Next she went to the living room and glanced at the books stacked on a makeshift bookcase under one of the windows. It was a typical mix of titles: business, finance, and bookkeeping; guidebooks to the flora and fauna of Botswana; travel books to the Okavango Delta, Moremi, and Chobe; gardening books and books on indigenous plants; cookbooks; and a variety of mysteries and thrillers.
She opened cupboards in the kitchen, only to find sparse pickings, and there were two pizzas in the freezer. It was obvious that the occupant wasn’t a gourmet cook.
Finally, she checked the bedrooms carefully. The only interesting thing she found was a safe in a bedroom closet behind some hanging shirts. That was one door she couldn’t open.
* * *
WHEN SHE RETURNED an hour later, the garage was bathed in light from a set of portable floodlights powered by the forensics van. As she walked up, arms full of Wimpy packets, Zanele came over to help. “A lot’s happened since you left. Let’s get everyone together and tell you what we’ve found.”
A few minutes later, the group was sitting on the veranda of the house, tucking into their hamburgers.
“First,” Zanele said, turning to Samantha, “what did you find out?”
“The house belongs to a Jonah Gampone. Edison says he’s in the import/export business. He spoke to someone at the company, who said that Gampone was out of the country, but didn’t know where, or when he’ll be back. Edison’s trying to find out.”
“Okay, thanks. On this side, it looks as though parts of the garage floor have been recently cleaned, but we found traces of blood on the floor towards the back. We’re trying a new product at the moment that allows us to test immediately whether the blood is human. The test came back positive. We’ll have a DNA test done on it as soon as we can to confirm that. Second, there’s a bottle at the back of the garage that appears to have been broken very recently. There’s little evidence of dust on any of the edges. Also pieces were swept to one side, probably with a hand, because we found some blood on one piece. Again it tests as human blood, but we can’t tell whether it is from the same source as the first traces. We’ll take all the pieces back to the lab and test for prints.” She paused to take a bite from her hamburger.
“Also, the shovel has been used recently, and the soil remnants on it look different from the soil in the vegetable garden, but we haven’t had time to check further.”
“I wonder if he was digging a grave,” Samantha said.
“Maybe,” Zanele replied. “We’ll take a look tomorrow morning. I’ll have the canine guys bring out a couple of dogs.”
* * *
THE GROUP MET at Gampone’s house at eight the next morning. The forensics team continued their scrutiny of the garage while Samantha picked her way carefully around it, looking for tracks or any signs of a burial. She was halfway along the third side when she spotted footprints heading into the scrub and, not far from them, others returning. She followed the ones leaving the garage until they reached what looked like a public path worn into the sand. There the footprints disappeared, blending into the hundreds of others.
She walked down the path for several hundred yards, hoping she’d see two sets of prints leave the path and continue into the bush, but she was disappointed. Then she retraced her steps and repeated the exercise in the opposite direction, again without success.
She decided to return to the garage, hoping that the tracker dogs had arrived. And indeed they had. There were two constables with dogs, waiting near the house. One constable introduced himself, then pointed to the dog. “That’s Snoop. She’s our tracker dog.” Then the other constable introduced himself and said his dog’s name was Hamlet.
“Hamlet?” Samantha laughed. “What sort of name is that for a dog?”
“He’s our cadaver dog. He’s just arrived from South Africa,” the constable said.
“Cadaver dog? What on earth is a cadaver dog?”
“He finds buried bodies.”
Samantha’s smile disappeared, and she gestured to Snoop’s handler to follow her to the garage.
“We don’t have a lot to go on,” she said. “We think the spade was used, maybe to bury a body. Can Snoop pick up a trail from that?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ve picked up two sets of footprints. I’d like Snoop to follow them if possible.”
After Snoop had sniffed the spade, her handler took her to the footprints Samantha had found.
“I followed them to a public path,” she said, “but then I lost them. I’m hoping Snoop can help us track them after that.”
“Let’s go, Snoop,” the constable said, scratching the dog on the head.
The dog pulled its handler along, following the two sets of footprints. When it reached the public path, it stopped. After a moment, it walked up the path for a few yards, sniffing intently. Then it turned and went back and sat down.
“She’s lost the scent here—who knows how many people have walked along the path since the men you’re looking for. I’ll walk along the path both ways to see if Snoop finds something.”
Samantha nodded.
“Come along,” the handler said to the dog. “Let’s try this way.”
The two walked slowly, with the dog sniffing on and around the path. After about five minutes, the handler pulled the dog up. “It doesn’t look as though there’s anything this way. Let’s try the other side.”
They walked back to where the tracks had disappeared, then continued in the opposite direction. Again the dog sniffed on the path and at both sides. Again there was no reaction, until, after three or four hundred yards, the path did a little jog to avoid a tree. The dog pulled at its leash, dragging the handler headlong into the bushes. Following behind, Samantha could see tracks ahead of the dog.
Not good, she thought. There’s only one reason to go into these bushes.
After a minute, the dog stopped and looked around. The handler led it in a circle around that point, but nothing attracted the dog.
“That’s strange,” the handler said. “The tracks seem to disappear into thin air.”
“No,” Samantha said. “Look at the sand. It looks as though it’s been swept—quite a big area too.” She looked around. “There,” she said, pointing. “They used that branch.” She shook her head. “It makes no sense. Nobody is likely to come down here.”
She took out her radio and asked for the cadaver dog to join them.
When Hamlet and his handler arrived, Samantha pointed out the swept area and asked them to check it all out.
The handler nodded and led Hamlet around the edge of the area. When they reached the starting point, they moved about two yards into the area and repeated the sweep. And then they did it again. Suddenly the dog stopped.
“Over here,” the handler shouted.
When Samantha arrived, the handler pointed to an area of newly turned soil. “This has been recently dug. See that soil there?” He pointed to small areas of sand that were darker than the rest. “That’s not surface soil. Probably never seen the light of day before.” He stepped back and gazed at the area. “Whoever did it knew what they were doing. When a body’s buried, there’s not enough room for all the sand to fit back in the hole, so there’s usually a slight mound above the body. There isn’t one here, so they must have spread the sand around to prevent it from showing.”
He scratched Hamlet’s head. “Good boy, Hamlet. Well done.”
Again Samantha pulled out her radio.
“Zanele,” she said, “I think we’ve found where the body is. Please call Dr. MacGregor and have him come as soon as possible. Then, could you also take a look around for clues, and bring one of the constables to keep the area secure?”
“Will do,” Zanele answered.
* * *
ZANELE HAD COMBED the entire swept area but had found nothing useful. So she returned to the garage to continue her search there.
When Ian MacGregor arrived, he was disappointed that there was no mound. “Now we ha
ve to find where the body’s lying,” he grumbled. “Let’s hope it’s where the dog stopped. Get some gloves on and let’s get digging.”
They pulled on their gloves, and Ian instructed her to kneel next to where Hamlet had stopped. He kneeled down opposite her. Then they slowly swept the sand away.
It didn’t take long before Samantha felt something solid. She pulled back her hand.
“Found something?” Ian asked.
She nodded. “Maybe a shoe.”
She continued to sweep, and soon the whole shoe was visible. “It’s loose,” she said. “It’s not on his foot.”
“Must have come off when they threw him in here,” Ian muttered.
Shortly after, Samantha unearthed the second shoe, also not on a foot.
She frowned. “That’s really odd. Why would they take his shoes off?” she asked.
Ian just shook his head.
They both continued, until suddenly Ian told Samantha to stop. “There’s no point in continuing,” he said. “Look here.”
He pointed to the hole they’d excavated. “We’ve reached the bottom. It hasn’t been dug any deeper.”
He leaned over and inspected the soil. “That dark area looks as though it could be blood. Seems someone was buried here, then dug up.” He stood up. “I’ve never seen that before except when a body is exhumed.”
“I’d better get Zanele back again,” Samantha said, pulling out her radio yet again. She stood up and explained to Zanele what they’d found.
“She’ll be here in about twenty minutes. They’re just wrapping up in the garage,” she said to Ian. “In the meantime, I’m going to take a look around to see if I can find any traces of who did this. I’ll be back shortly.”
She walked around the perimeter of the swept area, then repeated the exercise, except ten yards farther out. The third time she repeated the circle, she broke out of the bushes at the edge of Gaborone Dam—at least it had been the edge when the dam was full. Now the water was a long way from the edge. Just to her right was what looked like a small abandoned jetty—of no use since the water receded several years before. And leaning against the tree was a board with loops of rope next to it.
One of those boards that get pulled behind a motorboat, she thought.
Then it struck her what the old witch doctor had said: Where water plays, but plays no more.
Could this be where she meant?
A shiver went down Samantha’s spine, and she turned and left.
CHAPTER 17
Kubu, Joy, and Tumi arrived at Nono’s hospital ward at about nine o’clock on Saturday morning. Tumi had wanted them to stop and buy an ice cream for Nono, but Joy had persuaded her to wait to see if Nono was feeling well enough to eat it.
“She always eats ice cream,” Tumi protested.
“What if she’s sleeping?” Joy asked. “The ice cream will melt.”
“Then I can have it,” Tumi said. “Let’s buy her an Eskimo Pie.”
“No, darling,” Joy said. “We’ll all have ice cream when she’s feeling better.”
As they walked toward Nono’s ward, they could hear that it was already full of friends and relatives of the other patients. Kubu thought it was the sound of false cheer.
“How are you feeling, my darling?” Joy asked as she took Nono’s hand.
“A little better, but I’m still tired all the time.”
“I asked Mama to buy you an ice cream,” Tumi said as she climbed onto the bed. “But she said we’ll all have some when you’re better.”
Nono just lay there, her eyes closed.
Kubu went to the other side of the bed, squeezing past a couple talking to their mother, who looked to be very old. He leaned over and kissed Nono.
“The doctor says the medicine you’ve been taking doesn’t like you, so she’s changed it. She wants you to stay here a few more days, so she can keep an eye on you. She thinks you’ll be home in two or three days.”
Nono nodded, but didn’t say anything.
Joy looked at Kubu, worry showing in her face and eyes.
“She says you’ll start feeling better tomorrow,” Kubu continued, trying desperately to cheer her up.
Again she nodded.
“And look what I’ve brought you,” Joy said. Just as she opened her bag, Kubu’s phone rang.
“I wish you’d change that stupid ring to something that sounded like a phone,” she snapped.
Kubu pulled the phone from his pocket and looked at the screen. It was Samantha. He shrugged and left the room to take the call in private.
Samantha told Kubu what they’d found.
“You think they buried him, then dug him up again?” Kubu was incredulous.
“That’s what it looks like,” Samantha responded.
“I don’t know what’s going on here, Samantha,” Kubu said. “That’s the second body that’s disappeared—both somehow connected with longevity.”
“Can you come here and take a look around?”
Kubu hesitated, then agreed, guiltily thankful he could leave the depressing ward.
“I’ll be there in half an hour,” he said.
He returned to the ward and told Joy that he had to go, that a body had been found. He leaned over and kissed Nono again. “I have some work to do,” he said. “I’ll see you later today. I love you.”
He turned to Joy. “If I’m not back, please get a ride home with Pleasant.”
* * *
SAMANTHA MET KUBU at the rickety gate at the entrance to Rra Gampone’s home. As they walked to the garage where she thought Ramala had been held prisoner, she brought him up to date with what they’d found.
“There’s blood at the bottom of the grave?” Kubu exclaimed. “I hope Zanele is checking if it’s human. It would be very embarrassing to find a dog had been buried there. But if it is human, she should get a DNA sample from Ramala’s house and have it checked for a match.”
“She is. She’ll have a preliminary answer tomorrow morning.”
Then they reached the garage, and Samantha showed Kubu around, describing in detail what Zanele’s people had found. Then she asked whether he wanted to see the grave where they thought Ramala had been buried.
“Yes,” Kubu said. “Let’s take a look.”
* * *
AFTER KUBU HAD taken a look at the grave and surrounding area, he and Samantha walked back to his Land Rover.
“So, what are you planning to do now?” Kubu asked.
“First, I’m going to find out as much as I can about this Jonah Gampone,” Samantha replied. “Where he’s been, who his friends and associates are, what’s his business, and so on. And check whether he has any criminal record.”
Kubu nodded.
“And when he returns to the country, I’ll meet him at the airport and bring him in for questioning. I’d like you to be there too.”
“What about searching the main house?” Kubu asked.
“I did that last night,” she replied. “There was nothing of interest, but I couldn’t check a safe that I found.”
“If we need to, we can do that when he returns. Anything else?”
“Yes,” Samantha said. “I’ll get hold of everyone who works at Gampone’s business and find out who knew he was going away. It’s possible his garage was just used by someone who knew they wouldn’t be disturbed.”
“Good idea.”
“Should I do that today?” Samantha asked.
“Definitely. And get back to me tomorrow with what you’ve found.”
Samantha took out her notebook and made a to-do list.
“Have I missed anything?” she asked.
“Yes. Go through Ramala’s appointment book and check whether Gampone was a client of his. If he was, that would raise a lot of issues.”
Kubu opened the door to his Land Rover, but Samantha stopped him.
“I don’t know what to do about Mma Ramala. I should take the shoes we found and ask her if they’re her husband’s. If they are his, sh
e’ll know he’s dead. But if they aren’t, what’s she going to think?”
Kubu hesitated. “I wouldn’t do anything at this point. But if Zanele gets a positive match on the blood, you’ll have to tell her that we think he’s been murdered. Then you can have her ID the shoes.”
“I’ve never had to tell anyone a loved one is dead—has been murdered.”
“It’s never easy, and unfortunately it doesn’t get easier with practice. It’s one of the most difficult things we have to do.”
“Won’t you come with me?” Samantha asked. “I’ll do the talking, but it would help to have you there.”
“Let’s see what Zanele comes up with. Meanwhile, I’m going to try to find that Collins guy who was associated with our dead Bushman—the other body that’s disappeared.”
* * *
KUBU HEADED OUT on the Molepolole road to the big casino complex that housed The Grand Palm hotel. He had no interest in gambling, but he liked the restaurants and hoped he could fit in a hamburger and a steelworks after interviewing the staff.
The woman at check-in was helpful once Kubu showed her his police identification, and they soon established that Collins had been at the hotel on the seventh and eighth of that month but had left no forwarding address or any other details that might suggest where he was headed next.
“Who was on duty when he checked out?” Kubu asked.
After examining her computer, the woman told him. “Zanzi.”
“Is she here?”
“I’ll see.”
The girl disappeared into a back room and returned with an older woman and a smartly dressed man.
“I’m Joseph Nimako,” the man informed Kubu. “I’m the manager here. Is there a problem?”
“I’m trying to trace one of your previous guests,” he replied. “A Dr. Collins. He stayed here on the seventh and eighth and then left. I was hoping he might have said something about where he was headed.”
The manager examined the register as though some secret might be revealed if he looked hard enough. “I have his passport number written down here,” he said at last. “We kept all the required information.”
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