Detective Kubu 01; A Carrion Death

by Michael Stanley

  Before Mabaku could comment, Jonny returned with a tray containing coffee cups, matching sugar bowl and milk jug, and a steaming pourer fresh from the filter. After the coffee rites had been completed, he sat opposite them.

  “I’m so ashamed,” he began at once. “Mr Hofmeyr’s been good to me, so I feel terrible about this whole issue. I was careless. It’s my fault.”

  Kubu asked mildly, “Why is it your fault?”

  “I left his office unlocked when I went home last night. I always spend at least an hour in the gym each evening—we have one in the building for the staff, and I try to keep fit—and when I got back at about half past six, Mr Hofmeyr had already left. I had some papers that I’d finished but hadn’t given to him yet, so I opened his office and put them on his desk. As I was closing his door, I thought I heard a crash—like a window breaking. I went to my window, which overlooks the front of the building, but I couldn’t see anything. So I packed up and went home. When I changed clothes later, I found the key to Cecil’s—Mr Hofmeyr’s—office in my pocket. That’s when I realised that I hadn’t locked his door because I’d been distracted. Thank God I didn’t bump into the thief on the way out! But I feel terrible about leaving the office open.”

  “Did you tell Mr Hofmeyr this?” Kubu asked.

  “No. But I suppose he’ll have to know. He’ll probably fire me.” He didn’t sound particularly concerned.

  “How long have you worked for Mr Hofmeyr?”

  “About six months. I really enjoy the job. A lot of responsibility.”

  Kubu nodded. “So we see. And you often stay late?”

  “Yes, I have a lot of important work.”

  “And sometimes you stay late with Mr Hofmeyr?”

  Jonny didn’t seem to like the question. “Sometimes,” he said cautiously.

  There was a rather uncomfortable pause. Then Kubu asked gently, “How much were you paid for what you took from Mr Hofmeyr’s desk?”

  Oddly, neither Mabaku nor Jonny looked particularly surprised.

  “I didn’t take anything! I’ve been open with you and tried to help. I don’t think you should make completely unsubstantiated allegations and accuse me like that.”

  Kubu wanted to ask this pretty young man with his carefully gym-toned body and feminine lilt how well he knew Mr Hofmeyr—whom he called Cecil—but he doubted if Mabaku would be happy with that question. So instead he asked, “Do you have a habit, Jonny? Need money in a hurry sometimes?”

  Even this was too much for Mabaku. “You don’t have to answer that,” he snapped. But then, after a few seconds, he added more thoughtfully, “It would be helpful if you did, though.”

  Jonny emphatically denied having a drug problem. They evidently had decided to pin the crime on him, he said, since they couldn’t be bothered to find the real culprit. He wanted a lawyer if he was to answer any further questions.

  “Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Kubu said. “I don’t think we need to ask you anything else at the moment, do we, Director?” Mabaku shook his head. Jonny got up and went out, carefully closing the door behind him to show that he was too well trained to give way to temptation and slam it.

  After a moment Kubu said, “They’re lying.”

  “Who?”

  “Both of them. Something much more important than a thousand pula was taken from Cecil’s desk. He was upset about the desk, but there’s something else. The thief has to be Jonny. I don’t buy his nonsense about hearing the window break and forgetting to lock the door. This is a modern, sound-insulated building, and the toilet window is on the other side of it, five floors down. He didn’t hear the window break; he broke it—on his way out, in case a security guard did hear the noise. He didn’t throw away this nice job, with its benefits on the side, for a lousy thousand pula.”

  Mabaku didn’t ask what he meant by ‘benefits on the side’, and for once he didn’t argue. His morning had not gone well, and his mood had soured. “I’ll go and chat to Cecil about it,” he said. “Why don’t you get a taxi back to the office? Start thinking about tracing all the sold-off BCMC vehicles.” Kubu didn’t argue. He had had quite enough of BCMC for one day.

  ∨ A Carrion Death ∧

  CHAPTER 28

  After Mabaku left, Cecil sat for several minutes glaring at the painting on the opposite wall—the one Kubu had thought to be of animals and flowers. It was actually a watercolour of stylised Bushman paintings. He felt like throwing his ornate paperweight at it, but restrained himself. It was, after all, a Battiss original and quite valuable. His anger was kindled by the desecration of his desk, but it was stoked by betrayal. He pressed the buzzer for his secretary. When Jonny came in, he told him to close the door and left him standing in front of the desk.

  “Who paid you to steal the letter?” he asked. His voice was calm but Jonny knew him well enough to be scared.

  “I don’t know what you mean. I know how much you love that desk, Cecil. I’d never—”

  “Don’t you dare lie to me. The police saw through you immediately. They know it had to be an inside job, and you are the obvious candidate. Did you really think you could get away with something so unutterably stupid?” He drummed his fingers on the desk, and his gaze went back to the painting. “You have a choice. You can cooperate with me, and I’ll protect you; or you can wait for the police to hunt you down. You’ll spend a few years in jail and the rest of your life on the street. Decide right now. I’ve wasted enough time on this already.”

  Jonny slumped into a chair. Having recently supported Kubu, it accepted Jonny’s slender frame without complaint.

  “Cecil, I’m really sorry. I mean it. It was Kobedi. He forced me to do it. I needed the money. I’m scared of him.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me?” But Cecil already knew the answer. Jonny had been Kobedi’s creature all along. There really is no fool like an old fool, he thought.

  “Never mind. Is it heroin?”

  Jonny looked down. “Kobedi said he’d wipe out the debts if I helped him, if I…um…” he hesitated and then ended with a euphemistic shrug, “worked for you.”

  “But he wanted more, didn’t he?”

  “Somehow he knew about the letter. He asked me if I knew where it was. I’d seen you read it and store it with the petty cash. Kobedi offered me a lot of money for it. Cecil, I needed that money badly last night.”

  “You are going to help me get that letter back. Then I’ll drop the charges. Get you admitted to a drug-abuse clinic. I’ll pay. It’ll look good to the police. After that you are on your own. I never want to see you again. Clear out your desk and go home and wait for me to call you there. Now get out of my office.”

  Cecil was still very angry, but there was a silver lining. For the first time he had something on Kobedi. He didn’t know how he would use it, or even if he could use it, but his gut feeling was that Kobedi had gone too far this time. He went back to his contemplation of the Battiss painting. But it only reminded him of his difficulties with the Bushman land claims. Suddenly he came to a decision. He lifted the phone and dialled an unlisted number. Kobedi answered almost at once. It was too early for him to have embarked on a tour of his favourite haunts.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Cecil Hofmeyr. I want that letter back. I want it back right now. Jonny will come over and get it. If that’s not convenient, I’ll send the police to get it instead. You’ve gone way over the line this time, Kobedi.”

  “Letter? Oh, that letter. Jonny said it might be worth something to me. He’s very anxious to please, isn’t he? Did he tell you about his little habit? All that extra money you gave him just wasn’t quite enough, was it? Especially as he had to share it with me; my finder’s fee, you might say.”

  “Listen, Kobedi, I’m not interested in the pimping you’re so proud of. That letter is a business matter. There’s nothing in it that embarrasses me, but it could be valuable to our competitors. If you don’t return it, I’ll have no hesitation in sending t
he police. The director of the CID—Mabaku—is a personal friend. Don’t think you can pull me down with you over this. You’ll be sitting in an uncomfortable cell for a long time, starting about half an hour from now. Mabaku is very concerned about Botswana’s investment climate. He’s had some good stock tips from me, which makes it a personal issue for him. He won’t be happy about industrial espionage at all.”

  “I must admit that the letter was rather a disappointment. All those geological goings-on at that mine, but nothing really juicy. But it does suggest everything’s not altogether right there, doesn’t it? I’m not sure you’d want all that read out in court—especially that last bit about stolen diamonds. I think the police might be here already if that was all there was to it. But I am your consultant, after all, so I’m concerned about your welfare first and foremost. I’ve proved that pretty convincingly once before, haven’t I?” He paused and gave a theatrical sigh. “But you are so behind in your payments. I tell you what, send over dear Jonny with my money—in cash—and you can have the letter back. That’s a very generous offer, because I already have a much better one, and I’d still be expecting my payment from you. We do want to stay friends, don’t we, Cecil?”

  Cecil thought about it. “Who’s the other offer from?” he asked, not doubting that it existed. Someone had commissioned Kobedi to get that letter through Jonny in the first place.

  “No, I’m sorry. It would be very unprofessional to answer that. You know how careful I am about business ethics.”

  Suddenly Cecil was tired of the whole sickening business. He really couldn’t afford any sort of fuss, with the big board meeting coming up. He promised himself that as soon as he had breathing space, he was going to get rid of Kobedi once and for all. Now he would back off.

  “All right. I’ll come myself. I’m not trusting Jonny with that sort of money.”

  “Excellent decision, Cecil. My other client will be very disappointed. But I suppose the break-in never really happened, did it? Turned out to be impossible. Perhaps you’ll want to keep the letter somewhere safer in future? My other client isn’t a very nice person. Can get quite violent, actually.”

  Suddenly Cecil realised how he might get even with Kobedi. He knew how to let Kobedi’s other client know that the break-in had in fact taken place. All he said before he hung up was “I’ll see you in about an hour. I’ll have to go to the bank in person.”

  Then he called in his personal assistant. He told her about the break-in and that he had fired Jonny, mentioning only that Jonny had forgotten to lock the office on his way out the night before. She looked surprised, but didn’t comment.

  “So I need a new secretary—you select one for me. I don’t seem to be too good at doing that myself, do I? Also, I wouldn’t mind this appearing in the newspapers—something about a rumour that personal papers and money were stolen from BCMC headquarters. No real details. We don’t want investors to panic, do we, Paulina? But it may help the police.” He didn’t expand on how it might help the police, nor did he mention that he knew Paulina was seeing a young man at the Daily News. He was smart; she was smart. Between them they would work out how he wanted the story to appear.

  “Another thing. Our security is a joke. Get some quotes on a complete alarm system for the whole building. I have to go out now for about an hour. Some private business. Cancel all my appointments. I’ll see you when I get back. Don’t worry about a driver, I’ll take a taxi.” Cecil was feeling much better. But he had completely forgotten about Jonny waiting for his call.

  ∨ A Carrion Death ∧

  CHAPTER 29

  It was half past eleven by the time Kubu returned to his office. Before opening a case file on the break-in, he stopped at Edison Banda’s desk.

  “Hello, Kubu.” Edison said. “I hear that you moved like lightning on that BCMC break-in this morning. What’s the story?”

  “It was just a coincidence. Mabaku and I were going to meet Cecil Hofmeyr about the Kamissa case. When we arrived, everyone was in a flap because Cecil had just found out that someone had broken into his desk and stolen some money. He was most upset by the fact that his precious desk was damaged. I suppose that makes sense, though.”

  Kubu pulled up a chair. “It was obviously an inside job pulled by his assistant. Do you know a Jonny Molefe, by any chance?”

  “Never heard of him,” answered Edison.

  “Anyway, Molefe pretended that it was an outside job, but it was obvious he’d done it. The strange thing is that he’s well paid, so why would he take such a risk for a few hundred pula? It just doesn’t make sense. He must have been after something else. But what? And why didn’t Cecil mention it? Unless it was something incriminating. I thought at first it might be a blackmail note from Molefe himself—my hunch is that Molefe and Cecil have more than a professional relationship. But why would Molefe steal back his own letter? Maybe someone saw them together and thought it a way to profit from Cecil’s wealth. Again, why would Molefe want to steal it? Makes no sense.” Kubu leant back in the chair—a plastic one whose back was deformed from his previous visits.

  “Perhaps Molefe was working for a competitor?” said Edison speculatively. “Maybe it had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with company secrets.”

  “Wouldn’t Cecil want the police to know about that? He wouldn’t need to reveal what was in it.” Kubu sucked on a ballpoint pen. “Unless it was an illegal transaction, or he was blackmailing someone. Then he wouldn’t want us to know.”

  “My guess is that Hofmeyr has been doing something under the table and got caught! That would make him want to keep it quiet,” Edison said.

  “Edison, could you do me a favour, please? Run a quick check on Molefe and see whether he has a record. I think I’ll have another talk with him. I’ll leave in fifteen minutes—as soon as I have the file opened on the case.”

  Jonny had cleared out his desk and gone home to wait for Cecil’s call. He wasn’t going to wait long, though. He had his money and would need a fix soon. Also the thought of the drug rehabilitation centre took away the guilt. He promised himself that he was going to be cured and would go straight after this. He had learnt his lesson and was lucky to have got away with a slap on the wrist. But until the centre cured him, he had no choice but to continue the habit. He could wait for an hour or two. Not much longer.

  Two hours later, he was starting to fidget. Then the buzzer sounded. With relief, he went to find out what he needed to do to get the promised absolution. But when he opened the door, it wasn’t Cecil. He was so surprised that it took him a few seconds to recognise the large, stern-looking black man in his doorway. It was Assistant Superintendent Bengu.

  “What do you want?”

  “The lady at your office told me you were at home. She didn’t expect you back in a hurry. I thought you could come down to police HQ and help us with our inquiries, as they say in the TV crime programmes.”

  “I can’t go anywhere. I’m waiting for Cecil—Mr Hofmeyr—to tell me what to do. He’ll sort out this matter. It’s nothing to do with me. It’s just a misunderstanding.”

  “Yes. But you see, I checked. Your record for possession of a banned substance, for example. I suppose you didn’t mention that in your job interview with Mr Hofmeyr, did you?”

  “He said he’d sort everything out. Drop the charges.”

  Kubu looked down at Jonny, trying to find it in his heart to feel sorry for him. “Well, it’s not quite that simple, you see. This is a criminal matter. My boss is very upset about it. You remember Director Mabaku? Very stern man. Very worried about his investments. Quite religious too. Do you read the Bible? Eye for an eye, and all that? He’s very strict about sexual preferences too. That won’t go down well with the judge either. I think you’d better come down to HQ.”

  Jonny backed into the doorway. “I’m waiting for Mr Hofmeyr.”

  Kubu sighed. “Look, perhaps we can sort this out here. Either come out, or let me in. I get irritable standing in do
orways.”

  Jonny hesitated, but then led Kubu into his apartment. Kubu looked at the worn, cheap, second-hand furniture and thought about Jonny’s good salary and probably generous benefits on the side. He still couldn’t feel sorry for him, but found himself angry with the people who had expensive furnishings paid for by Jonny’s addiction.

  “No eighteenth-century French chairs?” he asked as he settled himself on to a worn leather couch, which creaked insultingly under his weight. He regretted the jibe at once. We are not here to judge, he reminded himself.

  “Jonny, you’re in a lot of trouble. You waited until Mr Hofmeyr left last night, broke into his desk, took the money and the other things you wanted, and then broke the window on the way out to your car. I can’t prove that yet, but I will. I will talk to everyone at the company, work out all the timings, check all the prints, find whatever it was you used to break the window—you left your prints on that, didn’t you?—and find what you stole. Then you’ll go to jail for a long time. We take this sort of thing very seriously in Botswana. We don’t want the place to end up like South Africa, do we? And jail won’t be pleasant for you, will it? No dope. Plenty of not very savoury characters with dubious sexual appetites. Not very pleasant at all.” His stomach growled, and he added, “And the food will be terrible.” He shook his head as if genuinely appalled by all this.

  “Mr Hofmeyr said he’d help me. If I help him.”

  “Well that’s a coincidence, Jonny, because I’ll also help you if you help me. You see, I can get the charges dropped. But I want to know what’s going on, Jonny. I don’t like people with antique furniture playing games with me when I’m trying to do my job.”

  Jonny said nothing, but Kubu smiled encouragingly.

  “Good. Now what did you take from the drawer?”