A Carrion Death & The 2nd Death of Goodluck Tinubu

by Michael Stanley

  “Speaking of letters, what do you make of this?” He handed Bongani the torn sheet of paper. “Read it aloud.”

  Bongani did so. “…‘reputation among his colleagues in.’ Then the next line, ‘his approach which I think is’ and the next line, ‘at best. I can not trust him.’ And that ends a paragraph. The next three lines, ‘output from the mine. Because,’ ‘wrong about the big gemstones,’ and finally ‘diamonds are actually stolen.’ Then it’s formally signed ‘A K Frankental.’ What does it mean? Is it related to the murder?”

  “I don’t know what it means. But it seems that someone was killed to get it.”

  “The body we found?” Bongani asked.

  “I’m not sure about that body. But I found the letter on another body. That’s where I was bashed on the head. The curious thing is that the second body is also tied to BCMC. The letter was sent to BCMC by a geologist at a BCMC mine—that’s Frankental. Then it was stolen, and the person behind the theft was killed. I found this fragment under his body. I am beginning to think that the body you found may be Frankental’s. He’s missing.”

  “What does BCMC have to say about what was in the letter?”

  Kubu sighed. “Well, that is another mystery. The letter was stolen from Cecil Hofmeyr’s office. Hofmeyr reported that there had been a break-in, but that only petty cash was taken. He never mentioned the letter—in fact, denied that anything else was missing. However, his assistant admitted stealing the letter.”

  “I can see why you like your job! Is it always like this? Twists and turns and mysteries?” Bongani’s eyes sparkled as he imagined the challenge of being a detective. “I think I’d love your job.”

  Kubu pointedly rubbed his head, but smiled. “You’d be good at it! But your research is also rather like detective work, isn’t it?” Nodding toward the piece of letter Bongani was still holding, he added, “Anything your image-processing wizardry could do with that?”

  Bongani turned his attention back to the letter. “Why would anyone get so worked up about a copy of a letter?”

  “It’s the original. My boss left it with me because they’ve done all the tests.”

  “Kubu, this is a copy. A high-quality color copy, but still a copy. Look at the signature.” Bongani handed the letter to Kubu, who looked at its back. Sure enough, there was no trace of the impression that a ballpoint pen would have made. He had missed that.

  “Why would anyone get himself killed over a copy of a letter?”

  Bongani said, “Perhaps he was killed because it was a copy.” Kubu didn’t reply, but his mind was now on a new track. If Bongani was right, he thought he could guess who had the original.

  Chapter 36

  Mabaku wasted no time contacting Cecil at home. Cecil was reluctant to make a special trip to see Mabaku on a Saturday, but eventually agreed to meet him at BCMC at ten thirty.

  Mabaku had been deliberately evasive about the reason for the meeting, and he smiled as he put down the phone. He swiveled in his chair and looked out of the window at Kgale Hill, just behind the CID office complex. Not so long ago, he thought, this had been out in the country. Now it was a Gaborone suburb with shopping malls and fast-food outlets. All that remained of the past were the baboons that frequently swarmed over the buildings and parking lot. Soon someone would complain loudly enough, and they would be captured and moved, or shot for being a nuisance. You can’t stop progress, he mused, but wouldn’t it be nice if we managed it better?

  He remembered when his father had first brought him here. They spent half the day, it seemed, riding their bicycles to the hill in the dusty heat on treacherous soft sand. They both fell several times, laughing as they did. It was an adventure! At the foot of the hill, his father had pulled two Cokes from his tattered backpack. This was such a treat that it made no difference that they were lukewarm. He remembered that they had rested under an acacia tree, sipping. Then they climbed the hill, watched curiously and cautiously by troops of baboons, which barked in annoyance at the disturbance.

  When they reached the top, Mabaku had been astonished. He was convinced he could see the whole of Bechuanaland. The hills far to the south; Gaborone to the north and east; and endless plains to the west. What a huge country, he thought. And so beautiful! He swelled with pride. This was his country. It must be the best in the world.

  Mabaku was startled from his reverie by the William Tell Overture emanating from his mobile phone. Reluctantly, he reached for it, noting that the call was from his old office on the mall.

  “Mabaku!” he said abruptly, annoyed that his few moments of reminiscence had been interrupted. But the call was important. The body of a very large black man had been found in an alley in a seedy area of town. He had been shot in the side of the head, execution-style. Thinking of Kubu’s description of his attacker, Mabaku asked to be sent a photograph.

  He wondered what was going on. Several months of relative calm with just the usual break-ins and petty theft, and now suddenly three murders in not much more than a week!

  Mabaku deliberately arrived fifteen minutes late for his appointment with Cecil Hofmeyr. The security guard took him up to Cecil’s office.

  “Come in, Mabaku. Sit down. Tea or coffee? I had them send some up from the canteen.”

  “Tea, if possible. I am so sorry to have to disturb you on a Saturday, Cecil. Normally I wouldn’t dream of it, but this is serious.” Mabaku’s tone was conciliatory. Cecil poured some hot water into a cup and dropped a tea bag in.

  “No milk, I’m afraid,” he said. “I’ll let you take the bag out.”

  Cecil set the cup next to Mabaku and settled behind the desk. “Now, what’s this about a murder?” His normal authoritative tone returned.

  “Sometime yesterday evening a business associate of yours was shot dead in his house. Thembu Kobedi.”

  “Kobedi murdered?” Cecil said, showing only mild surprise and no regret. “I’ve had no dealings with him for some time. Several years, in fact.”

  “In addition,” Mabaku continued, “we are reasonably confident that the corpse found in the desert was a geologist from one of your mines—an Aron Frankental from the diamond mine at Maboane. Your mine manager, a Mr. Ferraz, I believe, phoned the police to report him missing. Frankental left the mine a day or two before the corpse was found. Nothing has been heard of him since, and he is the only white reported missing.”

  “Frankental dead?” Cecil fidgeted with a pen on his desk. “I know of him, but I’ve never met him. He’s just a geologist at the Maboane mine. Why would anyone murder a geologist?”

  “Even unimportant people get murdered,” Mabaku said dryly. “For one thing, there are a lot more of them. We are not certain it is Frankental, but we’ll probably find something in his room at the mine to use for DNA corroboration.”

  Cecil continued to spin his pen. “What has Kobedi’s death got to do with Frankental?” he asked cautiously. “I didn’t know that they knew each other.”

  “We were hoping you could answer that question. We found Frankental’s name on a scrap of paper at Kobedi’s house. You are a common link. One body, a former business associate; the other, an employee. What is the link, Cecil?” Mabaku leaned forward in his chair and stared at Cecil, who looked down at his pen, saying nothing. He shifted in his chair as though trying to get comfortable.

  “I employ thousands of people, and I have nothing to do with Kobedi anymore. I’ve no idea how they are connected, if they are.” Cecil lifted his eyes and tried to outstare Mabaku, who didn’t flinch. It was Cecil who looked down first. His breathing had become faster and shallower. He’s lying, Mabaku thought.

  “I’ve no idea how they are connected,” Cecil repeated, as though each word was a new sentence.

  “Cecil,” Mabaku said firmly. “Are you certain that you know of no link between Kobedi and Frankental?”

  “Of course I’m certain!” Cecil snapped. “I know what I know.” He glared at the CID director, but Mabaku seemed completely relaxed
.

  “You’re quite sure?”

  Cecil could sense a trap, but tried to brazen it out. “I’m sure!” he said.

  Mabaku was silent for what seemed like an eternity to Cecil. Then he looked up and said very quietly, “Mr. Hofmeyr, I need to have the truth from you. You know how much I admire you and BCMC, and I want to make sure nothing gets blown out of proportion.” He stopped for a moment, but when Cecil said nothing, he continued.

  “When I was here last, you told me that only some cash had been taken from the drawer during the break-in. However, your assistant, Jonny, told us that he had taken a letter. He had been paid to take the letter by one of your acquaintances—the same Thembu Kobedi who has just been murdered. Jonny also told us that he had admitted this to you. So you knew that Kobedi was behind the theft. We think he may have been blackmailing you, which gives you a motive. I want to know what was in that letter.”

  Mabaku watched the effect of his short speech. Suddenly Cecil was no longer the man in charge. He repeatedly ran his tongue over his lips and swallowed hard a few times, trying to get saliva into his mouth. He took a mouthful of his tepid tea. He stood up and walked over to the window, but there was no relief in the heat-dry sidewalks of Gaborone. At last he pulled himself together.

  “All right,” he said. His voice was strong, but Mabaku sensed he was fighting to keep it that way. “I didn’t tell you the whole truth when you came the day of the break-in. There was some cash taken, but also the letter Jonny mentioned. I’ve no idea how Kobedi knew about the letter or why he wanted it. It had nothing to do with him or anything he was interested in. I should have told you about it, but I was under a lot of stress. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” Cecil looked out of the window again. “The company has invested a lot of money in the Maboane mine, and I’ve been very nervous about whether we will get it back, let alone make money out of it. The manager, Jason Ferraz, is very optimistic, but I am not so sure. He has been pressuring me to invest a lot more to take it to the next stage.”

  “What has that got to do with the letter?” Mabaku asked, standing up.

  “The letter raised concerns about the mine. I didn’t tell you about it because it is very sensitive information. I couldn’t risk letting this information become public. That could have caused all sorts of problems. I could see our investment disappearing. I was holding the letter to confront Ferraz when the time came. I haven’t yet made a decision about investing more.”

  Cecil ran his hand through his hair. He turned and walked over to Mabaku. “I know it looks bad, Mabaku. But I had nothing to do with Kobedi’s death. Right after the letter disappeared, he phoned me and offered it back for five thousand pula. Like a fool, I agreed and went over to his house. I paid him off and took back the letter. He was very much alive and gloating when I left. You must believe me!”

  “I know he was alive when you left on Tuesday,” Mabaku said, “because he was murdered on Friday. Where were you on Friday afternoon?” Mabaku stared at Cecil.

  “At what time?”

  “Between two and five.”

  “I was at home! I needed my own space and took the day off. The servants can vouch for me.”

  “Were they with you all the time?”

  “No, I took a nap later on and sent them off.”

  Mabaku nodded but looked unconvinced. “What happened to the letter? I would like to have it, please.”

  “I destroyed it.” Cecil’s voice rose. “Can’t you see? It was causing all sorts of problems. When I got it back, I shredded it.” Cecil walked around his desk so that it was between him and the policeman. “It only dealt with the mine!”

  Mabaku leaned over the desk. He was angry. “Mr. Hofmeyr, I don’t believe you! I am going to give you one more chance. If I am not satisfied, I will be forced to take you to headquarters and officially question you there as a suspect in the murder of Thembu Kobedi. I’ve been giving you every chance to explain what happened, and all you have done is lie to me.”

  The fight seemed to go out of Cecil. He walked to a wall safe in one of the cupboards, opened it, and pulled out an envelope. He pushed it over toward Mabaku, who carefully held it by the corner and shook the contents onto the desk. There were three folded sheets of paper. No piece was torn out of any of them. Without saying a word, he sat down, lifted his briefcase onto his lap, and opened the lid. Keeping the lid between himself and Cecil, he took out a copy of the fragment Kubu had found and compared it to the letter. The fragment was identical to the bottom left quarter of the last page.

  “I wonder if one’s a copy,” he said to himself. Using his handkerchief, he turned the last page over and saw an indentation from the signature. He wondered whether the fragment he had left with Kubu had also been signed. He should have checked.

  He closed the briefcase and put it on the floor. He scanned the whole letter and said, “I don’t understand any of the geology. The last page seems to sum it up, though.” He read it aloud.

  In view of the above analysis of the geology, and Mr. Ferraz’s attitude, I feel I have to tell you about this yourself. I give my overall conclusions here.

  Mr. Ferraz does not take my ideas seriously. He does ignore my concern about the geology model at the mine. The current model is not right. So there may be better diamonds that we are missing. I believe a more careful geological study of the area is needed. The production is not correct with what should be produced according to my models and the selection of stones we are seeing from the mine.

  Also Mr. Ferraz has a not good reputation among his colleagues in the industry. I am worried about his approach which I think is unhonest at worst and unscientific at best. I can not trust him.

  I think we are not getting the true output from the mine. Because of above, I think something is very wrong about the big gemstones. Perhaps some of the best quality diamonds are actually stolen.

  Yours faithfully,

  A. K. FRANKENTAL, BSc

  SENIOR MINE GEOLOGIST

  Mabaku looked puzzled and reread the letter. He looked up at Cecil and asked, “Cecil, you need to tell me what is going on here. The letter is full of gobbledygook about rocks and geology. The only thing in this letter that looks sensitive is the suggestion about stolen diamonds. What’s all that about?”

  Cecil grimaced. “It’s complete nonsense! No one has stolen anything! Every stone that comes from the mine is accounted for.”

  “Of course, but could someone be stealing diamonds from the mine?”

  “We have the best security money can buy. And Jason himself is a shareholder, so you can bet he’s on top of everything. It’s all rubbish. I don’t know what this chap could be thinking.”

  Mabaku shook his head. “I don’t see anything in this letter that could possibly be regarded as ultra-sensitive, worth five thousand pula, or worth killing for. It raises a question about a manager, and that’s it. What am I missing? You’re sure that this is the same letter?”

  “Mabaku. I promise you that is the letter that was stolen by Kobedi and Jonny. It is the same letter that I got back from Kobedi on Thursday evening. It cost me five thousand pula to get it back!” Mabaku could sense Cecil’s desperation. He was starting to hyperventilate.

  “Look, Mabaku, we are old friends. You can’t believe I had anything to do with this murder! It was just a silly mistake about the letter. It’s critical that nothing of this gets out, especially now, right before a crucial board meeting.”

  Mabaku sat without saying a word, letter in hand, occasionally carefully turning it over as if to ensure there was nothing written on the back. He took a deep breath. He placed the fragment and the letter in his folder and shut the briefcase. He stood up.

  “What’s in this letter that could affect your board meeting?” he asked. “It’s nothing but speculation.”

  Cecil hesitated before answering. “You don’t understand, Mabaku,” he said. “Any red flag influences decisions, no matter how small. The letter would distract the board and possibly le
ad them in the wrong direction. We need their unqualified support of the mine expansion.”

  “And you would withhold information that may influence that decision?” Mabaku’s voice was tinged with disgust.

  “They don’t know the whole story. They trust me on this.”

  “Cecil. All you have done today is lie to me. I have always tried to help you because you and BCMC are important to Botswana, and I thought that we were friends. And this is what you do. Lie to me.” Mabaku’s voice was rising. He took a deep breath and said more evenly, “Cecil, I don’t know what is going on here, but believe me, I will find out. I don’t think you are a murderer, but there is something you are trying to hide. I’ll find that out too. For the moment this will be a matter between the two of us. I suggest you stay in town for a while and run your meeting. Make sure you let me know if you think about leaving Gaborone, let alone the country. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mabaku. Thank you.”

  With that, Mabaku nodded and stalked out of the office.

  Cecil was shaken to the core. His wealth, his company, his reputation, were teetering. “Fuck you, Kobedi!” he shouted. “This is all your fault. Rot in hell!” He looked down at his hand. It was shaking. It still held the pen. He snapped it in half and threw it at the Battiss. Then he held his face in his hands as he battled for some semblance of calm.

  After leaving the BCMC building, Mabaku drove the short distance to the hospital, stopping only to drop the letter off at Forensics. He felt rather pleased with himself. At least he was certain that Cecil knew nothing about Kobedi’s murder. Thank goodness for that.

  In less than ten minutes he was at the hospital.

  “I need to speak to David alone,” he said as he walked into Kubu’s room, directing his comments at Joy and Bongani. “Why don’t you come back after lunch if you want to continue your conversations?” Kubu sighed at Mabaku’s lack of civility. Mabaku must have sensed this because he added an abrupt, “Thank you!”