“Not to mention the king-size bed and mirrors on the walls and ceiling!” Kubu interjected.
“Ah! You noticed,” said Edison with a slight smile. “But you don’t know the half of it!” He paused, ostensibly to sip his tea, but really to make Kubu impatient. He put his teacup down and had another nibble of his biscuit. Kubu didn’t rise to the bait.
“What you saw was more than a bedroom. It was also a production studio. Behind one of the wall mirrors and above the ceiling mirror were video cameras.” Kubu sat upright in his bed. “They could be controlled by a remote next to the bed,” Edison continued. “One of the other mirrors was a door to what must be an editing room, with some fancy electronic equipment and a big screen hooked to an Apple computer.”
“Apples are good for editing video,” Kubu commented. “Go on. This is fascinating.”
“There was also a VCR and a TV—” Edison continued.
“For making sure his blackmail tapes were what he wanted, I’d bet,” Kubu interrupted. “It has to be that!”
“Right as usual! We found only one tape. It was in the VCR. The cameras were empty, unfortunately. For a moment I thought Kobedi might have videoed his own murder. You’ll never guess who was on the tape!” Edison paused and looked expectantly at Kubu.
Kubu was about to answer when Mabaku strode into the ward. “Three murders, and two of my detectives are having tea and discussing cricket or some other nonsense.” He pulled up a chair. “I assume you’ve filled him in on what you found at the house,” he said, looking at Edison.
“Yes, Director. He was about to guess who the star of the videotape was.”
“Now that I am here, Kubu, you can take me off your list of guesses!”
“Director Mabaku,” Kubu said politely, “I would never dream of making fun of you.” As Mabaku scowled, Kubu continued, “I was actually going to guess that it was a government official of some sort. Not too high up, but with enough influence to be of help to Kobedi.” This was not actually Kubu’s first guess, but he was not going to share his real thoughts just yet.
Mabaku scowled at Edison. “You’ve already told him!”
“No, Director. I was just about to, but I hadn’t said anything yet. You have to admit, Kubu sometimes is brilliant!” He smiled at Kubu. “Yes, it was a high-up official involved with mining leases. The video was taken recently, judging by the date on the tape, although that could have been added later. We were wondering whether it might have been something to do with Kobedi’s interest in the diamond mine.”
“Possibly,” Kubu growled. “Kobedi never did anything just for pleasure.” He paused, then continued, “He must have plenty of other tapes stashed away somewhere. They’ll be interesting to see.” Another pause. “Edison, can you get hold of Kobedi’s bank records? Check all banks, and also see whether he ever wired money overseas. I suspect we will find quite a few big deposits over the past few years. We may be able to trace them and get some idea who he was blackmailing. That will generate plenty of suspects. Professional blackmailers have a lot of enemies.”
Kubu felt his headache returning. Before ringing for more medication, he outlined his plan for Monday’s visit to the mine and resisted Mabaku’s suggestion to send someone else. With luck, in a few hours he would be out of this infernal room and back on the job. There was no way he was going to sit on the sidelines.
∨ A Carrion Death ∧
CHAPTER 38
Kubu was eventually released from hospital just after lunch. Joy drove him home despite his protestations that he could handle the car safely. “You are not driving home! That’s that!” she said without fear of contradiction. Kubu dared not resist.
At four p.m., Kubu couldn’t stand it any longer. Sitting at home was driving him crazy. He told Joy that he had to stop in at the office for an hour or so, but would be back in time for a sundowner. This time, Joy did not protest. She couldn’t take his complaining any more.
“Don’t be later than six,” she said. “It will be getting dark about then.”
The office was unusually busy for a Sunday. There had been a number of apparently related break-ins the night before. But after an hour, Kubu was not happy. His head, still wrapped in a heavy bandage, hurt. He had snapped at Edison over something silly, but Edison had taken it in good part and remarked that Kubu would be “a bear with a sore head, except that he’s a hippo!” The witticism had gone down well with the rest of the staff, who kept chuckling and referring to Kubu as the hippo with the sore head. This palled for Kubu very quickly.
Adding to his bad mood was his dissatisfaction with Mabaku’s report on his meeting with Cecil. If Cecil had lied about the letter the first time, ostensibly to protect the company’s image and a potential investment, it would be easy for him to lie again. Kubu couldn’t understand how Mabaku could be convinced that Cecil was not involved. He wouldn’t want to spoil his golf outings, Kubu thought uncharitably, and snorted. “Well, we won’t find out by asking my attacker,” he mused. “How convenient for him to turn up dead.”
His thoughts turned to Aron. The geologist had written to the head of BCMC about his boss in highly critical terms. Now, it seemed, he was a hyena-chewed corpse in the police morgue. Yet neither Cecil Hofmeyr nor Jason Ferraz seemed particularly concerned that he was missing.
“Edison!” Kubu shouted, his bad mood showing. “Edison. Tomorrow, please contact the German embassy and see whether you can get an address for Frankental in Germany. See if you can find his parents or some other relatives. Phone them and ask them when they last saw or spoke to him.”
Kubu’s bad mood grew with the thought of another long, hot trip to the mine. The Forensics people hadn’t been there yet. No real effort had been made to find Aron’s vehicle. Everything sensible seems to stop when I’m not here, he thought sourly. But that gave him an idea. It was time for a thorough search for Aron’s vehicle, and for the Bushman group who knew Aron. He picked up the phone.
Fifteen minutes later, he was pleased with himself. Both his headache and his mood had lifted. He had persuaded the Botswana Defence Force to supply a light plane and pilot for a search of the area surrounding the mine. Best of all, it would give him and Zanele Dlamini, the Forensics lady, a lift out to the mine first thing in the morning. He would sit next to the pilot and watch the minivan taxis, chickens, pigs and donkeys fighting it out on the congested roads below. After that he would see the dirt tracks snaking through the bush, pristine and dust-free, undisturbed by the bumping and shaking of his Land Rover. He wondered if he could arrange a cold steelworks in a flask for the flight.
∨ A Carrion Death ∧
CHAPTER 39
The next day was hot, the air turbulent, and the flight bumpy. When they came in to land at the dirt strip at Maboane mine, Kubu had had enough. His equanimity was further disturbed by a group of nervous springbok at the side of the airstrip that the pilot appeared to ignore. To top it off, they landed hard on the rough bush strip. When the plane bounced to a stop at the end of the runway, Kubu was happy to open the passenger door and climb out. They had buzzed the mine on the way in, so he was sure someone would come out to the strip to investigate. He had deliberately not warned the mine personnel they were to receive another visit from the police.
Kubu retrieved his briefcase from the small luggage compartment, while the pilot helped Zanele take out her extensive forensic equipment. Then he and his spotter got ready for their real business of searching the surrounding bush from the air.
“We’ll be back at three p.m.,” he told the detective. “I’ll have to refuel once at Molops Air Force base during the day. That’ll give us enough fuel to get back to Gabs by five.” Kubu nodded absently. His mind was already on the situation at the mine.
Kubu and Zanele carried their gear to the side of the airstrip and waited. The plane turned and taxied back down the strip to take off. The draught of its propellers added a generous measure of choking dust to the already hot and stuffy air. Then with a roar it too
k off and climbed into the sky. As its sound faded, they heard a vehicle approaching from the mine. Kubu wasn’t surprised to see that Jason had come himself.
“Superintendent Bengu! You should have let us know you were coming. We’d have had someone here to meet you.” But the tone belied the welcome of the words.
“It’s been a bit hectic recently. May I introduce Zanele Dlamini? She’s one of our forensic specialists.” Jason greeted her warmly. All his charm returned. But then Zanele is gorgeous, thought Kubu, with the abstract appreciation of the happily married man.
“I want her to go through Aron’s room with the scientific equivalent of a fine-toothed comb. Has it been locked up since I was here?”
Jason nodded, but added, “Of course, it was cleaned before your first visit. The rooms are all serviced. And Aron was a stickler for tidiness and cleanliness. German, I suppose. So I doubt there’s much to find.”
“Probably not, but I don’t want to miss anything,” Kubu replied.
“Well, anyway, let’s get out of the heat.” No one had any difficulty with that suggestion.
Zanele began working in Aron’s spartan bungalow. She started by replacing the filter in the air conditioner—taking the old one for later analysis—and then persuaded the tired machine to bring the temperature down to a sensible level. Kubu remembered that the room had been tidy. Now he noticed that it was also clean except for a fine patina of dust from the last few days. Well, we’ll see about that, he thought. Zanele may look like a model, but she’s damn good at seeing the invisible.
The men went to Jason’s office. Kubu accepted some coffee and got straight to the point.
“Mr Ferraz, did you know that Aron sent a letter to Cecil Hofmeyr, the chairman of BCMC?”
Jason looked surprised. “Of course I know who Cecil Hofmeyr is. A letter? What sort of letter?”
“It was a letter about operations here at the mine. Aron was critical of a number of matters—in particular, of your management.”
Jason shrugged. “You don’t know geologists, do you, Superintendent? They are a very stubborn lot. Get their own ideas, and it’s pretty hard to change them. I respected Aron’s, but I’m the manager here. And I’m also a geologist. Eventually my stubborn ideas trump his stubborn ideas. Maybe Aron didn’t agree with me, but we worked well together. I’m surprised he complained about me to Mr Hofmeyr.”
“He also wrote in the letter that he was concerned about theft. That the best diamonds weren’t always making it out of the mine.”
“Yes, he raised that with me too. But it’s crazy. We have very tight security here. All diamond mines do. Everything’s accounted for.” He sighed. “Look, Superintendent, I’m a twenty-five per cent shareholder here. Don’t you think I’d be the first to be worried if I thought that I was being robbed?”
“Then you won’t mind if one of our diamond security branch people comes in to take a look?”
“By all means. I’d appreciate the input. Maybe he’ll find a secret tunnel from the sorting room.” Kubu had to admit that if Jason was up to something, then either the trail was cold, or Jason was a very good actor. He looked bored, not scared. Kubu tried another tack.
“The letter implied that Aron had scientific notebooks detailing his theories. Do you know where they might be?”
Again Jason shrugged. “Perhaps in his bungalow. Perhaps he took them with him.”
Kubu didn’t answer for a few moments. Then he said, “Someone was killed for that letter, Mr Ferraz. And I got in the way.” He indicated his bandaged head. “Why would someone want that letter so badly that he would kill for it and attack a policeman too?”
Kubu was pleased that Jason at last looked shaken. “Killed? Who was killed?”
“A rather unpleasant character by the name of Thembu Kobedi. An acquaintance of Cecil Hofmeyr, we believe. We think he stole the letter, and somebody wanted it badly enough to kill him for it. But the police have the letter now.”
“Do you have it with you? How did you get it?”
Kubu shook his head. He had a copy, but had no intention of showing it to Jason. “Perhaps I can arrange for a copy to be faxed to you,” he said. “These are very nasty people, Mr Ferraz. The person who we believe killed Kobedi and assaulted me is also dead. He was found in an alley in Gaborone with a bullet through his head. I’m a bit concerned about your safety, to be frank.” Kubu tried to look worried.
“What did the man look like? Kobedi’s murderer?”
What an odd question, Kubu thought, for someone who has no idea what this is about. “A huge black man. Looked like an advert for steroids. We don’t know who he is yet, but we’ll find out.” Jason looked shocked. Well, well, thought Kubu, perhaps he’s seen this man or even knows him? He dug in his briefcase and produced the picture of his massive assailant safely stretched out on a trolley in the police morgue. He tossed the picture to Jason. “Recognise him?”
Jason picked up the photo and stared at it for about half a minute. “No,” he said quickly. “No, of course not.”
“I didn’t think so,” said Kubu, satisfied that he did.
Just then Shirley Devlin came in to announce lunch. “You know what I think?” Kubu asked Jason rhetorically. “I think there is something big going on. And the people behind it are quite nasty, and they don’t like loose ends. I really wouldn’t want to be one of their loose ends.” He shook his head in theatrical sympathy with these endangered loose ends. Then he brightened. “Shall we go in to lunch? We left early, and breakfast was rather curtailed.” He chuckled. “No mopane worms, I hope?”
After lunch Kubu went back to Aron’s bungalow with Zanele. Jason returned to his office and from memory punched a number on his mobile phone.
“Sin?” answered the voice with the Portuguese accent. “What you want? Why you phone me?”
“Did you kill Kobedi? Did you get the letter? What happened to Sculo?”
There was a moment’s silence, then Red Beard switched to Portuguese. “Look, Ferraz, you take care of your business, I take care of mine. No need to know the answers to those questions. You do your part and everything’s fine. Anyone ask you about these things, you act surprised. You are surprised. See? I’m just sorting out loose ends, that’s all.”
Red Beard had no idea of the effect of that inauspicious phrase on Jason. Jason was shaking. He broke the connection at once. I’m an accessory to these murders, he thought. Red Beard is way out of control. And Bengu knows something. Somehow he knows.
Pulling out the week’s production figures so that he could pretend to be working if anyone came in, he tried to concentrate. But it was several seconds before he realised that the pages were upside down. He threw them on the table and looked at his watch. It was nearly four o’clock. He might as well go to his bungalow and pack. He needed an early start in the morning.
When the plane returned and buzzed the complex, Jacob Dingake drove them out to the airstrip. Jason bade them a cursory farewell, and even the gorgeous Zanele was dismissed with a curt handshake. Jason said that the lunch hadn’t agreed with him. Kubu expressed surprise. He had found it very good.
The pilot was keen to be off, so Kubu waited until they were airborne before he asked about the aerial search. The pilot shrugged. “Nothing like the vehicle Frankental was supposed to have. We did find a group of Bushmen, though. About twenty kilometres north of the mine.”
“Can we land there and talk to them?”
The pilot shook his head. “It’s quite flat, but I don’t want to make any bush landings if it’s not an emergency. And I need fuel.”
“Can I get there by road?” Kubu asked, his heart sinking.
“No. They’ve got themselves out in the middle of nowhere. Why don’t you get a military chopper? That’s the tool for this job.”
Kubu nodded. He liked that idea. He settled back to enjoy the flight home.
Mabaku, however, was not impressed. “Should we perhaps get Air Botswana to assist in this case too, Bengu?”
he asked sarcastically. “You seem to have commandeered every other aircraft available.”
Kubu sighed. “Director, there’s little doubt in my mind that Frankental is the victim. We need to know how he was killed and why. And our best chance of doing that is to find where he went—or was taken—when he left the mine.”
“So you think the murderer left the vehicle conveniently in the middle of the desert for us to find? Presumably with his fingerprints and a forwarding address inside, since he’s being so cooperative?” But Mabaku realised that he couldn’t fault what Kubu had done. “Well, where do the Bushmen come in?”
“Aron was friendly with a group of them. They appear to be his only friends, apart from the Devlin woman at the mine. He was obviously quite lonely. Maybe the Bushman group saw him after he left the mine.”
“Well, go ahead. This better lead somewhere, though, because we will have blown the year’s budget on this case. Anything else that needs to be solved, you’ll have to do on foot for the rest of the year!” He turned his attention to the papers on his desk.
But as Kubu got up to leave, Mabaku looked up again. “How’s the head, Kubu? Still a hippo with a sore one?” Kubu just smiled and said it was fine.
Back in his office, he arranged for the next morning’s trip.
∨ A Carrion Death ∧
CHAPTER 40
They found the Bushman group easily. They had established a camp near a dry watercourse with some shade supplied by acacia trees. The chopper circled a couple of times and then landed a short distance away so as not to startle the people or cover their simple dwellings with dust. By the time the chopper blades had slowed to a floppy whirl, several of the Bushmen were standing around waiting. Kubu heaved himself to the ground, followed by his interpreter, and finally by the pilot. The Bushmen did not look particularly friendly.
Detective Kubu 01; A Carrion Death Page 20