A Carrion Death & The 2nd Death of Goodluck Tinubu

by Michael Stanley

  “But you said that you spoke to Angus yourself, and he spoke at the board meeting. How could he have done that if he was already dead?”

  “That part I wasn’t sure of until yesterday. You see, Angus was supposed to be at a rehab clinic north of George. I popped in there yesterday on the way here.” He took a sideways glance at Bakkies. The clinic certainly wasn’t on the way between George and Knysna, and he knew he should have reported to the South African police first. But Bakkies only nodded, waiting for him to continue. “I showed the manager a picture of Angus, and she didn’t recognize it at all. Then I showed her one of Jason Ferraz, and she identified it at once as Angus Hofmeyr. He had a lot of electronic equipment with him, too. Tape recorders and such like.”

  “So someone impersonated Angus? Was that to provide Angus with an alibi?”

  “What for? Angus didn’t need money or power. He could have had as much as he liked. And the alibi would collapse as soon as it was checked. Just as it did yesterday. No, I think Jason Ferraz was being Angus. For the board meeting, and for talking to people like me. He was damn good too. I was almost fooled.”

  In fact, he’d been completely fooled, apart from the tiny Lesley Davis mistake. “He knew Angus, so he could practice his voice and intonation. But he needed to have lots of help with background. That’s where Dianna Hofmeyr came in. Jason’s lover, by the way.” Kubu smashed his right fist into his left palm. “It’s all falling apart for them, Bakkies! Once Interpol tracks down Ferraz—we think he’s hiding out somewhere in Portugal—and I get my hands on our Ms. Hofmeyr, we’ll get the answers to all this.”

  They drove in silence while Bakkies negotiated the winding road down to the coast at Plettenberg Bay. Kubu admired the lush vegetation. This country is so rich, he thought. Bakkies turned into the town, drove through the small commercial center, past the famous dolphin statue, down the hill, and pulled into the public parking at the Beacon Island Hotel. The sun was high now, glittering off the water. Kubu watched the waves with the near disbelief of a man who has grown up in a dry and landlocked country. He had seen the sea before: once in Cape Town, where he had taken Joy on their honeymoon, and once in Namibia on a fishing holiday. But it wasn’t natural to him. The humidity was higher here too, and the air smelled of salt. Bakkies looked at his face and smiled. “Take off your shoes and socks,” he said, starting to do so himself. “We can walk a bit on the beach. I’ll show you the spot where we found the arm and point out the Hofmeyr house.” He carefully locked his vehicle, and they set off down the beach toward a long peninsula, part of which seemed to have collapsed. “That’s Robberg,” Bakkies said. “It’s a nature reserve with hundreds of seals and birds. Great place to watch for whales.”

  They walked for a few hundred yards. “Who are the they who planned all this and committed the murder?” Bakkies asked. Kubu had difficulty taking his mind off the endless breaking sea.

  “I’m not sure of all of them. But here’s the key question: ‘Who benefits?’ Cecil Hofmeyr stood to lose BCMC to Angus. Now he’s still the CEO. Dianna is ambitious and ends up chairman of the company, ostensibly through Angus’s support. Jason Ferraz was in danger of being caught smuggling blood diamonds through the mine that belonged to him and—guess who?—Cecil Hofmeyr. Jason had a red-bearded Angolan partner. Then there was a bruiser who was even bigger than you. I had a meeting with him,” he added euphemistically. “But I think he was just part of the hired help. He ended up dead in a not very savory part of Gaborone.”

  “This is it,” Bakkies interrupted. “That dune is where Pat Marks waited for us. Her dog found the arm. It was just about there.” He pointed to a spot on the beach near a dried kelp frond, half buried in the sand. Kubu looked out to sea again. The damp sand started about one yard from where they were standing, and the sea was fingering an area about four yards further out.

  Bakkies smiled his boyish smile again. “I know what you are thinking. Where was the tide? I checked after we spoke on the phone. It was high tide about 1:00 a.m. that night. If you placed the arm out at—say—4:00 a.m., before dawn, the tide would be going out and the arm would be found well before the tide was high again and threatening to take it away. This is a busy beach, even early in the morning.”

  Indeed, even at lunchtime on a weekday, joggers, sun worshippers, and swimmers were plentiful. Some of the younger girls wore swimsuits that left nothing to the imagination, and would not have been acceptable in public in Botswana. Bakkies offered them appreciative glances. For their part, the girls found the two fully clothed men carrying their shoes and socks an odd couple.

  “If someone was going to plant the arm here, where would he have come from? Were there any tracks?” Kubu naturally thought of sand as a source of tracks.

  Bakkies indicated the way they had come. “If someone walked along the beach barefoot, there would be no way to identify the tracks. Hundreds of people walk along here. There’s a gate into the Hofmeyr property farther along. It wouldn’t have been a problem to come down from the house and plant the arm.” He indicated the beachgoers. “All this lot would have been in bed at four in the morning. Probably not alone.”

  They walked on. Bakkies still found it hard to see Dianna as a murderess. “Dianna Hofmeyr had to know, though, didn’t she? She had to lie to us about Angus being here. Do you have enough to arrest her and grill her?”

  “I will as soon as we get the DNA match.”

  Bakkies said nothing. Five minutes later, he pointed to an ostentatious mansion grasping the top of the dune. “That’s their beach place. Money certainly wasn’t a motive, was it?” Kubu looked up at this manifestation of another world.

  “Let’s take a look,” he said.

  Zelda watched the two men lumber up the path from the beach. Both looked hot after the climb. They stopped to put on their shoes, and then made their way to the bottom-level sliding door. She recognized Swanepoel, but the large black man with him was new. One of his colleagues, she decided. She opened the doors.

  “Madame Pamela and Dianna aren’t here,” she said. “They’ve gone back to Botswana.”

  “Hello, Zelda,” said Bakkies. “This is my friend Assistant Superintendent Bengu, from Gaborone.” He hesitated, then improvised, “We know that the Hofmeyrs aren’t here. We wanted a word with you.”

  Zelda looked suspicious, but let them in. They took their time looking around on their way up to the kitchen. There Zelda gave them cold drinks, and looked expectant. Bakkies was at a loss, but Kubu had a question. “Zelda, did you ever see Mr. Angus Hofmeyr while he was here?” Zelda shook her head. “No, I already told Inspector Swanepoel that, so you could have saved yourselves the walk. I heard them arguing the day before Mr. Angus was”—she bit her lip—“attacked.”

  “Did you hear what they were arguing about?”

  “I don’t eavesdrop on people.”

  “But any idea?”

  Zelda shrugged. “They always fought. Ever since they were kids. Why change now?”

  “Did they bring a freezer with them when they came? A small camping one?”

  Zelda shook her head. It was clear that these men were wasting their time and hers. “I have work to do,” she said. “I have to close up the house.”

  Kubu and Bakkies sat outside at the Lookout Restaurant overlooking the sweeping beach with mountains in the background. Each enjoyed a plate full of calamari and a glass of white wine. Pale visitors from Europe sunned themselves to painful red, while tanned surfers challenged the waves. It’s as though I’m on holiday, Kubu thought with a touch of guilt, rather than closing in on a gang of vicious murderers.

  “I must get the first plane back to Gaborone tomorrow,” he said to Bakkies. “I want to welcome Dianna Hofmeyr home when she lands.”

  Bakkies nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

  “A number of things. See if anyone recognized either Angus or Jason at the beach estate. I’ll leave you the photos. Get a warrant and search the house. Dianna came down here with a
camping freezer. They may have got rid of it, but if it’s there, check it for traces of seawater and blood. I’ll bet the DNA will match the arm. Look for Angus’s passport too. They’d be crazy not to have destroyed that, but if you find it, it’ll show Jason’s picture. Finally, would you ask your pathology people to do a histolysis test on the tissue? See if they can determine if it was frozen before it was soaked in seawater.”

  Bakkies was impressed. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you, Kubu? I wish you could help me with some of my cases.” Kubu laughed. “Some other time, Bakkies. I haven’t tied this one up yet.”

  Back in Knysna, Kubu reviewed the statements and evidence Bakkies had obtained. Then he checked in to the bed-and-breakfast Bakkies had recommended—Bond Lodge on Bond Street. It was a lovely old house—more than a hundred years old—with beautiful yellowwood ceilings and floors and furnished with an eclectic collection of antiques. It was not on the sea, but halfway up the hill behind the town. The upstairs offered a magnificent view of the lagoon for which Knysna was famous. In the distance stood the Heads—the precipitous cliffs on either side of the lagoon’s narrow channel to the sea.

  The friendly owner—part elegant lady, part sixites’ hippie—offered him a glass of wine and gave him the rundown on the nearby restaurants. Kubu commented on the beauty of the area. Even if it was outrageously moist.

  He phoned Joy, assuring her that all was well and that he would be home the next day. He promised he was sticking to the spirit of his diet, although it wasn’t easy to stick to the letter on a business trip. Then he chose the restaurant to which Bakkies took his wife on special occasions—also recommended by the owner of the B & B. She made a reservation and gave him a ride.

  The restaurant was called the Firefly Eating House, and Kubu understood the name when he arrived. The entrance and garden of the old house that hosted the restaurant were festooned with streamers of tiny lights giving an otherworldly feeling which was to carry through the whole evening. A tall lady in a simple dress with a hint of the Orient welcomed Kubu, eyed his bulk, and showed him to the table at the narrow veranda’s end, so that other diners and waiters wouldn’t have to squeeze past.

  The fare was an eclectic mixture of curries and spiced foods from various countries, fused into intriguing combinations. Kubu’s mouth watered as aromas wafted from the kitchen. To start, he chose babotie spring rolls—Eastern wrappings filled with the Malay-inherited dish of the Cape of Good Hope. For the main course he ordered tiger prawns from Mozambique with a sauce from Goa. He wanted a wine that would hold its own with the spices, and the waiter suggested a gewürtztraminer from Stellenbosch.

  The unlikely spring rolls were delicious; the prawns firm with a delicate flavor enhanced rather than swamped by the coconut curry sauce. He took his time to finish the piquant wine. Then he ordered homemade cardamom ice cream and a cappuccino with cream not froth.

  After finishing his coffee, Kubu stayed at his table, enjoying the afterglow of the wine, the lingering flavors, and the strangely peaceful ambiance of the packed restaurant. At last, he paid the bill, pocketed the receipt for Mabaku’s scandalized perusal, and caught a taxi back up the hill to the B & B.

  Part Nine

  DECEIVERS EVER

  Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea and one on shore.

  —SHAKESPEARE, MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, ACT 2, SCENE 3

  March

  Chapter 64

  Although he caught the 7:00 a.m. flight from George, Kubu nearly missed Dianna. His flight from Johannesburg was delayed, and she was already at Johannesburg’s Lanseria Airport when Kubu’s flight took off. By the time he had cleared Customs and Immigration at Gaborone, her Learjet was only minutes behind him. Just long enough for him to toss his overnight bag into his car and get back to the terminal.

  He watched the BCMC Learjet land and then went into Arrivals. He knew that VIPs came through a side entrance after clearing customs and immigration. He would intercept Dianna and her mother there. A man sporting a Grand Palm Hotel uniform and holding a neat sign was also waiting for them, presumably to help with the luggage and to drive them to the hotel. That will have to wait, thought Kubu.

  Soon two smartly dressed women came through. He recognized Dianna at once and presumed that the mature but still beautiful woman with her was her mother. He had met Pamela Hofmeyr briefly long ago with Angus, but he wasn’t sure that he would have recognized her now. He approached Dianna.

  “Ms. Hofmeyr? I’m Superintendent David Bengu. We spoke recently on the phone about a murder case I’m investigating.”

  Dianna looked at him with mild surprise. “Oh, yes. Kubu, isn’t it? Is this a chance meeting?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. We need to ask you some questions in connection with a murder we are investigating.”

  “Oh. Aron Frankental. Well, my mother and I have just flown in from South Africa. We’d like to settle in at the hotel. Perhaps I can see you later on in town.” At this point the waiting hotel driver approached. “Oh, hello, Demi. I have my usual suitcase, but Mother has several. Let me show you.” She started toward the luggage collection trolley, but Kubu stopped her.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Hofmeyr, but we need to talk to you at once. It’s very important that we get your input immediately. I don’t need to detain your mother; perhaps the driver can take her and the luggage to the hotel. We won’t keep you long.” He hoped that the last comment would prove untrue.

  At first Dianna was inclined to argue, but she thought better of it. Kubu was standing right in front of them, symbolically barring their way. Dianna looked at her mother doubtfully. “Will you be all right, Mother?” Pamela Hofmeyr shrugged. “Of course. I lived in Gaborone for fifteen years, you know.” The way she said it suggested familiarity rather than nostalgia. She offered no corresponding support to her daughter. She seemed content for Dianna to finish her business—whatever it was—with the police and find her own way to the hotel. She pointed out her suitcases to Demi. His trolley bulged.

  “Very well, Superintendent. Since you won’t allow us the courtesy of recovering from the trip, let’s get down to it. What is it that you want to know?”

  “I would like you to accompany me to CID headquarters. I’ll explain there. May I carry that for you?” He nodded toward Dianna’s laptop case. Dianna handed it to him. She made sure her mother had all her belongings before she allowed Kubu to lead the way to his vehicle.

  “Really, Superintendent, I’m trying to help despite your poor manners. You must tell me what this is about if you expect me to cooperate.”

  Kubu stopped and faced her. “Very well. We have conclusive forensic evidence that your brother was killed. In fact, he was murdered.” He watched her face. Fleeting hints of fear and shock crossed her face. Then they were gone. Or was it just his imagination?

  “That’s impossible,” she said flatly. “What evidence? How come the South African police know nothing about this?”

  “I’d prefer to explain it at the CID,” said Kubu, walking on so that she had no option but to follow. He wanted her to brood about what lay ahead. At last I’m going to get to the bottom of all this, he thought. Dianna accompanied him to his vehicle without further protest, and they drove in silence to the CID headquarters at Kgale Hill.

  Kubu settled Dianna in the interview room and left her there with Edison while he went off, ostensibly in search of tea. Actually, he needed to let Mabaku know what was going on. He had been unable to reach the director the night before and had no chance to contact him that morning. He was feeling guilty about that. He walked down the corridor to Mabaku’s office to invite him to join the interrogation. But the director was out, and his secretary was not in her office either. He bumped into her at the tea urn.

  “Oh! Miriam! Where’s the director? I need his help interviewing a witness.”

  “He’s gone to Lobatse. They’ve caught some of the gang from South Africa. He’s been there since early this morning.”

  �
��Please call the director on his mobile phone and tell him there is an important breakthrough in the Kamissa case. He must return here as soon as possible.” He smiled as he carried the tea back to the interview room. Mabaku didn’t take orders from his assistants. This would give Kubu the time to handle the interview himself.

  He put the cups of tea on the table and sat down opposite Dianna. She took her polystyrene cup and took a sip. Her face grimaced with distaste. Edison, on the other hand, excited in anticipation of the interview, swallowed most of his while it was still too hot. Kubu set his cup aside.

  “Ms. Hofmeyr, I want to thank you for your cooperation. I know what I am going to tell you will be a big shock. You will understand why this meeting was so urgent.” Kubu paused, watching her face. “About a month ago a body of a white male was discovered in an arid region near the Khutse game reserve. The body had been there for a few days and was badly eaten by wild animals. Little more than the bones were left. At first we thought it was the body of the geologist you mentioned—Aron Frankental—but we know now that it wasn’t. In fact, we’ve recently positively identified this body.” He paused, letting this sink in and watching Dianna’s silent face. “I’m afraid the corpse was that of your brother, Angus Hofmeyr. I must caution you that I am making inquiries into his death, and I believe that he was murdered. I want to know anything you can tell me that may help me with this matter, and I must warn you to be careful what you say.”

  At last Dianna reacted, and her reaction was extraordinary. She laughed out loud. “Superintendent, that’s absolutely ridiculous! Is that the story you’ve wasted my afternoon on? You said this body was found a month ago. Angus was with me last Tuesday at the coast in South Africa. Do you think I wouldn’t know my own brother after thirty years? Is this some sort of joke?”

  God, she is a cold fish, Kubu thought. And damn convincing. But not to me. Not any longer.