“What business is it of yours, friend? Who the hell are you anyway?”
Kubu pulled out his police identification and tossed it to Kobedi. “A fucking cop,” Kobedi said with exaggerated disgust. “Assistant Superintendent David Bengu! What the fuck do you want?” Kubu stared back with matching dislike.
“Well, I met a young man at BCMC this morning that you might know. Jonny Molefe. Someone you are slowly killing with drugs. Ring a bell?”
Kobedi tensed. He wondered how much Jonny had spilled.
“Can’t say it does,” Kobedi replied dismissively.
“Quite a well-placed young man. Access to important documents and such. You sure you don’t know him?”
Kobedi looked into his drink. So Jonny had fingered him as being behind the theft of the letter. Jonny’s good as dead, he thought. He decided not to respond.
“And you wouldn’t know anything about a letter that was stolen from BCMC headquarters last night either, I suppose?” the detective asked.
Kobedi shook his head and drained his drink. He was surprised that Cecil had mentioned the letter. He had gone to a lot of trouble to get it back. And locked himself still more firmly into Kobedi’s cage in the process.
“Have you finished your stupid fishing expedition?” he asked insultingly. “Anything else you’d like to know?”
“Well, I know you visited him last week,” the detective said. “I was wondering what you were selling. I know that animal husbandry isn’t your strong suit. Did the letter come up in that conversation? I can’t imagine you have anything else to talk about to a man like Cecil Hofmeyr. Different class of person, I’d say.”
Kobedi thought about Cecil. He had played the successful BCMC head like a minnow for all these years. Fool! Cecil’s second mistake. Pillow talk expressing a wish that Roland were out of the way! If Cecil only knew that the bars of his cage didn’t really exist! It was lucky that nobody had witnessed the accident. The brilliant idea of telling Cecil that he, Kobedi, had sabotaged the plane to get Roland out of Cecil’s ambitious path was a stroke of genius. He had milked Cecil for so long, so easily.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Kubu asked.
Kobedi’s mind snapped to the present.
“Piss off, fat man!” he snarled. “If you have something on me, contact my lawyer. Peter Vermeulen at Vermeulen, Siphile, and Botma. He’s the best. Otherwise, keep the fuck out of my business.” He stood up, lifting his side of the table so the detective’s glass slid onto his lap. He stalked through the swinging doors, leaving Kubu to muse about Kobedi’s strange reaction to the question about Cecil. And to mop his suit.
Chapter 31
The next morning, Mabaku summoned Kubu.
“I had a call from Cecil Hofmeyr yesterday afternoon,” he began, getting straight to the point. “Wants to drop all the charges. Seemed Jonny confessed to taking the money. He’s a drug addict, as you suspected. Cecil’s going to help him kick the habit. Quite decent of him, actually, I’d say.”
Kubu nodded. He knew all this was coming. “But Jonny took more than the money,” he said. “There was another item in that drawer.”
“Well, Cecil made it quite clear that he wants to put the matter behind him. Charges dropped, no publicity. Case closed.”
“The only thing is, Jonny sold the letter he stole to one Thembu Kobedi.” That got Mabaku’s eyebrows moving upward. “There’s got to be more to it than a junkie needing a quick fix.”
But Mabaku had already reverted to his previous expression. “Bengu, the case is closed. It is clear what Cecil Hofmeyr wants in this matter—clear to me, anyway. Drop it. And keep away from Kobedi. He has the contacts to cause trouble, if you understand me.” Since there was no response, he repeated, “You do understand me, don’t you, David?” The unaccustomed use of his first name made Kubu realize that he should not pursue the matter.
“I understand very clearly, Director,” he said. “I’d better get back to my other case.” Mabaku nodded; yet he didn’t look entirely satisfied.
When Kubu got back to his office, Edison waved to him from across the hall. “I picked up a call for you from the station in Molepolole. It’s about your hyena murder.” Kubu frowned. He didn’t like the nickname his case had acquired. He didn’t see anything amusing about a hyena eating a naked human corpse in the middle of the Kalahari.
“They saw your memo about the Kamissa body,” Edison went on. “Apparently they received a call a few days ago about a white mine worker going missing. They asked you to phone them back.”
Ten minutes later, Kubu had discovered that a Jason Ferraz from a diamond mine near Maboane had reported that one of his geologists had been missing for a week. Ferraz did not appear to be overly worried, according to the Molepolole constable, but had said that it was unusual for the geologist not to check in.
Kubu dialed the mine’s phone number and was quickly transferred to Ferraz’s office
“Is that Mr. Jason Ferraz?” Kubu asked.
“Yes, it is,” came the response.
“This is Assistant Superintendent Bengu speaking, from the Gaborone CID. Apparently you phoned the station at Molepolole to report one of your staff missing.”
“That’s right,” Ferraz replied. “Chap called Aron Frankental. Hasn’t been seen for a couple of weeks.”
Kubu’s ears pricked up. “Could you give me some details about this person?”
“He’s a geologist working here on the mine. Works for me, actually. Really bright chap. German with a first-rate academic background. We were lucky to get him, but, then again, there aren’t too many diamond mines in Germany! He’s just disappeared.”
Kubu was already confused. “Can we start from the beginning, please? Where actually is the mine?”
“It’s between the towns of Maboane and Ditshegwane. The nearest real town is Letlhakeng. We’re in the middle of nowhere. But that’s where the diamonds are.” Kubu realized that would be less than sixty miles from Dale’s Camp as the crow flies. On the other hand, few roads in Botswana had been designed with crows in mind. He’d have to check a map. It might be a long way as the Land Rover drives.
“And how long has Frankental been at the mine?”
“He’s been here for about eight months. We employed him when we decided to drop the De Beers joint venture and go it alone. This was his first real job.”
“Was he happy at the mine?”
“Seemed to love it. Real geologist’s geologist, if you know what I mean.” Kubu didn’t. “Really keen on the rock structures. He’s been doing great work with geophysics too. Could be responsible for a major upgrade of the mine’s diamond resources. We’re very excited about it.”
“So he was doing a really good job? You were pleased with his work? He would have had no reason to do a duck?”
“No, absolutely not. If the new kimberlites had worked out, we would have given him some shares.”
That made Kubu ask, “Who owns the mine now?”
“Well, I own a minority interest. The rest is basically BCMC.”
Kubu sat up at his desk. BCMC again. It kept coming up from nowhere. Of course, it was such a big deal in this part of Botswana that any step you took might trip over it.
“Have you checked his living quarters?”
“Superintendent Bengu, this is a small operation. He’s not in his bungalow.”
“No, I realize that. I was wondering if he had packed anything, if there were any signs of something unusual, at worst a body.”
“Oh, I see. I’m sorry. Yes, we did look inside, but there was nothing unusual. Of course we knew he’d be away because he was going off on a field trip. Some more geophysics work. And he wanted to visit a group of Bushmen he’d made friends with. So his vehicle is gone, and we expected him to be away for about a week, camping.”
“Was it a BCMC vehicle?” Kubu was starting to feel excited. And the Bushmen had come into the story again, and with another German. Could this all be coincidence?
“Does he go on these trips on his own?”
“Not always, but he did this time. He had a radio, though. But we didn’t get any word from him. He should have checked in from time to time, so we thought perhaps it had broken down.”
“Did you try to look for him?”
“Yes—once he was overdue, we got a plane to fly around over the area where he was supposed to be working. Nothing.”
“And the Bushmen?”
“No sign of them either. That was very strange. But they are a peaceful lot. They wouldn’t attack a friendly person like Aron. And they wouldn’t have any idea what to do with the vehicle and wouldn’t want it. That’s when we reported the matter to the police.”
“And when was that?”
“Three days ago. They seemed to think people disappear on unscheduled bush trips all the time, and that he will turn up in a week or so.”
“Well, that begins to seem a bit unlikely, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. I have to say it does,” Jason said quietly.
Kubu sighed, but felt that Aron’s connection with the Bushmen had to be checked out. That, at least, was a real lead, and more promising than the missing tourist.
“Mr. Ferraz, you’ve been very helpful. I think I’ll need to come down to the mine, interview the other staff, look around. Probably tomorrow. Will that be okay?”
“Of course, Superintendent. If you can get to Letlhakeng, we’ll send someone to pick you up.”
“That will be very helpful. I’ll contact you to confirm the arrangements.” Then a lateral thought struck him. “Do you have a beard, Mr. Ferraz?”
“Well, yes, I do. What a strange question. Why on earth do you ask that?”
“Oh, just curious. A lot of men do these days. Thank you again. Good-bye, Mr. Ferraz.”
For several minutes Kubu stared at his wall calendar. The March picture was a waterhole scene from the Chobe game reserve. Then he started making detailed notes on the conversation. He had only just finished when his phone buzzed again. This time it was Joy, reminding him not to be late for dinner because she was trying a soufflé recipe that she had discovered in a recipe book at Woolworth’s while chatting to friends in the checkout queue. This case must be getting to me, he thought, if Joy feels it’s necessary to remind me when it’s dinnertime.
Kubu then walked over to Edison Banda’s desk and gave him a rapid summary of what Ferraz had said.
“I’m going down to the mine tomorrow, Edison. Could you go to the airport about two hours before the Air Botswana flight to Johannesburg leaves? If Tannenbaum shows up, get his version of what happened at the Rucksack Resort. If he asks why you are interested, tell him that Staal is missing, and a corpse has been found with no identification. Watch his reaction. I’ll be back tomorrow evening. I’ll phone you when I get back. Thanks. Oh, yes. Don’t forget to get Tannenbaum’s contact details in Germany.”
Kubu walked back to his desk and packed his briefcase. “Good night, Edison,” he said as he walked out, wondering what would be appropriate to drink with a soufflé.
Chapter 32
Kubu left at 6:00 a.m. so that he was ahead of the worst of the traffic and could enjoy Carmen. He didn’t know the opera well, but liked its compelling gypsy rhythms. It was only when Escamillo launched into the rousing Toreador song that Kubu unleashed his enthusiastic support, which he repeated several times to help pass the time.
The driver from the mine met him at Letlhakeng just after 8:00 a.m. His vehicle was a vintage Land Rover whose shock absorbers had given up their battle with the corrugated roads. It was nearly twenty-five miles to the mine on a bad sand track, and Kubu was tired when they got there. He didn’t have much hope of decent food or drink and was not pleasantly surprised. Still, the drinks were cold. Jason turned out to be a pleasant host and, indeed, had a heavy black beard. Kubu guessed that he might be Dianna Hofmeyr’s nocturnal visitor. That would interest Joy and Edison.
Before lunch Jason took him up to the mine and gave him the tour, even taking him into the diamond sorting room. However, he stayed as close to Kubu as his shadow. After that, Jason pointed out the processing plant and the large dump, which received the crushed and separated rock, robbed of its value. Jason said it grew at nearly a foot a day, all around. Kubu tried to look impressed, but he regarded mines as necessary evils at best. Perhaps noticing this, Jason added that when the mine was closed, the dump would be bulldozed back into the open pit as part of the rehabilitation program. They didn’t go into the mine itself.
“Jason, is it possible there was an accident down there?” Kubu asked. “Could Aron have been caught in a rock slide or a collapse of the pit wall, something like that?” Jason shook his head. “No, we know exactly who is in the mine at any time. It’s partly for safety reasons and partly for security. Diamonds are valuable, Superintendent. And every event is recorded. Nothing like that happened the day Aron left.”
Back at the living quarters, Kubu spent time poking around in Aron’s bungalow. Everything was neat and tidy. It looked as though a good bachelor housekeeper had cleaned and tidied up and then gone to work, expecting to be back shortly. Kubu discovered a couple of bottles of beer in the freezer which had frozen and burst. Apart from that, nothing seemed amiss. He questioned all the staff and several of the shift bosses. They all knew Aron, of course, and said nothing negative about him. But he had no real friends. A bit of a loner, he enjoyed his work, reading—textbooks on geology as often as not, or Laurence van der Post novels—and learning about the local Bushman group, which he had visited quite often.
Several people had seen him the day before his trip, and he appeared to be in his usual private good spirits. No one had seen him leave, but such trips usually started early to avoid the heat of the day. The canteen staff remembered that he had collected some extra provisions but that he hadn’t told them anything about where or when he was going.
The last person Kubu spoke to was Shirley Devlin, one of the administration people. She had nothing to add to what he had heard from everyone else. But something seemed to be bothering her. At last he asked, “Miss Devlin, is there anything else you can remember? Anything strange or unusual that took place? Anything at all that you’d like to tell me?”
She hesitated for a moment and then said, “Well, Superintendent, there was one odd thing. It didn’t happen that day, but about a month before. Aron came to see me and insisted on checking all the Kimberley Process documentation against the mine returns for the previous three months. It took us hours.” She hesitated again, and Kubu nodded encouragingly. “Well, he said it was a new requirement. I wanted to check with Jason, but he was away. Anyway, we did it. But when I asked Jason about it afterward, he knew nothing about any new regulations or requirements and said that anything like that would have come to him in any case. I didn’t say anything more about it, but it bothered me, you know?”
“Was there anything wrong with the records?”
“Oh, no. Everything balanced perfectly. Aron seemed quite pleased. We had a drink on it that evening. Superintendent, do you think something really bad has happened to him?”
Kubu realized that other than Jason, she was the only person who seemed genuinely concerned. All the others had decided that Aron had taken himself off. The vehicle would be found at the airport, and Aron would be safely home in Germany. Kubu reminded himself to get the vehicle registration number and alert the airport police. He took his leave of Miss Devlin and headed back to the canteen to meet Jason. It seemed that Aron had prepared for a trip, set off early one morning with his equipment, and vanished into the desert. Did he reappear two weeks later as a naked, unidentifiable corpse under a thorn tree on a dry riverbed near Dale’s Camp? What had happened in those missing two weeks, and why had it happened?
Jason had a cold beer ready for him, and Kubu warmed to the geologist at the same
rate as the beer cooled him. Kubu told Jason what little he had learned, but didn’t mention the postscript from Shirley Devlin. Jason nodded. He had been through a similar exercise himself, he said. Then, taking a long shot, Kubu said, “Do you know if Aron had any bad accidents before he came here? It probably would have been several years ago. Broken arms?”
Jason shook his head. “We check that our people are fit, of course, before they’re employed. But we don’t ask for detailed medical records. Perhaps his parents would know. Why do you ask?”
Kubu ignored the question and asked, “Have you contacted them at all? His parents?”
“No. I was hoping that he’d just turn up somewhere.”
“Well, maybe he’ll turn up with them. Frankly, he seemed to be a bit lonely here. Maybe out there in the desert, he just decided to go home.”
Jason shook his head again and poured each of them a second beer. “You didn’t know him, Superintendent. I don’t think you’ll find him back in Germany. I’m afraid you’ve found him already.”
They sat in silence for several minutes, sucking their beers. Then to break the mood, and just for the hell of it, Kubu asked, “Did Aron have a beard?” While Jason looked at him quizzically, considering the relevance of this, Kubu realized that he’d referred to Aron in the past tense.
It was late when Kubu drove up his driveway. Ilia was delighted to see him and shared her excitement loudly with the neighborhood. After a shower and a cold drink, Kubu sat down and phoned Edison at home.
“You’re going to be disappointed,” Edison said. “Tannenbaum showed up ninety minutes before the flight and showed no concern at my questions. He was obviously curious why he was being interviewed by the police and showed more concern than fear when I told him about the body. He said he didn’t think it could be Staal’s body because Staal had gone off with a girl at Khutse. If Staal was missing, the girl would have reported it. I think this is a dead end.”
“Certainly sounds like it,” Kubu responded. “It was a long shot from the beginning. Still, I would appreciate it if you could resolve this by checking up on Staal at the airport on Saturday. He is on the same flight, I think.”
A Carrion Death & The 2nd Death of Goodluck Tinubu Page 17