A Carrion Death & The 2nd Death of Goodluck Tinubu

by Michael Stanley

  “Is it possible he expects Madrid to rescue him?”

  “From Central Prison? He can’t be that stupid. Besides, he doesn’t look like a kingpin. If they get to him, it will be to shut him up. There are easier and more permanent ways of doing that than trying a jailbreak. I’m trying to convince him that he’ll be safest if he tells us everything he knows. Then they’ll have no reason to stop him talking. He agrees, but then has another excuse.”

  Kubu ground his teeth. The calls were not going well.

  “There is some good news, though,” Edison added. “The sting the South African police set up for your Ms. Levine’s contacts. It worked! They put a tracer on her car, and followed it to a house in Bryanston—that’s a fancy Johannesburg suburb. Anyway, they found a cozy distribution center in the middle of the city. They arrested the lot.”

  “How high up in the food chain did it go?”

  Edison sighed. “Hard to say. Depends what they can get people to cough up. But there are cut-off points. Hell, it was a big hit. You win one step at a time.”

  Yes, thought Kubu. But the real drug moguls always seem one step ahead of that. And don’t have to play by the rules. Still, it was a triumph as far as it went. And Van der Walle would owe Mabaku one. That would make the director happy. He would need something to cheer him up in that hospital. Kubu shuddered, remembering his own sojourn there. The food had been awful.

  “Okay, Edison, I have to get back to work here. Give the director my best wishes. Tell him…never mind. Ask him to phone me when he’s up to talking. And let me know how it all goes.”

  After the call, Kubu thought about Mabaku. He is the CID, he thought. What would we do without him? He shook his head as if to erase these thoughts. He forced himself to think about Beardy. Why was he stalling? Just putting off the inevitable? Or was he waiting for something, and if so what? Could it be that the convenient fiction he had created of Madrid attacking Jackalberry a second time actually was part of the plan?

  Kubu felt a wave of urgency. He needed to solve this case before…something. And he needed to get back to Gaborone before…something. He’d had enough. It was time to stop teasing. It was time to put three aces on the table and to firmly bluff another in his hand. One more day, he thought. Then I’m going back to Gaborone. With everyone at the camp, if that’s what it takes. He heaved himself to his feet and went to look for Tatwa. They would need to plan a strategy. And there was something he wanted Tatwa to find in Dupie’s office tent. He intended to make the communal lunch an interesting occasion.

  Chapter 69

  Kubu pushed his chair back from the table. “I can’t eat another thing,” he said. “Nothing more. Perhaps a cup of coffee later. But not now.” He waved Moremi back. His interest shifted to Dupie’s rifle leaning against the back of his chair. “What vintage is that Lee-Enfield of yours, Dupie? Nineteen thirties? Can I take a look?” Dupie passed the rifle to Kubu who examined it with professional interest. “Still in good condition. And loaded, I see. I presume you have a license?” Dupie nodded, and Kubu seemed to lose interest in the weapon, but did not return it.

  “What an excellent afternoon. But the clouds are building up. What do you think, Dupie? A thunderstorm later on?”

  Dupie looked at the blackening horizon and shrugged.

  “Bit too obvious, isn’t it?” Kubu said. “Lots of noise but no rain. Probably won’t be a drop. Funny how we miss the obvious. There’s a daddy longlegs spider that’s spun a web by the washbasin in our tent. Quite a character. Catches the mosquitoes. But if you touch his silk, he starts to oscillate in the web. Faster and faster ’til you can’t see him anymore. Gone. You see right through him because of persistence of vision. No spider. Nothing to see. Nothing to catch.” Kubu had their attention. Everyone wondered where this discourse on arachnidean behavior was heading.

  “That was our problem with Zondo. He was there all the time, but we couldn’t see him.” Kubu nodded as though this comparison would be obvious to everyone and said no more.

  Oddly, it was the normally reticent Solomon who ventured the question. “What do you mean, Superintendent? Where was he, and why couldn’t we see him?”

  “He wasn’t moving quickly,” offered Moremi. “Not quickly. Oh, no.”

  “No, he wasn’t. Moremi’s right,” said Kubu. “We were always a murder short, you see. We seemed to have enough.” He smiled. “Too many, even, according to my boss. But we missed out on Zondo.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Salome. “Is he supposed to be dead?”

  “I’m talking about Ishmael Zondo, or Peter Jabulani, if you want to use his real name. I should say the late Peter Jabulani. He was the third person murdered that Sunday night. Or maybe the second.” Kubu turned to look at Salome.

  “It started with you, didn’t it, Salome?” Kubu asked, using her given name for the first time. “It started when you recognized Goodluck. And you wanted revenge. Understandable enough after what had happened even though it was a very long time ago.”

  Salome blushed. “I wasn’t sure it was him. It could’ve been my imagination. As you say, it was a very long time ago. Dupie said so too. He convinced me. I just withdrew. Settled down. It was my imagination. They all said so.”

  “All?” asked Kubu. “Were they all involved?” His hand encompassed the group.

  “No. I mean Dupie. I was shocked. But then I accepted that it was just my mind playing tricks.”

  “But someone agreed to check. Take a look. Moremi, Solomon, Enoch, Dupie?”

  “No, no. I just thought it through. No one checked.”

  Kubu ignored that. “The one who stole the keys, right? Didn’t need keys to the tent. To the suitcase? Yes. But also to the briefcase. That was a surprise, wasn’t it, Dupie? A briefcase full of U.S. dollars. You didn’t expect that, but it was just what you needed with things going downhill here.”

  Dupie shook his head. “What the fuck are you talking about, Superintendent? What are you trying to pull here? Whatever it is, it’s not going to work.”

  “Because you’ll all stick to the same story, right? And Salome? She’s just a victim. Thought she saw a nightmare from the past. Put it behind her. Nothing there, is there? Just like the spider. And you, Dupie? Everyone’s mate. But with a background in the Scouts. Not the Boy Scouts, eh? You know about efficient killing, don’t you? And how to turn it to advantage. And Enoch. Your sergeant—yes, I know that background, too.” He stared at Enoch who looked around as if for a weapon.

  “Is this what you’re looking for?” asked Tatwa. Casually he held up the Watching Eye he’d taken from Dupie’s office. Enoch crossed his hands on his chest as if protecting his heart. Then he got control of himself and forced his hands down. He said nothing.

  Kubu pretended to ignore this exchange. “Maybe Moremi? He owes you, too. No one else would give him a job. He’d help you, wouldn’t he? And Solomon? Good reliable Solomon. He has a family to support.”

  Kubu looked around the stricken table. “You could really pull strings with anyone you liked, couldn’t you, Salome? An embarrassment of riches, you might say.” He nodded. “I think we could have that coffee now, Moremi.” Moremi rose without a word and walked off. But he must have whispered something to Kweh, because raucous clucks and even a “go-away” came from the kitchen. No one said anything until Salome broke the tension.

  “I don’t understand any of this. What happened to Zondo?”

  “He never left the island,” said Tatwa.

  “Of course he did!” Dupie exclaimed. “I took him across to the mainland on Monday morning. I left him at the airstrip.”

  Kubu shook his head. “You took someone across. Someone dressed in a felt hat with guineafowl feathers and a canvas bush jacket. Zondo’s hat and jacket were later discarded on the mainland. And that person got back to the island in Solomon’s mokoro. Solomon himself, maybe?” He glanced at the waiter, who shook his head, but did not contradict the detective aloud.

  “Tha
t was a neat trick, Dupie, but just a hairsbreadth too clever. There was a problem, wasn’t there? William Boardman was up before dawn for his bird-watching trip. Had his binoculars as usual. He wondered why someone else was heading across the lagoon wearing Zondo’s hat. But he found out soon enough, didn’t he?”

  Dupie was shaking his head. “It’s all nonsense, Superintendent. I took Zondo across to the mainland, and then we drove to the airport. The reason he was wearing Zondo’s hat was because he was Zondo, and he was wearing his own hat. Not as intriguing as your story. But a lot simpler. Occam’s razor!” he concluded triumphantly. Everyone looked at him blankly.

  “Is that what you used to cut Goodluck’s throat?” asked Tatwa, dryly.

  Dupie snarled, “This is all bullshit. I took Zondo to the airport. It’s not my fault if he dumped his hat and coat there. Maybe he wanted to be incognito? How should I know?”

  “I didn’t say he dumped his hat and coat at the airstrip. Just that they were left on the mainland.”

  Dupie was quiet, but just for a moment. Then he stormed ahead. “Then Zondo disappeared. You can’t try to pin this on us just because you can’t find him!”

  “Oh, I know where he is,” said Kubu. “It’s like the daddy longlegs. You can’t see him, but he’s right in front of you.” He looked out at the lagoon. Everyone followed his eyes. They heard a motorboat starting up on the mainland.

  Moremi approached, carrying a tray with coffees, milk, and sugar.

  Kubu turned to Salome. “But you had to get rid of William, didn’t you? Madrid’s visit was quite a bonus in a way, wasn’t it? The perfect cover for a hit. Yet another perfect murder your team could put together.”

  Salome glared at him. “Superintendent, you’re way out of line. No one here had anything to do with Boardman’s murder. He was a good friend. We were all here the night he was killed. With guests. From overseas. They can vouch for us if it comes to that.”

  “Not quite,” said Kubu quietly, pointing across the table. “Enoch wasn’t here.”

  “He was stuck in the bush!” Salome snapped. “Dupie had to go out and fetch the trailer. He was stuck halfway to Kasane, for God’s sake!”

  “So he said,” commented Tatwa mildly. “Anyone want the sugar?” He helped himself to three heaping teaspoons.

  Kubu nodded. “The perfect alibi. Enoch supposedly leaves for Kasane, dumps the trailer, and goes in the opposite direction down the cut-line to Maun. Radios Dupie, pretends he’s broken down and needs help. Dupie heads out, also supposedly toward Kasane, but actually toward Maun. Picks up the trailer, takes his time, heads back. Perfect alibi for Enoch, who’s halfway to Maun by then. To keep the appointment Dupie set up with William Boardman!”

  Dupie got to his feet and, a moment later, so did Enoch. “This is raving nonsense! Enoch got stuck. He radioed me. Salome heard the conversation for shit’s sake! I went to help him, we fixed the trailer well enough so I could get it back, and Enoch headed on to Kasane in the morning. He was there about nine! Dozens of people saw him. He hadn’t driven to Maun! That’s hundreds of tough miles through the bush and sand.”

  “It can be done,” said Tatwa quietly. “Check the map. We did. But, of course, you know that already, don’t you?” He was also on his feet facing Enoch. He let the Eye swing from side to side like a pendulum, as though he was trying to hypnotize Enoch. Dupie subsided and sat down. For a few moments no one said anything.

  Moremi broke the silence. He turned to Salome. “Mma Salome, what the policemen say may be true. Or it may not.” He shrugged as though he was discussing the failings of the local football team. “But this is true. They cannot prove anything. They suspect all of us. But they cannot prove any one single thing.”

  Kubu felt a wave of frustration and tried to hide it by swallowing his coffee. He was looking for a crack, a chink. But he had found nothing. They were calm, unsurprised. He knew some were involved, others maybe not. Or maybe they were all involved. He had spelled out how it had been done. But he had no evidence, no proof. Moremi was absolutely right.

  “Oh, we’ll prove it all right. Don’t worry about that. In the meanwhile, everyone stays here,” Kubu said. His eyes moved from the table to the dock where the other two constables were tying up the police motorboat. There was no doubt about the purpose of their presence now. They would ensure that no one left the island.

  Kubu and Tatwa sat on their own away from the communal area. Kubu had deliberately shown his hand, now he was going to need to play his cards quickly. “It’s the three of them, Tatwa,” he said. “Dupie, Salome, and Enoch. Dupie and Enoch know how to go about this sort of killing, and they had to cooperate to murder Boardman. It would take two people to pull off the camp murders, too. Salome was the one who recognized Goodluck, got them to search his tent. She was probably the brains behind it all.”

  “What about Solomon and Moremi?”

  Kubu shook his head. “Solomon wasn’t even on the island that night—we checked with the villagers, and he was there with Beauty. So what was his role in the whole thing? And why bring up the issue of the borrowed mokoro? It was an important piece of the puzzle for us, and he volunteered it. He’s not smart enough for a double bluff.” Tatwa nodded, accepting this.

  “As for Moremi,” Kubu continued, “well, he’s Moremi. I just can’t see it. And he found Zondo’s hat. That’s what led us back here to the camp. They’ve both got reason to be loyal to Salome, but murderers? No.” Kubu shook his head again.

  Tatwa was thoughtful. “There were a lot of odd features about the camp murders. Why did they do it that way? Zondo murdered and maybe thrown into the lagoon for the crocs, Goodluck murdered twice—stabbed and throat cut—and mutilated, and Langa casually bashed and dumped in a donga?”

  “I’ve thought about that. I think the plan was to murder Goodluck with as little fuss and evidence as possible, dump his body in the lagoon, and pretend he had to get home early and left by plane for Kasane. Easy enough to get rid of his car at Kasane later on.”

  “What about Langa? He came with Goodluck?”

  “No problem. Enoch would just take him back to Ngoma at the end of his stay. They didn’t know he was a policeman. When people came to look for Goodluck, they would shrug. Yes, he was here. Yes, he left early. Said it was an emergency at home in Mochudi. He had arranged a plane to pick him up in the morning. Yes, he was carrying a briefcase when he left. No problem.”

  “But?”

  “But when they killed him, they discovered he didn’t have the money anymore. So they came up with the plan of pinning Goodluck’s murder on whoever did have the money. It would be too coincidental to have both people disappear from the camp on the same day. So they made a virtue of necessity, if you can call cutting Goodluck’s throat and hacking off his ears a virtue.”

  “How did they know that Zondo had the money?”

  Kubu shrugged. “They probably were watching Goodluck. I don’t know for sure. Anyway, they headed for Zondo’s tent, took the money, murdered him the same way, probably stripped his body, and then started for the lagoon with its convenient crocodiles. But there was a problem. Langa had seen the money change hands, and his brief was to follow the money, so now he was watching Zondo, and that turned out to be fatal. And there was no time for anything fancy. Not with Zondo’s body lying on the path.”

  Strangely, but not uncharacteristically, Tatwa was thinking of the people involved rather than the crimes. “Do you think they were friends after all, as Moremi said? Zondo and Goodluck? Comrades from the Zimbabwe war? There were the two glasses in Goodluck’s tent.”

  “I’m not sure. That could’ve been a setup as Zanele suggested. Just take a glass from Zondo’s tent with his fingerprints on it. Just the sort of misdirection I would expect from Dupie. Too clever by half.” He shrugged. “Or maybe they really did have a drink together and chewed over old times.”

  “Two fighters for freedom turned drug smugglers. Awful.”

  But this time Kubu fi
rmly shook his head. “I don’t buy it. It makes no sense. We don’t know much about Zondo, but it’s completely against Goodluck’s character. Something else was going on. I think we’ll know what when we find the money.”

  Tatwa nodded. “That’s the one piece of evidence they can’t get rid of. The money, they had to keep. We’ve got to find it, because otherwise we’ve got nothing. With it, the whole pact of silence will collapse. Especially with three people involved. Two’s company, but three’s a crowd.”

  “Someone will break ranks,” Kubu agreed. He rubbed his jowls. But what if we don’t find the cursed money? he wondered. Somehow we’ll have to get them to break ranks anyway.

  His thoughts were interrupted by his cell phone. “Hello. Bengu here,” he said.

  “Kubu! It’s Mabaku. These idiots didn’t want me to phone you! I feel fine. Come and pick me up and get me back to headquarters. There’s lots to do! We’ve got to get Beardy to tell us what he knows. I’ve a feeling that it may be important. Very important.”

  “Director, I shall do no such thing,” said Kubu firmly. “You’re to stay in hospital until you are completely recovered. We can handle matters here.”

  “Bengu, that’s insubordination! Get here at once! These doctors will be the death of me!” And they said I was a bad patient when I was stuck in the Princess Marina Hospital, Kubu thought with a smirk. “Director, I’m at Jackalberry Camp,” he said gently. “Why don’t you give your wife a call? She can visit you and check with the doctors.”

  “Oh, yes, I’d forgotten where you were. Marie’s here, but she thinks I need to spend a week in bed. Kubu, don’t let me down. Phone me as soon as you have anything to report. Hey, give me…” The line went dead. Kubu suspected Marie had intervened. He turned to Tatwa with a broad smile.