He found himself humming Moremi’s melody—the one whose name he couldn’t remember. When it was finished, he thought about the mokoro. Who had brought it over to the camp? How had he, or they, got back to the mainland? The theory that had brought him and Tatwa to the camp with three armed constables did not allow for a mysterious accomplice from the mainland. Or did it?
Kubu’s subconscious demanded attention. The piece of the jigsaw puzzle, Kubu, it seemed to say. It doesn’t fit because you’re holding it the wrong way up. Try turning it around. Kubu did, and the piece fit perfectly. Not only was the mokoro right to be at the camp, it had to be at the camp! Kubu jumped up. That was why William Boardman had been murdered! Now he thought he knew how that had been organized, too. I need a map, he thought. Perhaps Tatwa knows? He almost set off to wake the tall detective, but sighed and settled himself on the bench again. There were loose ends to be thought through and tied off. He needed to work through all the events of the last few weeks. How would he prove his theory? And, if he was right, where were the money and the drugs? He was distracted by the grumbling of his stomach. It did not approve of the idea of an early morning without breakfast.
Then he heard someone coming along the path from the camp, and he picked up the gun. But it was Tatwa who emerged from the bush, carrying two mugs of tea. A most welcome sight. Even more so when, having settled the tea, he fished a handful of shortbread biscuits from his pocket and gave them to Kubu.
“Tatwa,” Kubu exclaimed. “What an excellent thought! Couldn’t you sleep?”
Tatwa shook his head. “I want to get this resolved, Kubu. My first big case. We’re no further than we were the last time we were here. We just have two more murders, that’s all.”
Kubu shook his head. “I think you’re wrong about that. I think we’re much further along. How far is it from here to Maun? Do you know? In hours?”
Tatwa extracted a biscuit from his other pocket and started to gnaw. “It’s a long way. Through the Savuti Game Reserve. Really rough tracks. The best idea would be to take the cut-line road down the firebreak border of the national park. But you’d need a four-wheel drive to get through the sand. Tough going. Why do you want to know?”
“How long do you think it would take?”
Tatwa shrugged. “Maybe Dupie’s done it and could tell us. I’d say six to eight hours depending on the conditions.”
“And Maun to Kasane? On the main roads?”
“Oh, that’s just over six hundred kilometers of paved road. Straight as an arrow. You can do that in six hours, less if you push.”
“He must’ve been dog tired after all that,” Kubu commented.
“Who?” asked Tatwa, puzzled.
Kubu told him.
Chapter 67
After breakfast, Kubu found an opportunity to talk to Salome alone. Dupie was patrolling the island; he clearly thought the police were taking the impending arrival of Madrid too casually. At Kubu’s suggestion, Tatwa had accompanied him.
Kubu decided a direct approach was best. “Ms. McGlashan, you recognized Goodluck Tinubu when he arrived, didn’t you?”
Salome looked up sharply. “I’ve already told you that I did not.”
“But, you see, the literary ladies—as my boss calls them—the Munro sisters—linked the two of you. To a farmhouse. Near Bulawayo.”
Salome looked down at her cup of after-breakfast coffee. “What do you know about that?”
“Only what Dupie mentioned yesterday.”
“It’s got nothing to do with what happened here.”
“Please, Ms. McGlashan, I have to have all the pieces of the puzzle. I’m sure you’re right. It has nothing to do with the murders. But let me decide for myself.”
She looked up from her coffee. “All right, Superintendent. I was fourteen. Rhodesia was trying to defend itself from the world’s ostracism and Britain’s anger. It was a nasty, dirty, civil war. Dupie talks about the noble Scouts. They butchered terrorists and anyone they thought was a terrorist. The noble president of Zimbabwe talks about the freedom fighters. They butchered anyone they could get their hands on. He dishes out land to ‘veterans’ who weren’t even born at the time of the war. The war was vicious, bitter. No holds barred. None.” Kubu nodded agreement, and waited.
“My family had a farm about thirty miles outside Bulawayo. My father was a really good man. Good to his workers, good with the land. He loved me and my brother. And he loved my mother. You know, we felt safe! Hard to believe. We heard the stories, but it couldn’t happen to us, could it? My father was a sympathizer. He voted against Smith.” She paused, looking at the detective. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you? It didn’t matter what side you were on, you see. My father was in town when they attacked the farm. They took us by surprise. They murdered and mutilated my brother, maybe the other way around, God help him. In front of me and my mother. He was twelve. Twelve! Then they raped and killed my mother in front of me, and then they started on me. Do you think the details are important to your case, Superintendent?”
“Only one. Why didn’t they kill you?” Kubu felt the bitterness of his question and of her response.
“Yes, why indeed? They thought the soldiers were coming. One of them sounded the alarm. And they left. I lay alone, naked, bleeding, for what seemed like hours. That’s how they found me. That was almost the worst part, but not really.”
“Was one of them Tinubu?”
She looked past him, unwilling to meet his eyes. Unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes. There was a long silence between them.
“Was one of them Tinubu?”
“Yes, I think so, perhaps. It was thirty years ago.”
“He was the one who called them off, wasn’t he?”
“I don’t know what you mean. The leader was raping me. He had first go, you see, since I was a virgin. I understood what they were saying because I spoke the language. There was a line of them, waiting their turns. Like at a bus stop, you know? Laughing and jeering.” She hunched as though protecting herself. “One guy was telling them to let me be. I was a child. I remember what he said. ‘The children are our future.’ Can you beat that? While they’re raping me? The leader told him to get out and keep watch if he didn’t want his turn. A few minutes later he rushed in. Said he’d seen lights. The soldiers were coming. The leader didn’t believe him, but he couldn’t take the risk. He said if it were a lie, this man would die. They left me there.”
“So this man saved your life?”
“If you like. In the sense that someone who shoots at you and misses saves your life.”
“Was this man Goodluck Tinubu?”
Salome started to cry. Silent tears traced her cheeks. Kubu offered her a napkin, but she pushed it away, and got to her feet and walked off. Earlier, Kubu thought, she seemed to be a self-controlled adult. But inside she was still not much older than fourteen.
Dupie and Tatwa found him sitting alone at the table ten minutes later. They pulled up chairs.
“All clear,” said Dupie, satisfied. “Not a trace of the bastards. You’ve heard from the guys on the mainland?”
Kubu ignored that. “Salome told you, didn’t she? That Tinubu was one of the terrorists who attacked her family’s farmhouse?”
Dupie folded his arms, resting them comfortably on his ample belly. “Is that what she said?”
“I’m asking you.”
“She thought so. Hell, it was thirty years ago. I told her she was imagining it. Just ghosts from the past. I don’t believe in ghosts. And we got the bastards. All of them. No prisoners.” He pulled his hand across his throat.
“Did you check?”
“Check what? The guy was a salesman from Gaborone. Passport was clean. Sure, he was born in Zimbabwe. Does that make him a terrorist?”
“Did you search his tent?”
“Don’t be stupid. What for? Souvenirs from a thirty-year-old mass murder? I told her she was confusing Tinubu with someone who might’ve looked a bit like him
. Told her to pull herself together. She accepted that, kept to herself for the rest of the day. But she was okay.”
Kubu stared at Dupie. “Here’s what I think,” he said. “I think she did recognize Tinubu, and what’s more she was right. I think she got someone here to help her kill him. She couldn’t do it alone. Maybe that was you, maybe Enoch, maybe Moremi, maybe someone from the mainland. I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” He got up and headed to his tent without another word.
Dupie looked shocked. “He’s gone bananas! What’s he on about? Salome murdering people? It’s ridiculous! We all know Zondo did it. You’re looking for a scapegoat since you let him get away scot-free! You better talk some sense into him.” His large hand grabbed Tatwa’s arm across the table.
Tatwa extricated himself. “If she’s innocent, there’s nothing to worry about. The assistant superintendent must have evidence for his suspicions. If you know anything, you should tell us. It may help her.”
For once Dupie was at a loss for words. Then he said, “You’ve seen her. She couldn’t murder anyone. She’s gentle.”
“What about someone who raped her and—it seems—got away with it. Vengeance is powerful motivation.”
Dupie shook his head. “Stupid ghosts. Her and her ghosts. Think it’s the first time? She’s always seeing ghosts. Always seeing ghosts.” He pushed back his chair and stood up. “Bloody ghosts.” Then he walked off in search of Salome. Tatwa got up too. He wanted to find Enoch.
Tatwa found him at the makeshift dock. He was working on the boat’s outboard motor. He had the casing off and was tinkering with the innards.
“Problem with the motor?”
Enoch nodded. “Not starting well. Dupie said we must be sure it would be ready in case we have to chase those bastards.”
Tatwa nodded, without comment.
“Think the fuel filter’s dirty. I’m just flushing it.” He returned to his work. Tatwa seemed to hold no interest for him.
Tatwa squatted on his haunches next to the boat. “You seem pretty good at this sort of stuff. What caused the breakdown that time you got stuck on the way to Kasane?”
“Wheel bearing went on the trailer. I didn’t have tools, but Dupie brought them.”
“Why didn’t you just leave it and head on to Kasane?”
Enoch splashed petrol over the filter. “Dupie freaked. Said I must wait for him. That the trailer would get stolen.”
“Who would steal it in the middle of the bush? With a jammed wheel?”
Enoch shrugged. “Didn’t matter. I just waited for him. We got it rolling, and he took it back.”
“And you slept in the bush?”
“It was too late to go through to Kasane.”
“Why was that? You can drive that road at night.”
“The Chobe National Park gate closes at eight in the evening. It was too late to get through. And there’s bloody elephants everywhere. Not safe to drive at night.”
“Why not come back with Dupie? Head out the next day?”
“Hell, I was halfway there. They didn’t need me here. I don’t mind being on my own in the bush.”
“Done that a lot, have you? Guess you could tell some stories.”
Enoch nodded, but he did not smile.
“You and Dupie go back a long way?”
“Yes, a long way.”
“Here in Botswana?”
Enoch nodded.
“Before? In Rhodesia?”
“Yes. What of it?”
“You were together there? In the Selous Scouts?”
“Who told you that?”
“Dupie,” said Tatwa, taking a flyer. “He thinks very highly of you.”
“We were together. You watch each other’s back. Nothing ever came at you from the front.” He started reassembling the casing for the motor.
“How did you get to Botswana?”
“Dupie organized it.”
“You’d do anything for him?”
“He owes me a lot. He’d do a lot for me, too. Not anything. What do you mean?”
Tatwa shrugged. “Just talking. Were you with him when they got to the farmhouse? Where they were attacking Salome and her family?”
Enoch nodded.
“Must have been bad.”
Enoch shrugged. “I saw a lot of bad stuff in those days.”
“That night, Enoch, the night of the murders here. Can you tell me anything about it?”
Enoch shrugged. “Nothing to tell. I was asleep. I saw nothing. I heard nothing. I didn’t talk to anyone.”
“You know Mma Salome did it, Enoch. Tinubu was one of the terrorists at the farmhouse. She recognized him. That’s how it all started.”
Enoch looked stunned. “But it was Zondo!” he exclaimed.
Tatwa shook his head. “Zondo was just caught in the middle, wasn’t he, Enoch?”
“You’re talking shit! You’re crazy! Mma Salome wouldn’t kill anyone!”
“Maybe she had someone to help her.”
Enoch turned away, meticulously sorting his tools into the toolbox. When he turned back, he was calm again. “It’s silly,” he said. “It’s nonsense. You should be looking for Zondo.” He picked up the toolbox and started toward the camp. Tatwa watched him go.
Fifty yards into the river was a sandbar. As Tatwa watched, a ten-foot crocodile clambered onto it, settled, and opened its jaws exposing vicious teeth. Tatwa shuddered, thinking of his brother, and followed Enoch back to the camp.
Chapter 68
Kubu strolled to a point where he knew he could get a decent signal for his cell phone. He wanted to check on Joy, and he needed to report back to Mabaku. There was a chance that Beardy had finally spilled some beans. He called Joy first.
“Hello, Kubu.” There was noise in the background and for a moment Kubu was disoriented. “Where are you, my dear?”
“I’m at work, Kubu. At the daycare center. Where should I be on a Thursday morning?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” The noise was the children playing. He had forgotten that she had insisted on going back to work today. “How are you feeling?” he asked, covering his slip.
“Fine. How are you?”
“Not bad. We’re making progress here. Still confusing, but we’ll get there.”
“Good. I’d like you to come home.”
Kubu felt guilty. The conversation was not going well, it felt stilted. “Karate session this afternoon?” he asked, hoping he had the day right. For once he was glad of her sport. A karate dojo should be safe enough.
“No, I canceled. Didn’t feel like it, really. I said I had a cold. I want to get home. Remember Pleasant’s staying while you’re away.”
Kubu hesitated. Joy loved the karate. She always felt like it.
“You’re still not well, are you?”
“Kubu, don’t fuss. Just a bit uncomfortable. The funny food in Francistown.” She made it sound like a foreign country.
Kubu squared his well-padded shoulders and put down his substantial foot. “Darling, this is enough. You must see a doctor. I insist. I’m worried about you.”
“Kubu, don’t nag. I’m busy. If I don’t feel better…”
Kubu had a flash of inspiration and interrupted, “What about Dr. Diklekeng? You’re always saying how good he is. That he doesn’t patronize the kids and really listens to them. I’m sure he’d be good. And you know him and like him.” Joy always spoke highly of Dr. Diklekeng—the doctor for the daycare center. He struck gold.
“Yes, that’s not a bad idea. I’ll think about it.”
“Do you promise you’ll go to see him?”
Joy hesitated. “Yes,” she said at last. “It’s a good idea.”
Kubu pressed his advantage. “This afternoon?”
Joy dug in her heels. “I’ve got shopping to do, and I don’t want Pleasant to be on her own. I’ll go tomorrow. Or the next day. I’m a bit busy at the moment.”
Kubu realized he would have to be satisfied with that. There was a
n outburst of childish noise, and Joy shouted that she had to go. Kubu put down the cell phone and thought about his wife. Suppose she was really sick? What would he do? He felt lost already. He wanted to get home, fetch her, take her to Dr. Diklekeng. Do what was necessary. Make everything as before. Instead, he was stuck on a paradise island in the Linyanti, surrounded by people he did not trust. And by crocodiles, he thought sourly.
He pulled himself together and dialed Mabaku’s cell phone number, but got a recorded message. Mabaku must be in a meeting. He tried Edison at the CID.
“Kubu! How’s it going?”
“Okay, Edison. I can’t reach the director. Is he around?”
“Mabaku? Didn’t you hear?”
Kubu sighed. How was he supposed to follow the director’s movements from the Namibian border? “Hear what? Break in a case?”
“Break in his stomach, more like. He’s in hospital. Perforated ulcer. Couldn’t take all the black coffee and stress, I suppose.”
“He’s what? In hospital? That’s impossible, I mean…”
“He had awful pain yesterday afternoon, so his wife took him to casualty at the Princess Marina. They admitted him right away, and they’re operating this morning.”
Kubu had the awful lost feeling again. “But we need him!”
“Kubu, he’ll be okay.”
“Yes, of course,” said Kubu, embarrassed. “Who’s running the show?”
“I suppose I am at the moment.”
“Good,” said Kubu, not meaning it. Now he really would have to get back. “Is there anything we need to handle while he’s in hospital?”
“He’s worried about the African Union meeting. But it’s all under control. No problem. We’re not really involved. It’s Special Service Group stuff.”
Kubu tried to regroup. “What about Beardy? Get anything out of him?”
“Well, he says he’s willing to cooperate. But so far he always has an excuse. Some reason to delay. First he wanted a lawyer, so we got him one. Then he wanted a deal. Now he isn’t satisfied with the lawyer and wants one who speaks the Ndebele language. That’s not so easy. I think he’s stalling, but I’ve no idea why.”
A Carrion Death & The 2nd Death of Goodluck Tinubu Page 75