Death of the Mantis

by Michael Stanley

  “How do you know that?”

  Kubu related Lerako’s conversation with the proprietor of Berrybush Farm outside Tsabong.

  “And here”—Kubu pointed to a cross near Kang to the north—“is where a Bushman was killed about two years ago—stabbed multiple times and left to die. The police were unable to find any suspects or a motive. But the victim apparently lived to the south, around where Krige died.” Kubu’s finger moved back to where the other murders had taken place. “Now this line is an interesting possibility. And I must give Edison full credit for this. Nice lateral thinking. He knew I was looking for suspicious deaths in the area but he extended that to suspicious deaths connected with the area.

  “Do you recall the case of the two botany students? They were found dead after ingesting some Bushman poison bulb? We thought it might be a suicide pact, but they had no history of homosexuality, and the coroner eventually settled for death by misadventure. Perhaps they weren’t experimenting with a hallucinogen. Perhaps someone slipped it into their food.”

  Mabaku caught on at once. “So one line is where they went through this area collecting plants? You got the route from their GPS?”

  Kubu nodded. “Yes. We kept that data when we closed the case. Perhaps it needs to be reopened. They drove from Gaborone to Mabuasehube and then on to Hukuntsi. Mabuasehube was a detour. They must have gone there for a purpose.”

  For a moment Mabaku was lost, then light dawned. “You think Monzo was on one of his fly-by-night guide jobs? With the students?”

  Kubu shrugged. “We’ll have to follow up with Monzo’s boss. But I’ll bet they didn’t go into the area alone.”

  “And what’s this line?” Mabaku pointed to the dotted line on the map.

  “That’s from Krige’s GPS. We assume he followed Haake, so it’s Haake’s route as well. For the most part it is to the south and west of Hukuntsi. There is just this one branch further east. Where it stops is where Krige died. Maybe he was killed just because he was following Haake and unwittingly went into this area. An accidental target, so to speak. The students were to the south and east of Hukuntsi or, more accurately, north and east of Mabuasehube. Then they headed to Sekoma.”

  “Where they died!”

  Kubu nodded. “Where they died.”

  The director thought for a moment, shook his head, and then counted off on his fingers. “Forget about the prospector. Too long ago. A Bushman is murdered. Could be by another Bushman. Then two students are murdered—if you are right about that—using a poisonous hallucinogen known to the Bushmen. Then three Bushmen are found with a dying man, but they are saved by some footprints that later appear to be fakes. Next a man is murdered with a knobkierie—often used by Bushmen. Finally a man is killed by a poisoned arrow. Do you see a common thread here?”

  Kubu nodded. “But maybe someone went to a great deal of trouble to make it look that way. And Khumanego’s worried that our strategy of hiding our doubts about the poisoned arrow from the press could backfire. That there might be some sort of racially motivated attack on groups of Bushmen. He could be right. We have to act quickly.”

  “What happened to your theory that Haake was behind it all?”

  Kubu shrugged. “It became much less likely after he was murdered. It may still be that Haake killed Krige, but I’m convinced there’s more to it than that.”

  Kubu had played his cards. It was time to call the hand. “I want to go out there and take a look.” Mabaku started to react, but Kubu stopped him. “Hear me out. Khumanego has agreed to guide me. He knows the area well. I couldn’t do better. I’ll ask Detective Sergeant Lerako to come too. We have the GPS tracks from the students and Krige. We can follow those and scout around—particularly south and east of Hukuntsi, where Krige died. If they saw something that got them killed, it must be close to where they went. We have my friend Dr. Sibisi’s satellite data about the possible position of the koppies—the student track goes near that area. Krige’s is a bit farther away. So I know where I need to go now. I know where to start.”

  “And what will you do when you get there, and it turns out there’s an armed gang there or a group of Bushmen with poisoned arrows? Get Khumanego to protect you? Run?”

  “Obviously I can’t go alone. I thought we could take two vehicles and two or three armed constables.” Kubu was keeping his fingers crossed that Khumanego wouldn’t consider that an invasion.

  Mabaku was starting to shake his head, but Kubu plowed on. “Director, we have to stop these people before someone else dies.”

  The director cast around for some way out. The idea of searching the Kalahari on the ground for a nest of vicious bandits struck him as madness. And yet what choice did he have? “Damn it, Kubu. This plan is too dangerous. We’ll fly over the area. Find them that way.”

  Kubu shook his head. “That could take too long. And you won’t be able to arrest whoever it is from the air. And once warned, they’ll be gone. Until it’s safe to come back and start again.”

  “I don’t like it. Why must you go yourself?”

  “We’ll never find anything without a good guide, even with the GPS tracks. Khumanego is doing this as a favor to me; he won’t go with anyone else.”

  Mabaku hesitated, torn. “Okay. Two vehicles, three constables. Take a satellite phone and report in, morning and night. You better start organizing this junket. And talk to Lerako. When will you leave?”

  “Day after tomorrow.”

  “April Fool’s Day. Very appropriate, I’d say. Keep me informed.”

  Kubu nodded, and left before Mabaku could change his mind.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  That evening Kubu broke the news to Joy. He was sitting in the kitchen playing with Tumi while Joy saw to the curry. The days of relaxed sundowners on the veranda were behind them. They tried to do things together, and that meant being where the things had to be done. In the early evening, it was the kitchen.

  Kubu was holding Tumi’s pacifier and using it to tease her nose, popping it into her mouth, rubbing her cheek. She gurgled and waved her arms and smiled. Joy smiled too, looking at them over her shoulder, as she fried the garlic.

  “I’m going to have to be away for a few days this week, my darling,” he said casually. “Do you think Pleasant could stay for a day or so? The two of you could work on arrangements for the engagement party, and Pleasant could help with Tumi.” The baby opened her mouth as if to cry, so Kubu popped the pacifier into it and out again. She chortled at him.

  “Where are you going?” Joy sounded wary.

  “We’re going to do an excursion around Hukuntsi. Try to pick up where the Namibian geologist who was killed discovered the koppies he spoke about. We’ll check it out and see whether there’s anything valuable there.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “Khumanego is going to guide us through the area. I’ll take along three armed constables in two vehicles. We don’t expect to find anyone, but rather be absolutely safe.”

  “How long will you be away?”

  “Three, perhaps four, days. We’re leaving on Wednesday.”

  Joy took the garlic off the hot plate and turned to face him. “You’re lying to me, Kubu. You’re not exploring. You’re looking for the murderer.”

  Kubu sighed. Joy always saw through him. “We think there’s something at those koppies, and Haake mentioned tracks. Tracks can be followed. We’ll just see what turns up.”

  “Why do you have to go? It’s not your area. You have to drive halfway across the country before you even start to look for this lions’ den. Let that other detective do it. The one in Tsabong.”

  “Lerako? He’s not really convinced this is the right thing to do, and he’s not interested in other possibilities. He’s still focused on the Bushmen in the area.”

  Joy turned back to her cooking. She started grating fresh ginger, knowing that Kubu liked plenty of it. “Maybe he’s right. From what you’ve told me, all the murders are connected to Bushmen in some way
.”

  “It can’t be Bushmen. It’s just not their culture. Khumanego says . . .”

  But Joy interrupted him, banging down the grater and turning to face him again. “Khumanego! I hear so much about him. But he only cares about one thing, Kubu. His precious Bushmen! He doesn’t care about you or the case. As soon as his friends were released at Tsabong, he lost interest and left you there on your own. And don’t tell me no Bushman could be a murderer! They’re not that different from us. Their culture’s not that perfect. There are going to be criminals amongst them. They’ve come from Adam and Eve too, you know.”

  Kubu was surprised by Joy’s outburst and had forgotten Tumi, who couldn’t reach her pacifier and didn’t like her mother’s raised voice. She started to cry.

  “Oh, give her to me,” Joy said, scooping the infant from Kubu’s arms. “Just watch that nothing burns. I’ll feed her.” She carried the baby into the bedroom and closed the door, cutting off Tumi’s wail.

  Kubu pretended to busy himself with the curry until Joy reappeared fifteen minutes later. She seemed calmer and took over the cooking again. “I put her down for a sleep. She’ll be fine now. She was just hungry.” She worked on the food in silence for a few minutes. Then she said, “I’m scared, Kubu. You’re going out there in the middle of nowhere looking for people who are part of the desert. People who kill with poisons that have no antidotes.” She swallowed, close to tears. “And Khumanego’s a Bushman! If it turns out the murderers are Bushmen, whose side will he take, do you think?”

  Kubu tried to reassure her, but she brushed it aside. “You’re not taking that reporter-woman with you, are you?”

  Kubu’s jaw dropped. “Cindy Robinson? Of course not! It’s a police matter, and it could be dangerous.” Kubu stopped, realizing he had said too much, but Joy just nodded.

  “She was with you in Tsabong. Oh forget it. There’s no point in arguing. You won’t listen anyway.” She put the lid on the pot, and put it on the stove at low heat. “The curry has to cook now. Let’s have a drink. I feel like some wine. Get something nice from the fridge.”

  So Kubu did as he was told and poured a fruity sauvignon blanc that would stand up to the curry. Assuming there’s any left by then, Kubu thought as Joy swallowed a large gulp. Why did he feel guilty? He was only doing his job. Joy was forgetting that.

  Kubu took a mouthful of the wine, but found a sudden sourness to it.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Tuesday was a frustrating day for Kubu. He had difficulty requisitioning the vehicles. One was easy, but the second was a problem. The license had expired on one of the satellite phones and had to be reinstated. No one could spare three constables for four days so he had to settle for one constable and a sergeant. Food needed to be organized. And they would need camping gear. Kubu rejected the cots out of hand. It would be impossible for him to stay on one of those, let alone sleep. He would use a blow-up mattress on the ground. He decided to take a box of wine with him for consolation.

  Mabaku appeared from time to time, offered advice, and left. He issued a further statement to the press indicating that the police were on top of the situation and following up all possibilities. He hinted that the culprit might not even be a Bushman, but gave no details as to why that might be the case. The statement read like what it was: an attempt to calm things down without giving any extra information. No one took any notice of it.

  Khumanego was furious about the second vehicle and what he called the “army” of constables, and threatened not to come. It took Kubu half an hour to calm him down; he seemed completely unwilling to accept the potential danger of the situation.

  Dr. Waskowski called. He’d had a good look at the map and seemed to find the geological structures quite interesting.

  “Seems to show some igneous intrusions into the country rock. That could produce the sort of rocky hills shown in the sketch. Main problem is that there’s no key. Nothing to indicate what the different styles of shading actually stand for. Maybe whoever drew the map had all that in his head.”

  However, there was nothing that really helped in terms of what they might be looking for out in the Kalahari.

  By lunchtime Kubu was in a foul mood. He took his Tupperware of salad and cottage cheese and emptied it into a garbage bin. Then he headed out to find a large pizza with all the trimmings and as many steelworks as he could drink.

  When he returned to the office, he received a call from Detective Sergeant Helu in Windhoek. He’d had another interview with Muller at the Namib Mining Company office, but had basically discovered nothing more. The man had clearly been shocked by Haake’s death, but he had not followed the details in the press. But he had stuck to his story about Haake and Krige and obviously regarded the suggestion of other involvement by his company as ludicrous. It all seemed consistent with what Dr. Waskowski had said. Kubu thanked the Namibian policeman for his efforts, promised to keep him informed, and hung up.

  Edison was waiting for him to finish the call. He had a tidbit for Kubu. “I spoke to Tau today. He talked to Monzo’s boss, Vusi, and he remembers the two students. Monzo said he’d take them on a game count. Vusi isn’t sure where they went or how long Monzo was away, but they definitely left together.”

  Kubu gave Edison an enthusiastic thump on the shoulder, causing his colleague—no small man himself—to stagger. “You did a great job there, my friend. Really good detective work. I thought the connection was between Haake and Monzo, but that wasn’t it at all. The connection was between Monzo and the two students, and, more importantly, with where they went. All the murders seem to link with a specific area now. And I bet that’s the mysterious koppies in the southern Kalahari.”

  Edison nodded and stuck out his hand. “Look after yourself, Kubu.” Kubu gave it a firm shake.

  When Edison left, Mabaku came in and collapsed in Kubu’s guest chair.

  “I think we should call this off, Kubu. I’m really unhappy about it. If something happens to you, Joy will never forgive me, and what’s worse I’ll never forgive myself. And there’s this Bushman civilian involved. How will we explain it if he’s injured or killed? The whole thing reeks of a disaster waiting to happen.”

  Kubu was tempted to agree. He could go home to Joy, tell her all was well, and get a warm welcome from her, Tumi, and Ilia. And sleep in a proper bed.

  Until the next murder.

  He shook his head. “I want to clear this up, Jacob. We can’t have any more murders. And we need to get the press off our backs. It’s like going to the dentist. Get it over with. Don’t wait until you lose the tooth.”

  Mabaku grimaced. He had no love for dentists. “I hope it’s no worse than a visit to the dentist. You’d better be damned careful out there, Kubu.”

  “I know what I’m doing, Director,” he replied, hoping that was true.

  Mabaku nodded and started to leave. But at the door he turned around.

  “Make sure you come back, Kubu,” he said.

  Part V

  When he kills things, his wind is cold

  Chapter Thirty-four

  When Kubu arrived at his office at 8:00 a.m. on Wednesday morning, the sight of two police Land Rover Defenders baking in the sun jolted his anxiety into high gear. Was he making a mistake in undertaking this mission? Would he find those responsible for the murders or was it, in fact, a wild goose chase?

  He walked over to inspect the vehicles. They were identical, except that one had an off-road trailer attached. Both had roof racks with four jerry cans of extra fuel, two spare wheels, a gas cylinder, a spade, and a high-lift jack. Both vehicles were equipped with winches at the front in case they became stuck in the Kalahari sand. Inside each was a low-voltage fridge strapped to the floor, stocked with meat and other perishables. Next to the fridge were three plastic barrels of water—the most important supply of all. In a box on the backseat were two high-intensity handheld spotlights. He was pleased to see that both vehicles had two-way radios and satellite phones nestling i
n their cradles.

  Kubu walked over to the trailer and peered in. There were tents and cots and a large inflatable mattress for him. There were several duffle bags containing sleeping bags, pillows, and extra blankets to ward off the cold of the desert nights. Also two more gas cylinders, a variety of pots and pans, and boxes of canned vegetables and soups. He made a mental note to check that someone had packed a couple of can openers and plenty of matches. He was pleased to see plenty of toilet paper, a toolbox, and several pints of engine oil. Whoever had prepared the vehicles knew what they were doing.

  Kubu fetched his suitcase containing a few changes of clothes, his toiletries, and his boxed wine, and put it behind the driver’s seat of what would be the lead Land Rover. He didn’t want the wine to get too hot. Finally, he checked that he had his copy of Haake’s map in his pocket.

  Two uniformed policemen walked over, one a sergeant and one a constable. Each had a holster on his belt and carried a rifle. They introduced themselves as Sergeant Pikati and Constable Moeng. Kubu chatted to them for a few minutes to make sure they understood the nature of the trip and the dangers associated with it, but it was clear that they’d been fully briefed.

  “I have bulletproof vests for everyone, Rra,” Pikati said. “But I’m not sure . . .” He hesitated. “I’m not sure you’ll fit into our biggest, and the smallest may be too big for your guide, if he’s a Bushman.”

  “Bring them along anyway. I just hope we don’t need them.”

  They eventually left Gaborone about 10:00 a.m.—an hour later than Kubu had hoped. Khumanego was late because of bad traffic on the road from Lobatse. He arrived with a small holdall and his Bushman hunting kit.

  “What’s the hunting bag for?” Kubu wanted to know.

  Khumanego frowned. “We’re going into the Kalahari. No Bushman goes into the desert without this. Ever.”

  Kubu shrugged. He told Sergeant Pikati to drive the Land Rover with the trailer, and he would lead in the other.