngombe, Kubu turned and walked out, hoping he could persuade someone at the hardware store to come and install the new locks.

  CHAPTER 11

  When Mabaku and Zanele left Amantle’s house, Kubu took his mother back. They found the house in far better shape than it had been earlier in the day. His colleagues had tidied things up.

  “Director Mabaku is such a nice man,” Amantle said as she saw what had been done. “And Detective Khama is very nice too.”

  “How do you know Detective Khama, Mother?”

  “While you were sorting out the locks, she came and said she would pray for your father’s soul. And for me as well.”

  Kubu frowned. That didn’t sound like the Samantha he knew. “Is that all she said?” he asked.

  “Oh no. She also asked about your father’s friends. She wanted to talk to them. She was very kind.”

  Kubu felt a flash of resentment that a junior detective was trying to find his father’s murderer rather than himself. What experience does she have? he thought bitterly. It should be me on the case.

  He took a deep breath and set to work putting everything back in order, while Amantle stitched the mattresses and pillows so the stuffing wouldn’t come spewing out when they lay down. The sofa would have to wait until the next day.

  Among the papers that had been stacked on the dining room table, Kubu came across the funeral policy that his mother had mentioned. He opened it and found what he had expected. The policy was twenty years old and paid a mere five thousand pula—barely enough for a coffin at today’s prices and certainly not enough to cover the costs of the food. At least it is something, he thought.