A Carrion Death & The 2nd Death of Goodluck Tinubu

by Michael Stanley

  “Bodies? It’s a murder case?”

  “Yes, it certainly is.” Using broad brush-strokes, Kubu filled in his friend on the developments since Bongani and Andries had found a corpse in the desert. Angus seemed very interested and asked for the details. He particularly wanted to know where Kamissa was located. Kubu finished by describing Zanele’s doubts about Aron Frankental being the Kamissa corpse, and how that had been corroborated by Aron’s parents. “We don’t know where Frankental is, and we’ve no idea who was found at Kamissa. Nobody who would fit the bill has been reported missing. Do you have any idea where Jason might be? Or Frankental, for that matter?”

  There was a long pause. I’m wasting my time again, Kubu thought.

  “I know Jason. I spent time with him at the mine. He took me hunting. Decent sort of chap.” Angus hesitated. “I also met Aron. Quiet chap. Keeps to himself. Probably lonely. Out of it, you know? Being German and all that. I’m not surprised he developed some weird ideas alone in the desert.”

  “You think the idea of theft at the mine was weird?”

  “Well, certainly Jason stealing the diamonds is weird. Did you know he is a twenty-five-percent shareholder? Stealing from himself would be crazy, not so? I went through the whole operation with a fine-toothed comb. Clean bill of health. I wasn’t so sure about Jason’s expansion plans, but I don’t pretend to be a geologist. I looked into it all pretty carefully.”

  Very carefully, Kubu thought, for someone who wants to carry on life as a playboy.

  “So you’ve no idea where either of them might be?”

  “Not a clue.”

  Kubu hesitated, wondering if he was about to presume on their friendship. “Was your sister involved with Jason?”

  The laugh again. “Certainly! She seemed to like him well enough. Light relief for her, not so? She’s gorgeous. She can have any man she wants. Perhaps she’d know where he is?”

  “She said he was on a trip. That’s all she knew. And the letter? Did Cecil ever talk to you about it?”

  “Not a word.”

  Kubu felt a return of the morning’s frustration. Another blank. He kept drawing twos and threes. When was he going to turn over an ace?

  “Well, I’d better get back to work before they notice that I’m using the phone to chat long-distance to my old school friends. Oh, by the way, speaking of school, you know who I met a few weeks ago? Lesley Davis—our old English teacher. Retired now, of course.”

  “Yes, I remember him well. He was quite a character. Well, good luck with your case, Kubu.”

  “Yes. Thanks,” Kubu said blandly. “Well, keep in touch, Angus.”

  “Certainly will. Good-bye, Kubu.”

  “Good-bye.”

  Kubu looked at the telephone handset as though he’d never seen one before. Then he carefully replaced it on its cradle. He hadn’t turned up an ace, but it seemed he had uncovered a joker. For Lesley Davis, who had taught them both English literature, was a woman.

  Chapter 47

  Dianna wandered through her suite at the Grand Palm. In one direction, she had lovely views of Kgale Hill. In another she could see sprawling, dusty Gaborone teeming with traffic. The room was quiet—the double-glass windows muffled the city sounds. It was as though she was isolated from the real world outside, protected in a silent cocoon. She sat down at the desk in the study alcove, rested her head on her hands, and talked to herself for several minutes. At last she unlocked the top drawer. She took out a mobile phone—not the one she usually carried with her—and punched in a number from memory. After a few rings, Jason answered.

  “Jason,” she said calmly, “I had a call from your police friend—Superintendent Bengu. He’s very eager to see you. Told me to get you to contact him at once. I think it’s time you told me the truth. The truth about what happened at Maboane.”

  Jason hesitated. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what happened to Aron Frankental.”

  “I don’t know what you’re on about,” Jason said blandly. “He’s missing—has been for a week or so. I reported that to the police. They know about it, but haven’t found him.”

  “You know about the letter he wrote to my uncle claiming you were stealing diamonds. I think you got rid of him.”

  “For God’s sake, Dianna!” Jason shouted at her. “Why would I do that? I’m not stealing from myself. And I’d be the obvious suspect if something happened to Aron. Calm down, will you.”

  “And what about the body the police found? What do you know about that?” Dianna was fighting to keep her voice under control.

  “Darling, what’s got into you? Of course I know nothing about a body. I read about it in the newspaper. It’s most probably some dumb tourist. Calm down.”

  “Listen to me, Jason,” she said with venom. “If I find you’re lying, you’ll regret it for as long as you live. Don’t you dare cross me!”

  Now Jason fought to keep his voice under control. “Look, this doesn’t change the way I feel about you, you know? We’ve got big plans. Together. I hope you still feel the same way.”

  She wanted to scream that she never wanted to see him again. But instead she said quietly, “I’ll see you soon, darling.” Then she broke the connection and sat for a long time with her head in her hands, mumbling to herself.

  Chapter 48

  The mobile phone played its silly tune, and Red Beard picked it up. He recognized the supercilious English voice at once.

  “How’s your prisoner? I’m worried about him.”

  “Ah! Mr. Daniel, my friend! I wonder when I hear from you again. He fine. Everything fine.”

  “I am not sure I believe you. I am told a body has been found.”

  “Bullshit. Prisoner fine.” Red Beard wondered how Daniel had found out. He would have to be very careful of this man. He always knew too much. “Prisoner fine. But maybe he has accident pretty soon.”

  “I want to talk to him! Now! I want to be sure!”

  Red Beard squirmed. He could feel a quarter of a million dollars slipping away. “I no take orders from you, Mr. Friend! No way you talk to anyone here. Only me!”

  “I’ll phone you back in five minutes. You had better have him there. I know everything about you. The police will be very interested, not so? Five minutes, no more.”

  Exactly five minutes passed, and the phone rang again. Red Beard punched the accept button hard. “He not here,” he said at once. “I move him somewhere safe. Somewhere even you don’t know about, Mr. Friend.”

  “Do you think you are playing with children, you idiot? I know about every move you make.” There was a pause. “You have nothing to say? I thought you could be trusted if there was money on the line. Wrong again. You’re going to be very sorry you underestimated me!”

  “Okay. Okay! We have problem.”

  “We have a problem?” Daniel shouted. “You have a problem! Not me. Not we. You! What happened?”

  “He tried escape. Hit head. Die. Accident.” He held the phone away from his ear, expecting the worst. There was silence. Red Beard waited. Silence. Then he asked, “You there? You okay?”

  The voice at the other end had lost its heat and was now icy. “When did this happen—exactly?”

  “February twenty-fourth.”

  “Yes, well, hardly the arrangement we made. Not at all a convincing accident. And very bad timing. Total shambles, actually. I expect to get all my money back.”

  “You think this a shoe shop?” Red Beard growled. “No refunds! But I keep my word. You get your accident. Just like you wanted.”

  “Well, it’s a bit late for that now, not so? The police have found the body, and they know when he died. Not really easy to stage a convincing accident postmortem, is it? Cart before the horse, you might say.”

  Red Beard didn’t understand these allusions, so he ignored them. He shook his head and said, “Took body far away from here. No connection. No identity. No worry. Lots of things you don’t know. And I have a plan, Mr. Friend. Uma
planta simples. What you say—an easy plan, no? I tell you.”

  And he did. At first Daniel was unconvinced, finding objections and gaps. But Red Beard had thought hard about his simple plan; after a while they were both raising objections and both finding the answers. They argued it back and forth for half an hour, like jackals worrying a wounded springbok lamb.

  At last neither spoke for some seconds. Then Daniel said, “Will Hofmeyr and Ferraz go along with this?”

  “They in too deep. They do what they told.”

  “There are loose ends,” Daniel said. “Hofmeyr’s the key to all this. We mustn’t touch. But Ferraz is a loose end. You understand?”

  “I have friends in Lisboa. But expensive.”

  “Oh, no. You screwed this up. You sort it out at your own expense. I’ll be in touch to let you know where Ferraz is staying.” With a click the line went dead.

  Red Beard wasn’t worried about the money. Although he would never admit it, he privately felt that Daniel’s attitude was justified. And he did worry about loose ends. All loose ends.

  Chapter 49

  After dinner, Kubu drove to the Zebra bar, not far from the train station. Although not his choice of watering hole, it was where most Portuguese speakers congregated. He turned off the asphalt onto a dirt road that wound around some palms, past a Chinese restaurant and another bar that had a reputation for being a good source for drugs. He parked on the far side of the road from the Zebra.

  Pushing through swinging doors, Kubu entered a large outdoor area surrounding the bar itself. Cheap African masks decorated the reed walls, and an elephant skull dominated a small platform near the door. Two sets of kudu horns caught his attention. They must have been magnificent beasts, Kubu thought to himself as he admired their size. And three zebra skins hung on the wall behind the bar. Several couples sat at tables sipping Portuguese wines. A boisterous group of young men surrounded a large table to the right of the bar. Several older men occupied stools at the bar itself. Kubu headed toward them.

  At first he didn’t see his quarry. He walked around the bar again. Luiz was not there. Kubu had not talked to him for some time, so perhaps he had left the country or changed his habits. He leaned over the bar and spoke to the bartender.

  “Luiz used to be here the whole time. Any idea where I can find him?”

  The bartender stared at him, assessing whether the question warranted an answer. Kubu stared back. Eventually the barman pointed toward the back of the enclosure, behind a small fountain that had run out of water long ago. There was Luiz, sitting by himself at a small table. He was drinking something a lot harder than wine. Kubu ordered a Scotch on the rocks, paid for it, and walked over to Luiz’s table. Pulling up a chair, he said, “Luiz, my friend. It’s been a long time!”

  Luiz’s dirty, sweaty face looked up. He didn’t smile.

  “Luiz,” Kubu repeated. “How are you? It’s been a long time.”

  “Okay,” Luiz responded quietly. “Drink too much. Still at garage. But still clean!”

  “That’s wonderful, Luiz. Congratulations.”

  “What you want?” Luiz asked, not smiling. His relationship with the detective had always been ambivalent at best.

  “A favor!” Kubu sat down. “Luiz, have you ever seen this man?” He handed over a picture of the man he believed had killed Kobedi. “We think he’s from Angola. He was murdered last week. We don’t know who he is. Does he ever come in here?”

  Luiz glanced at the photograph, then put it facedown on the table. He took a gulp of his tequila. He shook his head slowly. “Don’t know!” But a hint of fear in his eyes made Kubu believe otherwise.

  “Please, Luiz. I need your help.”

  “You always need my help! When I help, I have problems.”

  “I just need to know who this is. Have you seen him before?”

  Luiz stared at Kubu, then at his glass, and shook his head. “You bad for me.” He paused. “Very bad for me!” Again he shook his head. “Don’t know his real name. They call him Sculo. From Angola. Don’t say I tell you. Bad friends.” He glanced around the bar nervously.

  “Bad friends?” Kubu asked. “Who are these bad friends?”

  Luiz shook his head rapidly from side to side. “Bad friends! I tell you—I die. Very bad.” Kubu could feel his fear.

  “Luiz, I need to know. I have three murders, including Sculo. When did you last see him?”

  Luiz continued to shake his head. “Very bad.”

  Kubu stared at Luiz, but said nothing. Luiz looked down, then around, then at Kubu. He examined his glass again. Eventually he said, “Bad man with Sculo. Like me. From Angola. Don’t know name.”

  “I need his name, Luiz. Please.”

  Luiz sat silent.

  “Don’t know name. Promise. Bad man. Don’t like you, you dead.”

  Kubu slipped two hundred pula across the table.

  “Very bad,” said Luiz. But the pula disappeared into his trouser pocket.

  “Do you know where I can find him? Where does he live?”

  “Live in Angola.”

  “How often does he come to this bar? Do you see him often?”

  Luiz again shook his head. “Not often. Four, five times a year.”

  “Luiz. Please help me,” Kubu pleaded. “When did you last see him?”

  Luiz stared into Kubu’s eyes. “Last week,” he whispered. “With Sculo.”

  “When last week? Which day?”

  Luiz’s eyes became fearful again. “Not this week. Last week. Thursday? Friday? Say no more. Bad man. He find out I talk—” He cut his throat with his hand.

  “You’re sure you don’t know his name?”

  “Don’t know name.” He glanced around, swallowed his drink, and stood up. “Don’t know name. But has big red beard.” He turned and almost ran from the room.

  Kubu sat quietly for a moment. Picking up the photo, he walked to the bar. The barman came over and asked if he wanted another Scotch. Kubu declined. Instead he pulled out his police credentials and said, “Assistant Superintendent Bengu. Have you ever seen this man?” He handed over the picture of Sculo. The barman looked at the photo and replied, “Yes. He comes in for a drink sometimes.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “No. I don’t ever talk to him. He always sits at a table, not at the bar.”

  “Does he have any friends?”

  The barman paused for a moment. “He’s usually by himself. Occasionally he comes in with a man with a red beard. I don’t know his name either.”

  Kubu growled. “This is very important!” He handed the barman a card. “If Sculo or the man with the red beard ever comes in here, phone me immediately—but don’t let them know. If I find that they’ve been here and you haven’t phoned, I will find a reason to close the bar, and I will find a reason to put you in jail.” Kubu hoped that he sounded angry and threatening. The barman nodded. “I’ll let you know!”

  Kubu turned and walked out. A little progress, he thought, but not much. He decided to send a fax to all police stations and the Immigration people asking them to alert him if they saw a Portuguese-speaking man in his thirties or forties with a heavy red beard. He hoped he was guessing the age correctly.

  Chapter 50

  Dianna paused at the secretary’s desk and asked politely, “Is Mr. Hofmeyr available?” Recognizing her immediately, the secretary responded, “Of course, Miss Hofmeyr. Go straight in.” She didn’t bother to check with Cecil, assuming that he would now always be available to the new chairman of the company.

  Dianna knocked and opened the door. She took in the palatial extent of Cecil’s office, which had been her father’s. She was still using a modest consultant’s office, but she didn’t care about the office. She had her father’s seat at the head of the boardroom table.

  Cecil glanced at her and returned his attention to the document on his desk.

  “Sit down, Dianna. I’ll be with you in a minute.” Dianna had already helped herself to t
he French Renaissance chair whose safety had concerned Kubu. It accepted her as to the manor born.

  Cecil pushed the document aside, looked up at her inquiringly, and asked, “How is the tour going?” He was referring to her round of meetings with the various executive directors. He had not offered to facilitate these, but left her to find her own way. It seemed she knew most of them already; they were ready with their presentations, although these might originally have been prepared for Angus.

  “Oh, it’s been fine. You’ve run a tight ship.” Cecil nodded, but didn’t acknowledge her compliment. They were like two springbok rams circling. Neither wanted to lock horns, but each held its head down and body ready in case of a confrontation. It was their first private conversation since the board meeting.

  “Uncle Cecil,” Dianna began, emphasizing the family link, “I hope we can work together. This has been a surprise to me too. Angus, I mean. I need your help.”

  “I’ll be happy to help in any way I can,” said Cecil coldly. “How is Angus, by the way?”

  “Much better. It’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. I want to spend a few days with him at our holiday place in Plettenberg Bay in South Africa. I think he needs some support at the moment. We can chill out at the beach.” Dianna gave a little laugh—the Cape was in the midst of a heat wave—but Cecil ignored the small offering.

  “I’ve been worried about that clinic where Angus is,” he said. “I’ve been looking into it. Not really the place to go for tropical infections, you know. More for, shall we say, rehabilitation? Very discreet they are, mind you. They wouldn’t even admit to having had a patient called Angus Hofmeyr, until I mentioned the call to the board meeting. Under no circumstances may he be disturbed, it seems.”