by Andy Maslen
‘What is that?’ she asked.
He gave it to her.
‘I think it’s a bit of vehicle trim.’
Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinised the fragment of plastic.
‘You think it’s from the poachers’ vehicle?’
‘Who else would it be?’
She nodded, pulling on her earlobe and turned the plastic over.
‘There’s mud in it,’ she said. She turned away from Gabriel. ‘Hey, O’Meara, get over here!’
Stella trotted over. She swiped a hand across her forehead.
‘What is it?’
‘Alec here found this,’ she said, passing the plastic to Stella. ‘Look at that.’
She pointed to the crust of red mud lodged in one of the intricate little mouldings on the black side.
‘You said you tracked Lieberman to Botswana because of a soil sample,’ Gabriel said. ‘Do you think you could repeat the trick to track the poachers?’
‘I suppose we might be able to. But in all probability, it’ll be local and won’t tell us anything beyond what we already know.’
She produced a clear plastic bag from her pocket, dropped the trim into it and sealed it.
They spent another hour at the site, but turned up no further physical evidence.
‘We should get back,’ Gabriel said. ‘There’s nothing else here for us.’
‘Wait!’ Eli said.
‘What?’
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
Gabriel shrugged. ‘Not following you.’
‘The pictures! Major Modimo’s got a thing for them, or didn’t you notice in his office?’
She strode off to the Land Cruiser and pulled open the passenger door. Gabriel and Stella watched as she spoke briefly to the major, who then emerged from the cab, smiling at Eli and gesturing towards his men.
As they rejoined Gabriel and Stella, Eli said, ‘The major thinks a photo of him and his men standing guard while we examine the skeleton would be a good start.’
Gabriel grinned. He and Eli knelt by the crudely disfigured skull while the soldiers struck a variety of martial poses, grim-faced, rifles pointed out at imaginary enemies. Hands on hips, the major faced Stella, who wielded the Canon, shooting dozens of pictures, so that the camera’s electronic shutter buzzed as loudly as the insects that swarmed around them.
‘Now, how about one of me with the ladies,’ the major said.
He stood between Eli and Stella, encircling their waists with his arms and grinning as Gabriel fired off a few more shots. He saw Eli wince. Why?
‘And one of us shaking hands, Mr Jensen,’ the major said.
One of the soldiers asked shyly if he could pose with Eli, and before long each man was requesting a photo with Eli, Stella, Gabriel or all three. Finally, after agreeing she would upload all the shots to the major’s PC at the barracks, they finished up and prepared to leave.
The last job onsite was for Stella to lift the plaster cast of the tyre track, bag it and lay it gently on the Land Cruiser’s rear row of seats.
They were back at the barracks two hours later.
After retrieving the camera’s SD card from the slot on the major’s surprisingly up-to-date computer, Stella turned to go. The major was looking oddly at Gabriel. She couldn’t read his expression.
‘I am a great reader, Mr Jensen,’ he was saying. ‘Charles Dickens is one of my favourite authors. The great Chinua Achebe. Many American writers, too. Ernest Hemingway. Alex Hayley. Stephen King. But not just fiction. I like to keep abreast of current affairs, too. As well as the Botswana Guardian, I read the International Herald Tribune. And the Times of London.’ A beat. ‘For whom you are writing your story. Remind me of the editor’s name again.’
‘Raymond Shaw,’ Gabriel answered smoothly. Basic background for a legend. Get your colleagues’ names straight.
‘Ah, yes. Mr Raymond Shaw. I called the Times while you were conducting your search.’
Stella’s gaze flicked from Modimo to Gabriel, to Eli, and back again. It was like watching a poker game between three very experienced players. Nobody displayed a tell. The major continued.
‘Here’s the funny thing. I mentioned I was hosting two journalists writing a piece for the Times. I asked to speak to one of the commissioning editors.’ He paused. ‘Guess what?’
‘What?’ Gabriel said, smiling.
‘Nobody in that department had any knowledge of this piece you claim to be writing. I gave them your name and that of your colleague, here,’ he said, nodding at Eli. ‘They had never heard of you. I explained I had seen your National Union of Journalists cards so they ran your names through their database. The oddest thing. You aren’t in it.’ He leaned forwards. ‘Tell me. Whoever you are. Did you think we were just a bunch of simple African soldiers, ready to swallow whatever—’
‘Major—’ Gabriel began, but Stella cut him off.
‘Major Modimo, we owe you an apology. And an explanation. Can we sit?’
The major sat behind his desk and motioned for the others to take a seat each.
‘I’m waiting,’ he said, ‘with bated breath.’
‘I’m sorry we had to mislead you. My colleagues aren’t journalists, as you correctly deduced. And I don’t work for a private security firm, though Kagiso Group has provided us with some logistical support. May I?’ she said, gesturing to a patch pocket on her trousers.
‘Please,’ he replied, inclining his head.
She pulled out a black leather ID folder and opened it. She passed it across the desk to him.
His eyes widened as he looked at it, before handing it back.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Stella Cole. Of the Metropolitan Police. This is genuine?’
‘It is. You can call my office if you like.’
‘No need. Somehow I believe you. Why are you in Botswana, Miss Cole? And who are these people?’ he added, pointing at Gabriel and Stella.
‘I am part of Operation Birch. It’s the investigation of the murder of Princess Alexandra. No doubt you read of it. Perhaps in the Times?’
He nodded, allowing her mild flattery.
‘Go on.’
‘A lead brought me to Botswana. My colleagues are investigating the murders of the British soldiers here. But not as journalists. They are part of the British security apparatus. I regret I cannot tell you more than that and, once again, forgive me, us, for the subterfuge.’
Gabriel held his breath. Unlike previous encounters in similar situations, there was no question of fighting their way out. Major Modimo might have them arrested, but that would be a relatively simple matter to iron out. No, this was about not destroying a fledgling relationship that could be mutually beneficial.
Modimo drew in a breath.
‘We lost two good men out there,’ he said. He eyed Gabriel, Eli and Stella in turn. ‘Married men. With children. The British Paras lost their lives and I am truly sorry. They were doing good out here. But Moses and Virtue, they were my boys.’ He thumped his chest. ‘So do what you have to do. I will not stand in your way, although I cannot be seen to be helping you in an official capacity any longer. Find the people who committed this heinous massacre. Find them and deal with them.’
His meaning was clear. Gabriel nodded.
‘We will, Major. That’s a promise.’
‘Then go. And God be with you.’
‘That was a smart call,’ Eli said to Stella as Gabriel drove away from the barracks.
‘Thanks. He’s a smart guy. If we’d tried to lie or bluff our way out of it he’d have stuck the cuffs on us. I’m here on official business, but Don told me you two aren’t. Seemed like the best idea to keep things sweet with the major.’
‘Did he pinch your bum when we were having our picture taken?’
Stella snorted.
‘Oh my god, he did! You too?’
‘Right on the softest part. Cheeky bugger!’
Gabriel drove on, shaking his head
22<
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Stella placed the hardened lump of Plaster of Paris on the desk in her room. Using a complimentary toothbrush from the bathroom, she flicked away the particles of soil and grass that had stuck to the plaster. The treads were deep and sharp-edged. New tyres. It was a wide track, too, suggesting a 4x4.
Using the Canon, she took a series of shots of the tread marks from directly above and at a couple of different angles, laying a hotel ballpoint alongside the marks for scale.
She emailed the shots to Lucian back in Paddington Green with a short message.
Hey Luce,
Greetings from Botswana!
I took this cast in the national park. Any chance you could identify the tyre brand and/or vehicle?
I’m couriering you a paint sample, too. Hopefully the two will tie together.
Take care and say hi to Gareth for me.
Stel x
Using the tip of the craft knife she’d bought as part of her improvised forensics kit, she sliced away an inch-square piece of painted plastic for the trim piece Gabriel had found. She wrapped it in the shower cap provided by the hotel management then wound it round with a dozen sheets of toilet paper before sticking the whole thing in an envelope.
The hotel’s business centre turned out to have everything the would-be forensic analyst would need, including padded envelopes and an efficient young man called John, who promised Stella he’d have the packet FedExed to London that same afternoon.
She called Callie.
‘What’s up, wee girl?’ her boss answered, her crisp Edinburgh accent a sudden shock after all the African voices Stella had been listening to recently.
‘I’ve sent a paint sample to Lucian. It could be connected to the case. Can you make sure nobody bullies him into giving their work higher priority?’
‘Don’t you worry. I’ve got half the bloody top brass breathing down my neck back here, Stel.’ She paused. ‘And the other half are calling for my head.’
Stella felt a pang of guilt for misleading her boss. But the paint could be related to Operation Birch. Stranger things have happened.
‘I’m going out tonight, shake the tree a little. See if anything falls out. Judging by what I’ve seen so far, an Israeli physics teacher would stick out here like a vegan in a police canteen.’
‘Aye, well, get what you can and get back here, Stel. I’m not paying for ye to go on bloody safari!’
With Callie updated, that just left the soil sample. And Stella had an idea. She Googled ‘geology Botswana university’.
The very first hit returned the exact same search term, attached to the Geology department of Botswana University in Gaborone. She checked the address on her phone. 4775 Notwane Road was a five-minute drive or a thirty-minute walk. Stella ran to keep fit, and to keep her head straight. She’d once walked six hundred miles through America’s northern states in three months. She decided to walk.
First she needed to make a call.
Wearing a pressed white shirt over pale-grey chinos and trainers, she arrived at the Geology department feeling warm but not unpleasantly so. The breeze blowing east to west through the city kept her cool and the lack of traffic and openness of the landscape meant it was more of a pleasant summer stroll than a route march.
Trees grew everywhere, and every twenty yards or so a huge flowering shrub threatened to overspill its garden and push the unwilling pedestrian into the traffic. Fallen Bougainvillea blossoms like papery pink lanterns littered the pavement. She stopped to smell the white feathery flowers on a drooping-branched tree and smiled as an intense orange hit wove its way into her nostrils.
Opposite the blue-and-green sign for the university, a group of local women had set up stalls selling cold drinks, beers, sandwiches and fruit. She made a mental note to buy something on the way back to the hotel.
Having explained on the phone who she was and what she was trying to achieve, the head of the Geology department had proved not just willing but eager to help her.
After introducing herself to the receptionist, Stella went to wait by a display of brochures advertising the various courses available to students.
A few minutes passed, then a female voice made her turn round.
The woman crossing the polished floor towards her was in her late twenties, her hair straightened and cut short. She was smiling, her wide-set eyes magnified by heavy-framed glasses.
‘DCI Cole?’
Stella smiled.
‘Yes. Dr Montho?’
They shook hands.
‘Please call me Lydia.’
‘Stella.’
‘Good. Formalities out of the way, come to my office. I can introduce you to one of my most promising students.’
Waiting for them in Lydia’s office, a neat, professional space filled with green plants and rock samples, was a tall young woman, her braided hair piled on top of her head and secured with a lilac headscarf. She stood as they entered.
‘Stella, I’d like you to meet Zela Chilume, one of my most able researchers.’
Stella shook hands with the statuesque student.
Lydia ushered them to comfortable armchairs.
‘You said on the phone you needed help with a soil sample.’
‘Yes.’
Stella retrieved the evidence bag from her pocket. She laid it on the low coffee table between them.
‘I found that inside a piece of vehicle trim in the national park. I’d love to know if it’s local or not.’
Zela leaned forwards. She looked up at Stella.
‘May I open it?’
‘Be my guest. It’s why I’m here.’
Zela slid a thumbnail into the Ziploc fastening and held the open bag to her nose, sniffing at the contents. Then, in a move that surprised Stella, she moistened the tip of her index finger with her tongue and dipped it delicately into the powdery red earth. She brought it to her mouth and once more extended her tongue, like a cat tasting something suspicious.
Lydia smiled at Stella.
‘You are pulling a face, Stella!’
‘Can you really identify the location of a soil sample that way?’ Stella asked.
‘Not precisely, no. That would be ridiculous. But the local earth is high in iron. It has a distinctive taste, a little like blood, you know? When you suck a cut.’
Stella did know, having inadvertently tasted more blood than she would ever care to admit. She limited herself to a nod.
‘I think it is local,’ Zela said. ‘I can taste the iron. But we need to do a full analysis to be sure.’
‘We have a gas chromatograph and a mass spectrometer,’ Lydia said proudly. ‘Thanks to a wealthy donor who studied here and went on to make a fortune in mining.’
‘How long do you need?’ Stella asked.
‘I can start right away,’ Zela said. ‘We have comparison charts for all local soil types and for those of our neighbours.’
‘Neighbours?’
‘Namibia, Zambia, Zimbabwe and South Africa. Lydia compiled the database for her PhD. It is known throughout Africa for its detail and comprehensiveness,’ she said, grinning at her mentor.
‘Give us twenty-four hours,’ Lydia said, smiling.
Stella’s mind fizzed at an incoming idea.
‘Lydia, could you introduce me to someone in the Physics department?’
‘Of course,’ she said, with a smile. ‘Come on, it’s just a five-minute walk across campus.’
They strolled across a Tarmac quadrangle between still and brick buildings. Groups of students chattered, laughed, listened to music through shared headphones or read books beneath shade trees.
At the department of Physics, after a short tour and directions from a couple of earnest male students in lab coats, Lydia introduced Stella to a short, round-faced man.
‘This is Dr Ralph Nkosi. Ralph, this is Detective Chief Inspector Stella Cole. She’s from the Metropolitan Police, in London.’
He shook Stella’s hand.
‘What brings you to m
y department, Detective Chief Inspector Cole?’ he said in a deep voice in which Stella detected the rasp of a tobacco habit.
‘Just a single question, really. Have you entertained any visitors to your department from Israel, recently? Specifically a high school physics teacher named Dov Lieberman?’
He frowned and shook his head.
‘I’m afraid not. I wish it were otherwise, but our last international visitor was in 2015. A Swedish researcher. But Israel? No. I am sorry.’
Stella shook her head.
‘Don’t be. It was just a wild guess.’
Stella found Gabriel and Eli by the pool when she got back. They’d grouped three loungers in the shade of a rush-topped beach umbrella in a quiet corner of the pool area.
The temperature had increased during her meeting at the Geology department and she was sweating, despite having bought a can of orange drink and a pot of fragrant, cubed fresh mango to consume on the journey back.
Eli smiled up at her from her lounger. Stella had time to admire the younger woman’s body, honed, she imagined from years of combat and intensive militant training.
‘You should get your cossie on,’ Eli said, then paused, brow furrowed. ‘That’s what you call them, isn’t it? Swimming costumes, I mean?’
‘Well, yes. But strange though this might seem, I didn’t pack one.’
‘They sell them in the resort shop. Come on,’ she said, getting to her feet and wrapping a diaphanous blue sarong round her chest. ‘I’ll help you pick one out.’
Gabriel opened his eyes. Eli and Stella were approaching from the direction of his and Eli’s room. Stella wore a high-cut orange one-piece swimsuit. He took in the flat belly, toned legs and arms. Though older than Eli by around ten years, she looked more than capable of taking care of herself. He felt confident the three of them would be more than a match for a bunch of poachers, however they encountered them.
‘Well?’ Eli said, when she and Stella arrived. ‘What do you think? She looks great, doesn’t she?’
‘You do,’ Gabriel said. He pointed to her left arm. ‘Nice scar. War wound?’
Stella grimaced.
