Dying to Live

by Michael Stanley

  “What if they x-ray the parcel?”

  “Unless they’ve a very sophisticated machine, nothing will show up. Even with the best, it’ll be difficult to detect.”

  “Thank you, Rra Gampone. Please bring the statues here as soon as possible so we can fill one with powder.”

  “No way! I can’t arrive there with a big box, stay awhile, then leave with it. And then take it to the shipping company. You’re crazy! I’ll be dead meat.”

  Gampone had a point.

  Kubu thought for a moment. “Here’s what we’ll do. Go and have dinner at the Wimpy at Game City about six o’clock. We’ll arrange to get the powder to you without being noticed. Just try to behave normally. If you aren’t contacted, go home, and we’ll try again. That’ll only happen if we don’t think we can make the drop safely.”

  “And then?”

  “Then you’ll deliver your parcel to Botswana Logistics tomorrow morning. That’s it.”

  “And then what happens?”

  “Then it’s in our court. You don’t have to worry about that.”

  After he hung up, Kubu wondered whether what they were doing was wise. It would cause an international ruckus if something went wrong and the Botswana police were reported as dealing in rhino horn.

  * * *

  GAMPONE ARRIVED AT Game City just after six o’clock and found a parking spot reasonably close to the Wimpy. He walked through the mall, went to the Wimpy, and waited to be given a table.

  “Inside or out, sir?”

  “Inside is fine,” he replied.

  He sat down, perused the menu, and ordered a hamburger and a large coffee.

  How is this going to happen? he wondered, looking around.

  He signaled the waitress, who walked over.

  “Do you have a newspaper?” he asked.

  “I’ll get one for you,” she replied.

  Gampone browsed through the paper, not paying attention to anything until his meal arrived.

  He ate slowly to give the person making the drop some time. But nothing happened. When he finished the hamburger, he ordered a waffle for dessert and another cup of coffee.

  When he drained the last of the coffee, still no contact had been made, so he decided to leave. He paid and walked outside, wondering what would happen next.

  As he approached his car, the inevitable parking attendant trotted over. “I watch your car,” he said. “Car safe with me.”

  Gampone put his hand in his pocket to find a two-pula coin—anything more was tantamount to paying a blackmailer’s ransom. To his irritation, all he had was a five-pula coin, which he reluctantly gave to the attendant.

  “Thank you,” he mumbled.

  He unlocked his car and climbed in. Just as he was about to put the key in the ignition, he noticed a parcel on the passenger seat. It hadn’t been there before.

  He looked around, but there was no one to be seen. Even the parking attendant had disappeared.

  “Fuck,” he said.

  CHAPTER 44

  Kubu’s mood was much improved the next morning. He and Joy were closing the gap between them and had held each other in bed as they tried to explain what had happened. They didn’t make love, but the renewed intimacy filled him with hope.

  There was a glimmer of good news, too, about Nono. The doctor had reported that her signs had made a small, but significant, improvement with the new cocktail she was now taking.

  “Give it a few more days,” the doctor had said. “Then we’ll have a much better prognosis.”

  So there was a spring in Kubu’s step when he arrived at work early to keep track of the parcel Gampone was sending to China. Since Gampone had indicated that government officials could be involved in the rhino horn smuggling, Kubu was hesitant to include anyone else in his plans. However, whatever way he looked at it, he couldn’t accomplish what he wanted alone. He was going to have to trust someone else.

  He’d decided that Tole, his contact at customs, was the obvious person, even though his position could allow him to be on the take. He’d ask Tole to track parcels going to China over the next few days and report back.

  I have to take the risk, Kubu thought.

  First, he called Gampone to find out the status of the parcel.

  “I have it packed and ready to go,” Gampone told him.

  “Please take a few photos and email them to me, together with the dimensions.” He gave Gampone his email address. “When are you going to drop it off?”

  “I spoke to this Tomale woman, and she said to come in at half past twelve. Probably there won’t be many other people there then. They’ll be out to lunch.”

  “Good,” said Kubu. “We’ll take it from there.”

  “What’ll you do?” Gampone asked.

  Kubu decided that Gampone didn’t need to know. “We won’t do anything this time. We’ll let it go through. We hope that you’ll get another request for more sometime soon. Then we can take action.”

  There was silence on the line.

  “You don’t think you should strike now?” Gampone asked.

  “No. It’s not like someone’s about to be murdered. We need to play this very carefully so we have a chance of getting the big boys in China.”

  “You know how much that rhino horn powder is worth?” Gampone asked. “You can’t just let it go.”

  “If we lose it, we lose it,” Kubu responded. “It’s more important to catch who’s responsible, don’t you think? Anyway, it’s not yours; it belongs to CITES, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, what are you worrying about?”

  “If I lose it, I’ll lose all the contacts in China. I’ll be back to square one.”

  “No. We’re going to do it my way.”

  There was silence on the line for a few seconds. “Well, it’s your call,” Gampone said, and hung up.

  After he’d finished talking to Gampone, Kubu called Tole at customs and made an appointment to see him.

  Then Kubu sat for a few minutes, thinking through his plan. He hoped he’d convinced Gampone that the parcel was going to China unimpeded. He still didn’t completely trust the man, so it was prudent to be careful. Now he was going to see if he could trust Tole.

  It would be so much easier if people were honest, he thought. But then I would be out of a job!

  * * *

  AT LUNCHTIME, KUBU decided to stop in and see Nono. When he saw her, he was encouraged. She was sitting up, although her eyes were closed. He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand.

  “Hello, darling.”

  She opened her eyes. “Hello, Daddy. I’m not so tired today. I’ve even watched a little TV.” She pointed to a set that was positioned on the wall opposite her. She lifted the remote and turned it off.

  This is a little progress, he thought, unconsciously touching the wooden bedside table. She’ll be back at home soon.

  “I want Mommy and Tumi to come and see me today.”

  “They’re coming later. Would you like them to bring you an ice cream? Maybe an Eskimo Pie?”

  Nono didn’t reply. Her eyes were closed again.

  Kubu sat for a few more minutes, then leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek.

  “I love you,” he said, then left.

  * * *

  WHEN KUBU RETURNED to his office after lunch, there was a voice mail from Gampone saying that the parcel had been delivered safely to Mma Tomale. She hadn’t said anything, other than thanking him for dropping it off, and when he’d tried to ask a few questions, she’d ignored him and gone into a back room. The message ended with Gampone asking Kubu to call him.

  Kubu decided that could wait and settled down to fill out some expense sheets.

  A short while later, Samantha came into his office and sat down.

  “A dead end,” she said. “I went to FedEx and UPS. They do ship to China, of course, but neither of them had any manifests with delivery addresses or shipper addresses anything like the one on the coffi
n. I asked them if they had ever shipped coffins. They said they hadn’t. I think they’re both in the clear.”

  “I expected that,” Kubu said. “I only hope that Botswana Logistics comes through with something useful. If they have anything, they’ll drop it off just after five this afternoon. You can stop by, if you like, and we can go through whatever they have together.”

  * * *

  IT WAS HALF past four when reception called Kubu. “A Rra Mendepe from Botswana Logistics is here to see you.”

  “Bring him up, please.”

  A few minutes later, when Mendepe had settled in a chair across from Kubu, he handed Kubu an envelope.

  “My statement is in there. Also Mma Tomale’s. They’ve both been witnessed. If you need anything more, please let us know.”

  “What about the addresses?”

  “Surprisingly, we found three other shipments in the past seven months to the same address in Qingdao as the coffin was shipped—two from the same sender and one different. I’ve enclosed the manifests in the envelope too.” He hesitated. “What are you going to do?” he asked. “If something like this coffin thing happens again, it’s going to cause us a lot of problems.”

  “I don’t know what we’ll do just yet,” Kubu replied. “But if we find out anything, we’ll let you know. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  He stood up and escorted Mendepe to the front door.

  “Make sure you keep this confidential,” Kubu said. “It’ll be much more difficult to resolve if it gets out.”

  Mendepe nodded and left.

  Kubu stopped by Samantha’s office on his way back. “They’ve dropped off the information. Come and let’s take a look.”

  A few minutes later, Samantha and Kubu were excited. Two of the parcels had been sent from a shop in Africa Mall and the third by a Ben Dan with a Gaborone street address. The only disappointment was that all fees had been paid in cash, so there was no credit-card or bank trail.

  “Look,” Kubu said. “The one shipment from the shop was sent just before the Bushman was killed, and the other just after. The one from the other address was sent just after we think Ramala was kidnapped.” He gave a little fist pump.

  “This may be the breakthrough we’ve been looking for,” Samantha said.

  “Tomorrow will tell,” Kubu responded. “Get on it first thing in the morning.”

  CHAPTER 45

  Samantha didn’t wait until the next day to follow up the addresses from Botswana Logistics. After she left Kubu’s office, she immediately went online to check them. The first turned out not to exist; there wasn’t even a street with the name given on the manifest. She wasn’t surprised. It would be more surprising if someone engaged in illegal activities used their real address.

  Then she Googled the shop in Africa Mall. It did exist, and specialized in herbal remedies, potions, and lotions.

  She picked up the phone and dialed Kubu’s office. There was no answer.

  “Damn!” she said out loud. She’d have to wait until the next day to share her news.

  * * *

  SAMANTHA ARRIVED AT Africa Mall at eight o’clock the next morning and found a woman taking down the shutters at the address she’d written in her notebook. The banner above the window read “Dr. Nyoka,” and below it, “Herbalist—Penis enlargement—Pregnancy.” And below that, “Satisfaction Gauranteed! Mony back.”

  Obviously didn’t use a professional sign writer, she thought.

  “Dumela, mma,” she greeted the wizened woman.

  The woman looked at her and nodded. “Wait inside,” she said, and continued taking down the shutters.

  “I’m not here for an appointment or medicine,” Samantha said.

  “Wait inside.”

  “My name is Detective Khama, from the police.” Samantha showed the woman her badge. “I need to speak to you.”

  “Wait inside.”

  Samantha gave up and walked into the dark shop and was assailed by a variety of smells, both sweet and bitter. She gazed at the rows of jars containing who knew what. She shuddered. She certainly wouldn’t trust her life or her sex life to this woman.

  Eventually the woman came into the shop.

  “Why are you here? I pay my taxes. Everything is proper. Do you want to see my certificate?”

  “No, mma. Do you remember anything about these parcels you sent to China?” She handed the woman the two manifests.

  “Yes. I sent these to the sick mother of Dr. Hairong.”

  “Dr. Hairong?” Samantha asked. Somehow the name seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place it.

  “Yes. He comes here often to ask about medicine to help his old mother. Sometimes he sends some to her.”

  “What sort of medicine?”

  “Medicines I make from plants I get from the Kalahari.”

  “What plants were they? Where did you get them?”

  “They are very powerful and secret. Where I get them is secret.”

  Samantha decided it wasn’t going to help at the moment to push for those details.

  “Do you know where Dr. Hairong lives or how I can contact him?”

  The woman shook her head. “I don’t know. He pays cash for everything.”

  “Does he come in often?”

  “No. Every now and again. Why do you want to see him?”

  “We need some information about one of the parcels. Please let me know if he comes in again. Here’s my card.”

  The woman took it and studied it carefully.

  “One other thing,” Samantha continued. “Please take a look at this photo. Do you recognize the man?”

  The woman looked at the photo. “Yes, that’s Dr. Hairong, all right. Not a very good picture though.”

  Samantha could barely contain her excitement. The photo she’d shown the woman was from the Chinese embassy’s CCTV video of the Mr. Ho who’d arranged the shipping of the coffin.

  * * *

  KUBU WAS SITTING in his office when Samantha came bursting in. “Ho isn’t his real name!” she exclaimed. “Actually it’s Hairong.” Then she paused. “Or maybe that’s not his real name either.”

  “Slow down, Samantha, and sit down. Tell me what you’ve found out.”

  Samantha sat down, took a deep breath, and explained what had happened at the herbalist shop of Dr. Nyoka. “The person who sent those parcels to Qingdao calls himself Hairong. It’s the same person as the Mr. Ho in the CCTV, who got the embassy to authorize the shipment of the body back to China. It’s probably the same person who signed the girl’s death certificate.”

  “That’s very interesting.” Kubu leaned back in his chair. “What about the address on the third parcel? Does this Hairong live there?”

  “The address doesn’t exist. But, Kubu, I thought of something else. The afternoon that Ramala disappeared he had a meeting with a ‘Hair On.’ I could never find what that meant. But perhaps that’s how Ramala wrote ‘Hairong’ in his appointment book.” She paused. “We’ve made a good connection, but haven’t got much closer to finding him.”

  “Well, I’m hoping we’ll hear back from Interpol in the next few days about the rhino horn Gampone sent. It should go out today. Then we’ll arrest Mma Tomale at Botswana Logistics and squeeze her. I’m sure she must know our Dr. Hairong or our Mr. Ho or whatever his real name is. This is all related. I think it’s safe to say we’ve made some progress at last. Well done.”

  Samantha smiled.

  “To come back down to earth, Samantha, did you speak to Mma Ramala?”

  “I did. It was awful, Kubu—telling her…”

  “As I said, it won’t get any easier. Now I have to do pretty much the same thing and phone Collins’s wife and tell her we’re beginning to believe he’s dead too.”

  * * *

  KUBU HAD JUST returned from lunch when reception alerted him that Rra Tole was there to see him.

  “Bring him up,” Kubu said, eager to find out where Gampone’s parcel had been shipped to.

&n
bsp; A few minutes later Tole had given Kubu a large envelope.

  “There were seven shipments to China today. I took photos of each, as you asked. I thought it easier for you if I printed them. The dimensions of the parcels are on the back of each photo, and a copy of the manifest is stapled to it. There were a few odd-shaped parcels, so I took more than one photo.”

  “Excellent. Thank you,” Kubu said, as he slid the photos out of the envelope. “This is just what I wanted.”

  “What are you going to do now?” Tole asked.

  Even though he’d trusted Tole so far, Kubu wasn’t going to trust him any further—at least not at this stage. “Nothing,” he answered.

  “Nothing?” Tole looked perplexed. “You mean I’ve done all this for nothing?”

  “Not at all,” Kubu said. “We’re going to build a watertight case, but that takes time. I’ll be asking you to do this several more times before we can take action. That’s the nature of our work. Slow and methodical.”

  “I understand,” Tole responded, even though he clearly didn’t.

  “Thank you for all you’ve done. I appreciate it,” Kubu said, standing up.

  “It’s a pleasure. Let me know when I can help again.”

  * * *

  AS SOON AS Tole had left, Kubu shuffled through the photos and identified the parcel Gampone had sent. He was relieved—he’d thought it likely that Tomale would have repackaged the shipment to make it difficult to trace.

  “Let’s see who sent it,” he said out loud.

  The sender was listed as Ben Dan at a Gaborone address. Kubu Googled the address, but it didn’t exist. He also Googled the sender’s name. There was no such person in Botswana, as far as he could see, but the word bèndàn apparently meant “idiot” in Chinese.

  “Very funny,” Kubu muttered. Then the name struck him, and he checked his notes. Ben Dan was also the sender of one of the packages from the traditional medicine shop. That was interesting.

  Next he Googled the address the parcel was going to in Shanghai. It existed, but there were no hits on the company name. Finally, Kubu opened Google Maps and typed in the address. The building that showed up was a high-rise.