The others looked at him in surprise. The doctor shook his head. “No man could do that sort of massive damage. You think there’s a homicidal maniac out there with a trained elephant?”
“Look,” said Kamwi, switching to Setswana again. “We don’t want this to get worse than it is. Let’s get the body to the morgue, try to keep it all low key, and get on with our business. Kasane lives on the tourists. Gomwe – if that’s his real name – decided to play Russian roulette and lost.”
Still Tatwa hesitated. “You’ll sign the death certificate?” he asked the doctor, who nodded. Tatwa thought back to Jackalberry Camp. Eight guests gather for dinner on a Sunday night. The next morning two are dead and one has vanished. Before the end of the week the camp owners are assaulted by thugs looking for a briefcase. A few days later another of the guests is murdered in a supposed robbery that actually isn’t. Now another of the guests is dead. Five out of eight! Coincidence? He shook his head.
“I’m investigating this as a suspicious death. We’ll send the body to Gaborone for a proper autopsy, and I want a forensics team to come with me to the place where the body was found.” Kamwi looked as though he was going to explode, but Tatwa held up his hand. “No need to make a big scene of it. We’ll keep it quiet. No announcements for the moment. Doctor, go ahead with the death certificate. I want to be very careful, but I’m probably wrong. If I am, this’ll all be tied up quickly.” He did not say what would happen if he were right.
He called Kasane for the forensics team and asked them to make arrangements for the body to be driven to Gaborone. Unfortunately, autopsies were done nowhere else in the country because of the shortage of trained pathologists.
Tatwa followed Kamwi and Douglas back to the lodge. His first call was Gomwe’s tent. It was a luxurious affair with a queen-size bed, hanging space for clothes and a dresser, and a separate shower and toilet. Judging by the way the bedclothes were tossed back on both sides of the bed and the look of the pillows, Gomwe had enjoyed company the night before. There was a hard-body suitcase on the dresser, and on top of that was a briefcase. Well, Tatwa thought, lots of travelers have briefcases, but just suppose…
He took a pen knife and checked the catches, careful not to touch the case with his fingers. Both catches snapped back cleanly, and he used the knife to lever the case open to avoid smudging any prints. The lid had a notebook, business cards, a calculator, all neatly held in pockets. The case itself held music magazines and catalogues. But the detective was suspicious. He slid the knife blade down the side of the case until it reached the base. Comparing the knife against the outside of the case, he could tell that the supposed base was much too shallow. There was something hidden below the magazines with their screaming covers. He was sorely tempted to find out what. But he did not want to spoil Forensics’s game. He snapped the catches shut using the back of the knife and lifted the briefcase using a handkerchief. It was too risky to leave it in the unsecured tent. Then he went outside to break the latest bad news to Kubu.
∨ The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu ∧
50
Kubu left home at 9:00 a.m. after a good breakfast. He wanted to leave late enough to miss the traffic headed north, and he wanted to leave on a full stomach. “Your brother knows nothing about food,” he grumbled to Joy. She was busy packing and ignored him.
Kubu carefully checked his Land Rover, and the family settled in. The plan was for Pleasant and Joy to stay with Sampson for a week, but the vehicle was bursting with luggage. It looked as though they could all survive for at least a month in Francistown. Even Ilia had a huge bag of her favorite dog biscuits.
“You can’t always get them,” Joy explained.
“The dog never eats biscuits anyway,” said Kubu. “She doesn’t like them. She always has our scraps. That’s why she gets fat and has to have expensive diet biscuits.”
Quick as a flash, Joy responded, “No one would get fat on your leftovers.” Pleasant thought this very amusing. Kubu subsided, and squashed Ilia’s rations into the back of the vehicle.
♦
Francistown is a five-hour drive along a road that is good but offers little interesting scenery. A double-lane highway led them to Mochudi and after that the road was two-lane, but wide and well maintained. Kubu started to feel they were setting off on holiday rather than fleeing a murderous group of Zimbabwean kidnappers. In celebration, he launched into an aria from Aïda. Pleasant and Joy also relaxed and hummed along. Ilia was less sanguine and howled when he reached the high notes.
Three hours later they arrived at the small town of Palapye. Ilia, who had slept quietly for much of the trip, started jumping around the car, diving from her backseat pad into Joy’s lap in the front.
“Ilia needs a break,” said Joy.
“Yes, we should stop for lunch,” said Kubu. “It’s after midday.”
“But we’ve just finished breakfast!”
“We’ll have something light,” said Kubu, visualizing a double cheeseburger.
♦
Kubu’s lunch break was interrupted by the call from Tatwa. Fortunately Kubu was down to mopping up the ketchup with the last of his chips while Ilia watched with disappointment. He listened with an occasional grunt.
“A vehicle,” he said finally. “Probably they used a vehicle.”
“The murderers?” Tatwa asked. “To get to the scene?” Kubu brushed this aside. “Suppose you wanted to make it look as though an elephant had crushed someone, you’d need something really heavy. I suppose a sledgehammer might work, but I’d guess that it would produce a different sort of injury. But drive over someone’s chest with a heavy vehicle? That would do your crushing for you. Broken neck is easy. You don’t need an elephant or a vehicle for that.”
Tatwa hadn’t thought of that possibility. He would tell Forensics to check the tire tracks carefully. Then, changing the subject, he told Kubu about the briefcase with its false bottom. There was silence as Kubu considered the implications.
“Get it to Forensics in Gaborone, Tatwa. I need to close the Tinubu loop in Zimbabwe, but I’ll keep in touch. Your instinct was spot on. I don’t buy the elephant story. We’re treating this as murder.”
∨ The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu ∧
51
After the call, Tatwa went to reception and gave instructions that Gomwe’s tent be left untouched until the forensics team arrived. He made notes of what camp manager Adam Kamwi had told him, then considered what his next move should be. Having promised to keep the matter low key, he did not want to start by interviewing all the guests. However, he certainly wanted to talk to the woman who had been the last person to see Gomwe alive, and to the guide who had been the first person to see him dead.
As he came to this decision, he was approached by a woman with an attractive figure and a rather stolid face. Her eyes were moist; she had either been crying or was close to tears.
“Are you the detective? The manager sent me to talk to you. He said he couldn’t tell me anything about Boy and that I must talk to you. Something awful’s happened, hasn’t it? You must tell me.”
Tatwa took her to a more secluded spot on the outside deck, ducking too late to avoid the polished log supporting the thatched roof. He gave the woman a wan smile, shrugged while rubbing his head, and invited her to be seated.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “My name is Allison Levine. I’m from Johannesburg. I was with Boy last night.”
Tatwa nodded. “Ms. Levine, I’m afraid there has been a terrible tragedy. Your friend is dead. I’m very sorry to bring you this bad news.”
The woman put her head into cupped hands and said nothing for several moments. “What happened?”
“It’s believed that he was attacked by an elephant. Fortunately, it killed him very quickly.” The woman said nothing, as though acknowledging that her worst fears were realized.
“May I ask you a few questions? Are you up to it?” She nodded.
“Did you know his real name
was Gomwe? Boy Gomwe?” She looked at him, surprised, and shook her head. Tatwa continued. “It seems you were the last person to see him. Would you tell me exactly what happened?”
“We got up early, just after dawn. Boy wanted to jog. He said he never missed a day, liked to keep fit. He had a great body.” She broke off and wiped her eyes. “Anyway, I wanted to watch birds, and he wasn’t a birder, so I told him to stick close to the camp while I went for a walk around the grounds. I saw a flock of parrots, which is exciting because they’re not often seen here. They were really cooperative, so I called one of the guides to help me identify them. They were Meyer’s parrots. I wanted to show them to Boy – seemed romantic, you know? But we couldn’t find him. I guessed he’d run along the main track past the camp. Being macho, I guess. You men are all the same!”
“Where did you see the parrots, exactly?”
Allison gave him a puzzled look. “They were in the trees behind the pool.”
“And the guide was there too?” Allison nodded. Tatwa made a note.
“When did you get worried?”
“When he didn’t turn up for breakfast. Even with a long run, shower, and change, he should’ve been there by nine. That’s when I went to the manager – Mr. Kamwi.”
Tatwa asked a few more questions and made notes, but Allison had nothing more to add. She had been due to stay for another two nights, but now wanted to leave as soon as possible. Tatwa sympathized, but asked her to stick to her original schedule in case the police needed her help. She hesitated, but then reluctantly agreed.
At this point Tatwa was informed that the forensics people had arrived. He took his leave of Allison, found the guide, Douglas, and asked him to show them where Gomwe had been killed.
♦
Tatwa drove with Douglas – the two men from Forensics followed in their own vehicle – as he wanted the opportunity to quiz Douglas on how he had discovered the body.
“I drove up the road a way and then turned south. The paths from the lodge lead into the bush this way. I drove into the side tracks and open spots on the right and looked around a bit.”
“Why only on the right?”
Douglas glanced at him. “No footprints crossing the road.”
Tatwa nodded. He hadn’t thought of that. Suddenly a flash of blue and purple flew across the road. “What’s that?” he asked the guide. “It’s so beautiful.”
“Lilac-breasted roller. Common around here.”
“You obviously know a lot about birds. Did you help Ms. Levine with her parrots?” Douglas nodded.
“Where did you see them exactly?”
Douglas looked at him. “You interested in birds?”
“Just a beginner. I saw a man with a tame go-away-bird the other day. Fantastic. Sat on his shoulder. Seemed to talk to him. Did tricks.” Douglas nodded, concentrating on the driving.
“So where were the parrots?” Tatwa persisted.
“I don’t know. Allison just described what she’d seen. Had to be the Meyer’s. The others don’t occur here.” He slowed, searching for car tracks.
“What made you come this far?”
“I was going to turn back. But there’s a clearing up ahead with a waterhole nearby. I thought he might have gone there. It’s actually a walking track but I knew how to get the vehicle through the bush from this side.”
They had come to that point of the road. Douglas pointed out his tracks and those of Kamwi, before following them carefully through the bush. After a few bumpy minutes they came to an open area. A mixture of shrubs surrounded it, but it was presided over by a massive knobthorn tree. It had survived a dangerous youth and now was serene, too big to be damaged by even the largest elephant. Around it were elephant tracks, some dried dung, and wilting broken branches. There were also multiple vehicle tracks and boot prints. Hardly a pristine crime scene.
“Where did you find Gomwe?”
Douglas gave him a quizzical look.
“That was his real name. Biko was a false name he was using at the Lodge. We don’t know why. Yet. Where did you find the body?”
Douglas pointed at a spot surrounded by scuff marks and boot prints. The vehicle tracks converged there. I should have guessed, Tatwa thought.
There was little to show for Gomwe’s death. Just a little dried blood on the dead grass. The forensics people started to look around, collecting samples and taking casts of the prints. They examined the tire tracks, checking for any clues to how Gomwe had died.
Douglas stood by with a rifle, but did not look worried. The bush was still now, and quiet but for the bowing of cicadas. While the others worked, Tatwa looked around but did not stray far. He did a full circle of the area looking carefully for tracks. He saw where the elephant had come and gone, noting its direction by the toe-smudge at the front of the elliptical pad mark. He had grown up in the bush and knew how to read its stories. A careless man on a jog or walk, let alone fleeing from an elephant, would leave easy signs of his progress, but he found none. Conveniently, it seemed, Boy Gomwe had materialized in this glade to be mauled and killed by a rogue bull.
∨ The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu ∧
52
The Bengu family arrived at Sampson’s house in Francistown shortly after 3:00 a.m. A neighbor met them and let them into the house.
“Make yourselves at home,” she said, very graciously Kubu thought, especially as it was not her house. He explored the fridge and, in the absence of the makings of a steelworks, helped himself to a St Louis beer. Joy and Pleasant settled for fruit juice, and Ilia for water.
Unfortunately, Kubu was not fond of his brother-in-law, and the feeling was mutual. Sampson was number two in the Francistown office of the Ministry of Lands and Housing. He was always singing the praises of the government in general and his minister in particular. By contrast, Kubu felt that elected officials were only human, and so it was unfair to expect them to behave in a less selfish way than other people. Thus they needed to be watched carefully and not held in unreasonably high regard. Kubu’s viewpoint was much closer to the norm. Sampson was also a jogger and prided himself on keeping fit. Kubu felt such activities were imports from countries where people did not have enough work to do to keep themselves busy.
However, after a very acceptable dinner, particularly in view of the bachelor fare Joy and Pleasant had for ingredients, the men were mellow. Kubu had brought an acceptable shiraz, and Sampson had been appreciative.
Sampson had a sketchy knowledge of what had happened to his sisters, but now they filled in the outline and added the colors. He was shocked, but listened with only the occasional exclamation or question. He made no secret of his dissatisfaction with the police. Kubu felt he had a point and did not rise to the comments. After all he was requesting Sampson’s help.
“I’m sorry to impose on you this way, Sampson,” Kubu said once the story was complete. “We think it’s best that your sisters are out of Gaborone until we wrap this case up. We don’t expect any more trouble, now that these people know I don’t have their money, but there’ll be a policeman keeping an eye on them just in case. From a distance,” he added quickly when Joy’s brow furrowed. “I’ll be in Zimbabwe for the next two days; after that I’ll stay for the weekend, if that’s okay with you, and then head back to Gaborone on Monday.”
Sampson said it was fine, although it might be a bit cramped. All of them were welcome to stay for as long as they wished. He asked what Kubu would be doing in Bulawayo, but the detective avoided anything specific.
“No cloak-and-dagger stuff, I hope,” said Sampson with a laugh, making a joke of it. “The minister wouldn’t want anything embarrassing to mar the president of Zimbabwe’s visit to the African Union meeting.”
Kubu laughed too, adding, “I would’ve thought that receiving the Zimbabwe president in the first place was embarrassing enough.”
Joy spotted an incipient argument and called for dessert. The tense moment passed.
♦
The next morning, Kubu left early and headed for Plumtree. He wanted to be at the border post before it became too crowded. He filled up with gas at the last possible point before Zimbabwe and bought two slabs of chocolate and two packets of cigarettes. He was unlikely to find any fuel available once across the border, certainly not without a long line. The collapse of the Zimbabwean currency meant that anything requiring hard currency to purchase – such as fuel – was very difficult to obtain. Shortly after that he came to the border post. Even with the early start he had to wait to get through immigration.
He drove through Plumtree, Marula, and Figtree. Names of lush fruits for wilting towns, living on custom from visitors from Botswana. When he reached Bulawayo, he checked into the Holiday Inn and had lunch. He found the food good and cheap provided you were paying in foreign currency at the hotel’s special rate. After lunch, he drove through the town, noting lots of activity but unsure what all the people were doing around the poorly stocked shops and gas stations devoid of fuel. Yet the people were neatly dressed and did not look hungry. Zimbabwe’s economy was a puzzle. No doubt he would discover worse in the rural areas.
From Bulawayo, he headed northwest for about an hour on a single-lane, paved road to reach the small town of Nyamandhlovu. He stopped to consult his map and ask directions, but carefully so that there was no real clue as to whom he wanted to find. He drove past a run-down building that was a hospital, according to a sign faded almost to illegibility. Perhaps people don’t get sick here anymore, he thought grimly. And so he came to the home of Paulus Mbedi.
∨ The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu ∧
53
When Kubu arrived at the house, Mbedi was hoeing in his garden. His hoe consisted of a straight branch with the bark scraped off, side twigs removed and the knots smoothed out, and a rusty metal head tied on tightly with wire. He was working in a patch of stunted mielies, chopping out weeds and breaking the earth. But the ground was hard and dry, and he worked without high expectation. Other vegetables grew in the rest of the small patch of land. Flowers and attractive shrubs are luxuries for people who aren’t hungry.
Detective Kubu 02; The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu Page 25
