A Carrion Death & The 2nd Death of Goodluck Tinubu

by Michael Stanley

  Mabaku sat down and related what had happened in his interview with Cecil. He emphasized that he was sure that Cecil knew nothing about Kobedi’s murder. He also thought Cecil knew nothing about Frankental’s disappearance. However, he still didn’t understand why Cecil had lied and not told them about the letter in the first place, since it seemed relatively innocuous. He handed Kubu a copy of the letter.

  “This is a copy I made before I left the original at Forensics,” he said. “I think yours may be a copy too.”

  “You’re right,” Kubu replied. “Bongani pointed that out to me. It is a very good copy. We should check if there are any color-copy places near Kobedi’s house.” Kubu took a minute to read the letter.

  “This makes no sense at all, Director. There is nothing in here that warrants Hofmeyr’s lies. Aron seems very anti-Jason and accuses him of all sorts of things, but there is nothing here that warrants murder. I’m not sure Hofmeyr is being honest, even now.”

  “Cecil says that if the board saw the letter, they might not fund the expansion that he wants. That doesn’t sound like honest management to me. My guess is that he has his own money in the mine too.”

  Kubu shook his head gingerly. “There has to be something else going on.”

  “David,” Mabaku said sharply. “I am sure that Cecil Hofmeyr wasn’t involved with the murder. He wasn’t shocked when I told him about Kobedi’s death, but I believed him when he said he knew nothing about it. Call it intuition, if you like. He isn’t the murdering type. He also said he’d never spoken to Frankental directly. I have to admit that the letter is a mystery, but I am sure Hofmeyr knows nothing about the murder.”

  “Did you tell him that Frankental is missing?” Kubu asked, feeling his headache returning.

  “Yes. I told him that we thought the corpse at the waterhole was Frankental. I think that helped eventually, because he must have thought we didn’t know who wrote the letter. That is why he lied about it. He must’ve been scared we would believe he was linked to both murders. I think that’s what made him go over the edge. I don’t think he knew Frankental was missing.”

  The two men were quiet for some time. Then Mabaku said, “Of course, if Ferraz is stealing diamonds, and Frankental found out, that would be a motive for getting rid of Frankental. Then the letter would be incriminating. I think we need to speak to Ferraz again. Why don’t you arrange that as soon as you get out of here?”

  “I’ll arrange it for Monday, Mr. Director. I know I will be fine then.” Kubu felt a surge of excitement. His headache disappeared. He started to plan his visit.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Mabaku. “Did you get the photo I sent you?”

  “I got nothing. A photo of what?” Kubu asked, now curious.

  “Maybe it is at reception,” Mabaku said. “I’ll go and check.”

  A few minutes later, Mabaku returned. “Idiots! You were sleeping, and they thought they shouldn’t disturb you.” He handed Kubu the photo of the latest victim. “Recognize him?”

  Kubu was startled. “Where did you get this, Director? I think this is the man who knocked me out.”

  “He was found this morning in an alley. Shot in the side of the head. Point-blank. An execution, I think.”

  Kubu lay back on his pillows. What was going on? Bodies everywhere, but no motive. No reasons. No real clues. He frowned and pressed his call button for more medication. He needed to get out of the hospital. So much to do.

  “There is no way you are leaving the hospital until the doctors say you are okay,” Mabaku said sharply, reading Kubu’s mind. “Tomorrow afternoon at the earliest! Maybe only Monday.”

  Kubu opened his mouth to object, but shut it quickly when he saw Mabaku’s scowl. “Yes, Director,” he said meekly.

  At that moment, Mabaku’s briefcase started playing William Tell. Mabaku scrabbled for his phone. “Yes, Banda?” He listened for a minute. “Thank you. Good work. Leave your report on my desk.”

  Mabaku turned back to Kubu. “That was Edison. One lead is dead. The Dutchman showed up for his flight.” Mabaku stood up, again told Kubu not to leave the hospital until doctors said he could, and left.

  For the rest of Saturday, Kubu was like a caged lion. Every fiber in his body wanted to be out working on the case. He’d done enough thinking. He needed action. Even periodic telephone calls from Edison had failed to mollify his frustration. Nobody seemed to be making any progress. Even Joy was unable to calm him down. Eventually she gave up and told him that she was going to have dinner with Pleasant.

  Chapter 37

  Contrary to his expectation, Kubu slept well, with only occasional discomfort. When wakened early on Sunday morning for his tea, he realized that the night nurse must have slipped him a sleeping pill as a defense against his bad mood. He was thankful that she had. Still, he had another eight hours to wait before he even had a chance of leaving. The doctor had promised to visit after lunch.

  Joy looked in early and brought the Sunday newspaper and some fat cakes that she had bought from a street vendor on the way to the hospital. She was on her way to see his parents, but promised she would be back in case the doctor discharged him. She knows me too well, he thought. She knows I will be impossible to be with today.

  As soon as she had left, Kubu opened the newspaper and found the coverage of the two murders. It was sparse, but surprisingly accurate. The report recapped details of Kobedi’s death and reported that the police believed that his murderer might himself have been murdered—assassinated was the word they used. There was a picture of the big, black face, with a caption asking anyone who recognized him, or who had seen him, to contact the police. Kubu thought that the assassin must have used a .22-caliber pistol, or something similar, because the bullets had not blown away the face. A weapon that was easily concealed and less noisy, Kubu thought.

  There was a brief mention of Kubu being assaulted at the scene of Kobedi’s murder. “Assistant Superintendent Bengu is recovering in the Princess Marina Hospital and is expected to be released on Monday.” Kubu snorted. “Monday, my foot!” he said out aloud.

  The rest of the paper had little of interest. Kubu’s mind was elsewhere. However, he did notice a short article discussing BCMC and the fact that the board would meet on Thursday. There was speculation that Angus Hofmeyr, the son of the founder Roland Hofmeyr, would assume control of the company now that he had inherited a controlling share.

  Kubu’s interest picked up when he turned to the sports section to see whether South Africa had beaten Australia in the third cricket test match at Newlands in Cape Town. Like most fans, he ardently hoped that the Aussies would be walloped; there was natural support for fellow Africans. He was pleased to see that the Proteas were in a strong position going into the final two days.

  While he was reading the details of the match, Edison Banda walked in with a folder in his hand. “Morning, Kubu. How are you doing?”

  “I’m in terrible shape, Edison,” Kubu replied. “I’ve been fine since yesterday morning, but they won’t let me out of here. The doctor is only showing up after lunch—hopefully lunch today! There’s so much to do. I can sense we’re about to break these cases wide open, but I’m useless stuck here.”

  Edison waited for Kubu’s rant to end. “I have something that will take your mind off your misery,” he said, handing the folder to Kubu. “This is the report from Kobedi’s house. He was quite a boy, Kobedi was.”

  Kubu put the folder on his bedside table. “Tell me about it.”

  Edison sat down and started his tale.

  “After the pathologist had left, and the photographers and Forensics had finished their work in Kobedi’s bedroom, we went through the house with a fine-toothed comb. We could find no sign of a forced entry, so it’s possible Kobedi was expecting his murderer, or at least knew him. This is supported by the fact there were two half-empty glasses of Scotch in what seems to be a study. One had Kobedi’s prints on it, and the other had the prints of the guy we found dead on
the mall. So you were probably right; he was the person who knocked you out. Certainly it seems that way. We didn’t find any money on either Kobedi or your assailant, but we haven’t had a chance to go through a safe we found. We’ll get into that on Monday morning. Our locksmith can’t open it—it’s a German safe. We’ve contacted the agents in Johannesburg to help us. They’re sending someone down in the morning.”

  A nurse’s aid pushed a tea trolley into the room. Both Kubu and Edison took a cup and a few biscuits.

  “We also couldn’t find any other pieces of the letter you saw,” Edison continued after a few sips of his tea. “Our only guess at the moment is that your assailant took them. Maybe the person who shot him then took them from him. Kobedi could have used one of two copy shops. They are shut for the weekend, so tomorrow morning we’ll see if we can get an ID from them on either Kobedi or his killer.” Edison took a bite out of his lemon cream biscuit.

  “As for the rest of the house, it was, for the most part, as you would expect—expensive and garish. Halfway decent paintings, leather and chrome chairs and sofas, shag carpeting, and some real champagne in the fridge.”

  “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.” Mabaku 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 in the Ministry of Minerals, Energy and Water Affairs—the mining section. 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, “Kobedi 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.

  Chapter 38

  Kubu was eventually released from the 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!” Joy said without fear of contradiction. Kubu dared not resist.

  At 4:00 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 anymore.

  “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, thought Kubu 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.

  Chapter 39

  The next day was hot, the air turbulent, and the flight bumpy. When they came in to land at the bumpy 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 3:00 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 draft of its propellers added a generous measure of choking dust to the already hot and stuffy air. Then with a roar it took 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?”