Dying to Live

by Michael Stanley

  Ixau stood in thought for a few minutes, then clambered back into his truck and set off up the firebreak. He wanted to avoid obliterating the tracks, but the edge of the firebreak was too sandy, and he battled. After a minute or two, he shrugged and drove in the center, where the other vehicles had been. He doubted the other detectives would have much interest in the tracks anyway.

  When he came upon the yellow Land Cruiser pulled off under a tree, his analysis of the tracks was confirmed. One of the old tracks led to it, and, of course, stopped there. He checked the Land Cruiser’s registration number and confirmed that it was indeed Collins’s. He saw where the other vehicle had turned, so he’d been right about it driving up and then back on the firebreak.

  As for the third vehicle, its tracks disappeared into the bush. From the direction in which the shrubs were bent and snapped, it was obvious to Ixau that the vehicle had driven through the bush and then headed back to the road along the firebreak. Perhaps that vehicle had also been searching for Collins, probably also following GPS coordinates, and after it had found him—or at least his vehicle—it had taken the easy route back to the road.

  Where had it gone after that? he wondered.

  Ixau had had little training in detective work but, as a Bushman, he was used to reading the past from its traces in the sand. The state of its tracks told him that Collins’s vehicle had been abandoned for some time.

  Why had it been left there? he wondered.

  He spotted the single set of footprints leading from the abandoned vehicle to the second one. If Collins had been the driver, he’d willingly joined the other vehicle. But if someone else had been the driver, where was Collins?

  Another set of footprints approached the vehicle from the bush. It only took Ixau a few minutes to follow them back to the tire tracks from the third vehicle. Obviously the searcher had parked a little way away and then proceeded cautiously to Collins’s vehicle. Had he taken Collins by surprise then? Ixau didn’t think so, because these footprints seemed newer than the ones from Collins’s vehicle to the other one.

  He didn’t know what had happened, but he had a strong hunch that something wasn’t right.

  He tried his radio, which was patched through to the Ghanzi police station, and eventually made contact, although it was poor quality.

  “Hello, this is Constable Ixau at New Xade. I need to speak to Detective Sergeant Segodi, please.”

  “Detective Sergeant Segodi? Yes, I’ll try his cell phone.”

  There was a long pause before the crackly voice returned.

  “There’s no reply. Is it an emergency?”

  “No, it’s not an emergency. Thank you. I’ll try to contact him later.”

  Ixau switched off the radio. It was clearly not an emergency, and Collins’s vehicle wasn’t going anywhere. There was nothing else but to return to New Xade. He could ask around. Perhaps someone there knew something about Collins or who had met him under a lonely tree in the Kalahari.

  * * *

  THE CID HEADQUARTERS was very quiet on a late Sunday morning. Even the baboons from Kgale Hill weren’t visible.

  Samantha made herself a cup of instant coffee, retrieved Ramala’s appointment book from the evidence room, and sat down to see whether Gampone had been one of Ramala’s clients.

  As she skimmed through, she recognized the names of a number people who were seeking immortality—a lot of politicians, several sports personalities, a TV news anchor, and even an assistant commissioner of police.

  I hope the muti doesn’t work, she thought. He’s such a pompous ass.

  Then—bingo—Rra Gampone. On Tuesday, October 13, at 5:30 in the afternoon.

  Samantha’s skin prickled. Was this the break they’d been hoping for?

  Just as she stood up to gaze at Kgale Hill, the phone rang. It was the man at reception.

  “A man has just dropped off some papers for you.”

  Samantha looked at her watch: 12:55. She smiled.

  “Thank you. I’ll be right down.”

  * * *

  WHEN SHE RETURNED to her office, Samantha looked over Gampone’s itinerary. The first part of the trip was in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. Then the rest was in several cities in China. She noticed that he’d left on the day after visiting Ramala. She wondered whether that was significant. She shrugged. There was no way of telling.

  Then she checked for the hotel he was scheduled to be at.

  Saturday, October 24—Hyatt Regency Chongming, China

  Sunday, October 25—Hyatt Regency Chongming, China

  A quick online search told her that Chongming was six hours ahead of Gaborone. Seven thirty in the evening there, she thought. Perfect.

  She picked up her phone and dialed.

  “Hyatt Regency Chongming. How can I help you?” The English was very good, but with a strong accent.

  “I’d like to speak to Mr. Jonah Gampone, please,” Samantha said.

  “Please spell the name.”

  Samantha spelled Gampone’s last name.

  “Let me check.” There was a long delay, then the voice returned. “Mr. Gampone checked out this morning. Sorry.”

  “Do you know where he was going?”

  “Sorry, he left no information.”

  Samantha thanked the woman and hung up. Then she tried the hotel that Gampone was scheduled to stay at on Monday.

  “Hyatt Regency Hong Kong, Sha Tin. How can I help you?” Again the English was very good, but with a strong accent.

  “I’d like to speak to Mr. Jonah Gampone, please,” Samantha said.

  “Please spell the name.”

  Samantha spelled Gampone’s last name.

  “Let me check.”

  While she waited, Samantha wondered whether she was speaking to the same woman as before. They sounded identical.

  After a short delay, the woman came back on the line. “Sorry. Mr. Gampone hasn’t checked in yet.”

  “Do you know when he is expected?”

  “His reservation is only for Tuesday. Would you like to leave a message?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll call back then,” Samantha said. If he’s involved, there’s no need to alert him of what’s going on at home, she thought. And if he’s not, it doesn’t make any difference.

  She checked that she’d read the itinerary correctly. She had.

  Why had he changed his itinerary? She shrugged. Businessmen do that all the time. There’s no use in speculating.

  Samantha picked up the other piece of paper Rra Mere had left for her. In addition to the travel agent, there were five people listed whom Mere thought knew that Gampone was away.

  I’ll go and talk to each of them in person, she thought. Better not to give them any warning, then I can see how they react to my questions.

  She slipped the piece of paper into her notebook and headed for the door.

  CHAPTER 21

  It was after five on Sunday afternoon by the time Kubu, Joy, and Tumi returned home after spending the afternoon with Nono, who was no better than the day before. Kubu was irritated that he hadn’t heard back from Segodi. He’d tried to call a couple of times, but it’d just gone to voice mail. Irritated, he punched in the number and waited for the phone to ring, half-expecting it to cut to voice mail again, but Segodi answered almost at once.

  “Ah, Assistant Superintendent. I expected you to call earlier.”

  “I tried, but didn’t reach you. Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I thought you might be busy. It is Sunday, after all.”

  Kubu let that go. “What did you find?”

  “The vehicle was at the location given by those GPS coordinates. It seems to have been abandoned at least a week ago. There was no sign of Collins. He must’ve left in another vehicle, because Constable Ixau checked and there were no footprints leading away from the Land Cruiser into the bush.”

  “You took Ixau?”

  “He’s a Bushman and knows that area like the lines on his hand. He’s the best poli
ceman to find anything out in the desert. He went straight to Collins’s vehicle even though it was off the road, but it was on a firebreak he knew about.”

  Kubu was suspicious. “He was with you?”

  Segodi hesitated. “Actually, he was on his own. I spoke to him last night, and he agreed to go out early. Since Director Mabaku said it was so urgent, he left at dawn. I was going to join him later in the morning, but by then he’d found the Land Cruiser, so I decided to go tomorrow with forensics people and then drive the vehicle back to Ghanzi.”

  Kubu fumed. “So you didn’t go out at all?”

  “I’ve just explained that.” Segodi couldn’t keep the smug tone out of his voice. He knew he’d cut a corner and come out ahead.

  Kubu knew it too. Segodi had shoved the job off on the poor constable on the excuse of making an earlier start to the search. And he’d gotten away with it. Just like a cockroach slipping through a crack in the floor, Kubu thought. However, Mabaku might have something to say about it.

  It took Kubu a few moments to react.

  “Give me Constable Ixau’s number,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Why do you want to talk to him…?” Segodi began to object, but thought better of it. “Hold on.” After a few moments, he gave Kubu the number, and then once more found he was speaking to a dead line. Kubu didn’t want to waste his time. There was no point talking to Segodi, who only knew what Ixau had told him. He wanted to talk to the man who had been at the scene.

  He called Ixau, and again the phone was answered quickly.

  “Hello. Constable Ixau here.”

  “Hello, Constable. This is Assistant Superintendent Bengu from the CID in Gaborone.”

  There was a moment’s pause before Ixau responded politely, “Good evening, Assistant Superintendent.”

  “I’m investigating two cases at the moment, Constable—maybe linked. The one is the death of the man Heiseb, and the other is the disappearance of Dr. Collins. You went out this morning to look for Collins. I’d like to hear what you found.”

  “Of course.” For the next ten minutes Ixau went through the story of the vehicles and the various sets of tracks he’d found. Kubu asked several questions and was impressed by the constable’s thorough approach and careful observation at the scene.

  Almost certainly, he’d done a better job than the wretched Segodi would have done, Kubu thought, and he complimented the constable on his good work.

  Ixau didn’t respond for a few seconds, then he said, “Assistant Superintendent, I know I’m not a detective, but I’m the only policeman out here. I know the people. I know what’s going on in New Xade. So I asked a few questions this morning when I got back from the bush. I couldn’t reach Detective Sergeant Segodi, so I just went ahead.” He paused as if waiting for a rebuke.

  “Very good. Did you find out anything?”

  “You remember that I described the one track as quite recent, but not from yesterday? Well, I asked around, and I found a lady who’d seen a stranger on Thursday. Her name is Mma Kang. She remembers him quite well, because we don’t get a lot of visitors out this way and because he was quite rough with one of the older residents here. He was also looking for Collins. I’m sure it was the man who found Collins’s Land Cruiser out in the bush. Mma Kang sells Bushman art, and he drove his vehicle to her place and pulled it off the road. So I could see the tire marks. It’s definitely the same tread as the recent one on the firebreak.”

  “Did she get the man’s name or the registration number of his vehicle?”

  “He said his first name was Festus. She didn’t have the registration number of the vehicle, but she described it. It was a silver Nissan double cab.”

  Kubu recognized the name at once and was delighted. With a bit of luck this Festus was the owner of the vehicle. How many silver Nissan double cabs could there be in Gaborone?

  “That’s very good work, Constable. It’ll really help me. Thank you.”

  Once more Ixau hesitated. Then he said, “Assistant Superintendent, I know who you are. Many Bushmen know of you and the bad thing that happened to you in the Kalahari. Something bad happened to Heiseb, too. I want to know who did that. I’m happy to help you any way I can.”

  Kubu digested that. After a moment he said, “Constable, did you mention anything about this Festus to Detective Sergeant Segodi?”

  “No, I wasn’t sure…”

  “Fine. Please report anything you discover directly to me.”

  “Thank you, Assistant Superintendent. I’ll do that,” Ixau said, sounding pleased.

  Not much love lost between him and Segodi, Kubu decided. He wished the constable a good night, and then went to see how far along Joy was with dinner.

  CHAPTER 22

  Mabaku had called a meeting for eight o’clock on Monday morning—a time that Kubu did not appreciate. He preferred a slower start to the morning, enjoying a cup of coffee with Joy before facing the week’s trials and tribulations. He tried hard but was still ten minutes late.

  “Oversleep again, Kubu?” Mabaku growled. “We’ve been twiddling our thumbs for ten minutes. Why can’t you ever be on time?”

  “Sorry, Director,” Kubu said as he sat down between Ian MacGregor and Edison Banda. “I’ll be on time next Monday.”

  “I’ll believe that when I see it,” Mabaku said.

  To Kubu’s irritation, Edison stifled a snicker.

  “All right,” Mabaku continued. “Let’s get started. Tell me if I’m missing something.”

  He walked over to the whiteboard and wrote “Bushman Heiseb” at the top left.

  “First, we have the murder of this Bushman out in the Kalahari. When Ian autopsied him, he found his internal organs looking as though they were from a much younger man, and a bullet lodged in an abdominal muscle with no entry wound. Then the Bushman’s body was stolen from the morgue.” He shook his head in disbelief, then wrote “Ramala” on the board.

  “Second, we have a traditional healer called Kgosi Ramala, whose claim to fame was that he provided muti that supposedly prolonged life. He disappeared ten days ago. Ian and Samantha found blood and a pair of shoes in a grave near the reservoir, but no body. It also appears to have been stolen. Zanele told me this morning that she’d heard back from the DNA people that the shoes and blood were Ramala’s. She also told me that it appeared Ramala had been held nearby, in the garage of a Rra Gampone, who is currently out of the country.”

  He glanced at Zanele. “Did I get that right?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “So we have what appears to be two separate cases where someone has been murdered and then later their bodies have been stolen. If that’s not bizarre enough, one of the victims promised everlasting life, and Ian thinks the other was a hundred and fifty years old.” He paused, then shook his head. “I’m getting too old for this job,” he muttered.

  He turned back to the board and wrote “Collins.” “Kubu tells me that an American—a Christopher Collins—who befriended the dead Bushman has now gone missing, and that his rented four-by-four was found near New Xade, abandoned in the desert. He also tells me that someone asked the rental company for the coordinates of Collins’s vehicle and may also be looking for Collins.”

  “Director, Director. There’s a Christopher Collins in Ramala’s appointment book.” Samantha could hardly contain her excitement. “It has to be the same person.”

  “When was that?” Kubu asked.

  “I don’t remember the exact date—I’ll check later—but I think it was about a month ago.”

  “It seems everyone in this town wants to live forever. They’re all mad!” Mabaku looked around the room. “Anything else?”

  “Director,” Kubu said, “I have the first name of the person who is looking for Collins—a Festus someone or other. And I know what he’s driving. Constable Ixau in New Xade confirmed that this Festus guy had been there looking for Collins.”

  Mabaku frowned. “Constable Ixau? I thought Detective Se
rgeant Segodi was doing that?”

  “I’d like to talk to you about that afterwards,” Kubu said. “Anyway, Edison’s been searching the vehicle registration records for a match—but he doesn’t have anything yet. Hopefully we’ll have that information today.”

  Edison nodded.

  “And what do you know about this Collins character?” Mabaku asked.

  “Not much more than I’ve already told you,” Kubu replied. “He’s an anthropologist from Minneapolis in the States. He’s interested in how Bushmen keep their history alive through storytelling.”

  “Please don’t tell me he’s a hundred and fifty years old too!”

  Kubu smiled. “Not that I know of.”

  “Anything else?” Mabaku asked.

  “Director,” Samantha said, “I’ve been following up on Rra Gampone.”

  “I suppose he’s also a hundred and fifty years old?”

  Samantha shook her head. “No, Director. He’s fifty-seven and the owner of a small import/export business.”

  “Thank God for that!”

  “He’s been out of the country for nearly two weeks,” Samantha continued, “and is due back on Wednesday. Air Botswana will confirm when he boards their flight in Johannesburg so I can meet him when he lands. I’ve also spoken to everyone who we think knew he was overseas. Of course, I can’t be one hundred percent sure that those are the only people who knew. However, my assessment is that none of them is involved.” She paused. “But…”

  “But what?” Mabaku snapped.

  “But I think you need to put his name on the board too—he was also one of Ramala’s clients.”

  CHAPTER 23

  When the meeting had finished, Samantha set off on the mission she was dreading—to tell Mma Ramala that her husband had been murdered. She’d already called ahead, telling her that she needed to follow up on several items. Mma Ramala had assured her that she would be home.

  As she drove, Samantha played through different opening lines in her head.

  Dumela, Mma Ramala. How are you? What a nice day it is. I have some news for you …