Detective Kubu 02; The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu

by Michael Stanley

  “They’ve caught someone who may be involved with the murders at Jackalberry. I’m going to the police station to interview her. I should be home for dinner. If anything comes up, I’ll call.”

  Joy sensed his eagerness to leave and put off asking about his trip to Zimbabwe. Kubu kissed her again and left.

  Pensively, Joy watched him drive off. “Even though we left him the note, I can tell he was still worried.” Pleasant nodded and said, “You’re lucky to have someone who cares that much.”

  ♦

  Five minutes later, fears for Joy and Pleasant forgotten, Kubu arrived at the police station.

  “Her name is Allison Levine,” Constable Morake said with a smile. “Tatwa was right. We found twenty pounds of heroin in a secret compartment next to the fuel tank. It would’ve been difficult to find if she hadn’t been careless. It was all covered in mud, but we noticed some finger marks. Why is someone playing with mud under the car? we asked. Didn’t take long to find out. We haven’t told her yet that we’ve found it. And the prints are hers!”

  “Good job. Good job,” Kubu said enthusiastically. “This is the break we needed to tie up the Jackalberry murders with the bastards who’ve been threatening my family. Miss Levine is going to be in Botswana for a long time. But I need to speak to Tatwa before I see her. Show me a desk I can use, please.”

  ♦

  Kubu kept his conversation with Tatwa as short as possible. He was raring to meet Allison Levine. Tatwa filled Kubu in on what had transpired at Elephant Valley Lodge. He was pretty sure that Gomwe had been murdered. Traces of heroin had been found in a false bottom to his briefcase. They suspected that Allison had lured Gomwe to his death, but had no proof.

  Tatwa and his men had found the remains of a camp close to where Gomwe had been killed, but they had no idea who the campers were. They had a vehicle, and there were tire tracks that headed toward Zimbabwe. The tracks matched some of those at the clearing where Gomwe had been killed, as did some footprints. Quite likely the vehicle had been driven to the clearing, used to run over Gomwe, and then the tracks were hidden as much as possible. They were checking on this and the footprints. In addition, between the lodge and the corpse, they had found two sets of footprints, one of which was definitely Gomwe’s. The others were prints from a small shoe – size between six and seven – and those two sets of prints showed that Gomwe and his companion had been walking, not jogging or running.

  Tatwa asked Kubu to check Levine’s shoe size. He would fax photographs of the prints, and the Francistown police could check against the shoes in her luggage. Tatwa was sure that one of Elephant Valley Lodge’s rangers was involved too, but there was no evidence at present.

  Kubu could feel the adrenaline beginning to course through his veins. They were closing in on the murderers and kidnappers! It was now only a matter of time and patience.

  ♦

  Kubu turned on the tape recorder. “It is four fifteen in the afternoon on Friday, the eighteenth of April. I’m Assistant Superintendent David Bengu. With me is Constable Morake. We are interviewing Allison Levine, a South African citizen.” Kubu spoke in English. He checked that she understood her rights. Then he sat and stared at her. He waited all of a minute, assessing and unsettling her. He could see she was scared. Her shoulders were hunched, and her jaw clenched.

  “Why am I here?” she snapped. “I wasn’t speeding. And I’ve got to be in Johannesburg tomorrow by lunchtime.”

  Kubu looked at her and shook his head. “Ms. Levine, you and I both know why you are here. And it’s not for speeding. All we have to do is agree. And I promise you, we will agree – even if it takes a long time. So, what were twenty pounds of heroin doing in your car?”

  Allison did not flinch, but stared into Kubu’s eyes. “I’ve no idea. I didn’t put it there.”

  “We found it in a secret compartment next to the fuel tank. It was covered with mud, but you didn’t check very well. Your prints were on the mud. Nobody’s going to believe you if you say that the drugs were put there by someone else.”

  “I don’t know about any compartment.” Her voice was taut, her eyes still meeting Kubu’s.

  “That’s nonsense! Tell me who your contacts are – at Elephant Valley Lodge and in South Africa.”

  “Contacts for what?”

  “Come on, Miss Levine. Don’t waste my time. You’re a courier for someone in South Africa. You meet a contact from Zimbabwe or Zambia near Elephant Valley Lodge and make the exchange. Your good looks and gender help, I’m sure. You might say they let you get away with murder.”

  Allison did not respond, but sat still staring at Kubu.

  “We know your lover-boy Gomwe is involved as well. Did you get your heroin from him?”

  Allison sat silent.

  “Did you?” Kubu shouted at her, startling her.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “Really? Gomwe had traces of heroin in his luggage. You had twenty pounds in your car. And you’re telling me these things are not connected. Not likely!”

  “I’d never seen him before Elephant Valley Lodge. We were attracted. We had a good time. That’s it.”

  “Ms. Levine, you’re going to spend the night here. The first of many, I think. Unfortunately our accommodation isn’t as comfortable as Elephant Valley Lodge. But you should start getting used to it.” Kubu paused, staring at her. “We’ve got you cold, but what I really want to know is who the others are. Who are your principals in Johannesburg? Who do you buy from? Who are the thugs who’ve been threatening me and my family? Everyone! I know you are a small fry. But sleep on this. Why should you do life, when the rest are still free? You help me get the others; I’ll help you at this end.”

  “I want a lawyer. I won’t take any more of this crap.”

  “A lawyer is your right, Ms. Levine. Make sure he’s here at eight tomorrow morning, because that’s when we meet again.”

  ♦

  “Find out who she calls,” Kubu said to Constable Morake when he returned from ensuring Allison was in the cells for the night. “I doubt if she knows anyone here in Francistown. Maybe she can lead us to her principals.” In reality, Kubu thought this was a long shot. Allison was a bright woman, and he would be very surprised if she made an elementary mistake.

  Kubu found an empty office and called Director Mabaku.

  “Yes?” Mabaku grunted.

  He’s got such a welcoming telephone manner, Kubu thought. “Bengu here, Director. I’m in Francistown.”

  “Have you spoken to the woman yet?”

  “Yes, but now she wants a lawyer. She denies knowing about the drugs. She’s lying, of course. I decided not to mention Gomwe’s murder at the moment. I want to keep that for later.”

  “Good idea.”

  “I think she’s a small fry, but I’ve an idea she could help us find the big fish.”

  “Go ahead,” said Mabaku.

  “My guess is that she isn’t going to give us any useful information tomorrow. Same as today, especially if she has a lawyer present. However, she may have a different view of the world if we add a murder charge, or at least accessory to murder. I think she’s in over her head, so if we offer her a reduced sentence or a reduced charge, she may give us her contacts.” Kubu hesitated, “Do I have your okay to go ahead?”

  Mabaku answered slowly. “Yes. I think it might work. I’ll speak to the Director of Public Prosecutions, but I’m sure he’ll agree. If you’re sure she isn’t a big fish, make her an offer.”

  “Thank you, Director,” Kubu said. “Tatwa’s doing a great job at Kasane. I think we’ll be able to lay both drug and murder charges tomorrow. It shouldn’t take long to add the kidnapping charges as well. All in all, very satisfactory.”

  After a few more comments, Kubu hung up and set out for his brother-in-law’s house where, he hoped, good food and wine were awaiting.

  ♦

  Indeed, Joy and Pleasant had cooked, much to both Sampson’s and
Kubu’s delight. Kubu had brought a couple of bottles of acceptable wine – not too expensive because it would have been wasted on Sampson – but good enough to enjoy. It was a convivial evening, but for Kubu it had been a long day, and he and Joy went to bed early, leaving Sampson and Pleasant to argue politics. Also, Joy was keen to hear more about Kubu’s visit to Zimbabwe.

  Kubu described to her the strange state of the country, and how he had found Paulus Mbedi. He told her Mbedi’s story, and put it in the context of Endima Shlongwane’s letter. She listened intently, and then asked Kubu the question he had asked himself. “Who killed him then? I mean the first time. Who shot him? If it was the Rhode-sians, where were the other bodies when he was found by the road? And why would anyone else shoot him in the back?”

  Kubu shrugged. “Maybe he managed to drag himself away from the scene of the attack. Or maybe there were other bodies in the bushes, but Msimang didn’t see them in the dark.”

  Digging in his overnight bag for sleeping shorts, Kubu found the jar Paulus had given to him. “These are the bullets they dug out of him.” He passed it to Joy. She looked at the horridly distorted metal lumps. “Can’t you tell what gun they came from? Solve it that way?”

  Kubu shook his head. “If I had a gun that I thought was used to shoot those, we could do a ballistics test. But this all happened thirty years ago.”

  “But what about the type of gun?” Joy persisted. Kubu thought about it. “Well, we could do that. The type of gun used would indicate one group or another. Not evidence, of course, but better than nothing. It’s a good idea, my darling.”

  Joy preened, then went to the bathroom to shower and get ready for bed. Kubu had finished unpacking, so he scanned the two files Superintendent Pede had given him. As he expected, there was little new information. George Tinubu had been arrested for refusing to follow instructions from a police officer, inciting a disturbance, and resisting arrest. He had never been tried for anything and had been released eventually. Eighteen months later he was supposedly killed in a skirmish with the security forces. There was no doubt about the fingerprints’ match, and there was a copy of the identity card taken from the wallet. The Rhodesian soldier who reported the matter claimed that the wallet was taken from the dead body of a terrorist shot after the farm raid. There was a description of the raid on the McGlashan farm too. Kubu skimmed it and frowned. Could Goodluck really have been involved in something as brutal as that? Whatever the cause?

  He turned to the Zondo file. It was a summary. Zondo had certainly been heavily involved right through the war, but nothing in the file directly linked him to Goodluck. Had they trained together? Been in the same commando unit? Their friendship at the teachers college suggested it was likely.

  At this point Joy returned from the bathroom in her dressing gown. As soon as the door was closed, she let the gown drop to the floor. A burgundy-colored satin bra just held her full breasts; matching panties set off her silky-smooth chocolate thighs. Burgundy and dark chocolate. Kubu lost interest in the reports immediately.

  ∨ The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu ∧

  58

  “Good morning, Ms. Levine,” Kubu said as he and Constable Mor-ake entered the interviewing room the next day. “I trust you had a very uncomfortable night.”

  “It’s disgusting! Smells like piss!”

  “Welcome to prison, my dear. If you think this is bad, wait until you’re in a high-security facility.” Kubu looked around. “Where’s your attorney?”

  “I’ve been trying to find one here in Francistown, but haven’t got hold of one yet.”

  “Well, you have the right to remain silent unless you have a lawyer present. But the longer it takes, the longer you will enjoy the hospitality of our prison system.” Kubu stared at Allison. “I have to go back to Gaborone tomorrow, so the earliest I’ll be able to get back here is next Wednesday,” he improvised.

  “But that’s four days away!”

  “And four nights,” Kubu said quietly. He turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Allison said. “I don’t need a lawyer, because there’s nothing more to tell.”

  Kubu looked at her, noticing her sunken eyes. She may need something to pick her up, he thought. The longer I drag this out, the more desperate she’s going to be.

  “In which case,” he said, “I am formally arresting you for possession and trafficking of drugs. In addition, I am going to charge you with being an accessory to the murder of Boy Gomwe. We have evidence now that you lured Gomwe to his death. He didn’t jog into the bush and get killed by a rogue elephant. You led him to some of your colleagues, who drove a truck over him to make it look as though he’d been killed by an elephant.” Kubu looked at the shocked woman. “We may up that charge to murder at a later stage.” Kubu turned to Constable Morake. “Constable, please take Ms. Levine back to the cells.”

  “Wait! Wait! Maybe I do know something. Can we make a deal?”

  “What sort of deal, Ms. Levine? You’ve got nothing to offer. You just told me so.”

  “If I tell you what I know, will you help me?”

  “If you admit to the drug charges and give me the names of people involved in this drug ring, I’ll do what I can to help you on the murder charges.”

  Kubu sat down, reached over to the tape recorder, and switched it on.

  “It is eight fifteen on the morning of Saturday, the nineteenth of April. I’m Assistant Superintendent David Bengu. With me is Constable Morake. We are interviewing Allison Levine, a South African citizen.”

  “Ms. Levine, do you agree to be interviewed without the presence of a lawyer representing you?”

  “Yes,” she answered quietly.

  “Ms. Levine, do you admit to knowingly transporting about twenty pounds of heroin from Elephant Valley Lodge near Kasane to an unknown destination, most likely South Africa?”

  There was a long pause. She’s wondering whether she’s doing the right thing, Kubu thought. He waited patiently, letting the silence work on her mind. Eventually she said, “Yes.”

  “We know you’ve been in and out of Botswana eight times in the last thirteen months, each time to Elephant Valley Lodge. Did you transport drugs each time?” Another pause.

  “Yes.”

  Kubu could barely hear the response. “Louder please, for the recorder.”

  “Yes,” she said more firmly.

  “Do you bring money from South Africa to pay for the drugs?”

  “Yes.” Allison’s head drooped as she realized there was no way back now.

  “How much money?” Silence. “How much money, Ms. Levine?” Kubu asked sharply.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” Kubu was incredulous. “You don’t know?”

  “I never open the briefcase,” Allison mumbled. “I can’t. It’s always locked. I just hand it over and take the packet.”

  “Twenty pounds of heroin can be worth millions on the street. That means the briefcase must have had at least several million pula. Actually it probably had dollars – American dollars. Could have been several hundred thousand dollars or more. And you tell me you didn’t know how much?”

  “I told you, the briefcase is locked. The pick–up has a key. Not me. They don’t trust anybody.”

  “Who is the pick–up at Elephant Valley Lodge?”

  Allison stared at Kubu, gathering her thoughts. “I give the briefcase to the ranger, Douglas. He comes to my room, takes the money, and gives me the heroin in return. He always has a small backpack with him. No one suspects anything.”

  Kubu stood up and paced. “And then what happens? Where does the money go?”

  “The ranger gives it to someone, who takes it across the border into Zimbabwe.”

  “Who is this someone?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never heard a name or seen anyone. It’s easy for the ranger. He’s expected to be out in the bush.”

  “And on the other side? In South Africa?”

  “When I get
back to Johannesburg, I call a number. A few minutes later, I get a text message with an address. When I get there, I get another text message with another address. I’m sure they’re watching me to see I’m not being followed.”

  “What’s that phone number?”

  “They’ll kill me if they find out I gave it to you.”

  “They won’t find out. What’s the number?”

  “It’s on my cell phone under the name ‘Baby’.”

  “Then what happens?”

  “The last drop-off is always at a busy shopping mall, like Sand-ton or Fourways. I leave the car and go into the mall. I return to the car after an hour and drive home. I suppose they take the car while I’m in the mall and remove the drugs.”

  “And how do you get paid for all these risks?”

  “A few days later I find an envelope with cash in it pushed through the slot in the front door of my apartment. It’s a lot of money.”

  “How much money?”

  “About thirty thousand rand.”

  “And where do you live?”

  “There are some new apartments on Kent Avenue in Randburg, just north of Johannesburg.”

  “Please write down the full address, as well as your landline phone number and your cell number. Sign it at the bottom.”

  “I don’t have a landline, just my cell.”

  “So your contacts are expecting you in Johannesburg this afternoon?”

  “Yes. If I don’t show up, they’ll kill me when they find me.”

  “You must have a way of alerting them that you’ve been delayed. You could have had a breakdown or an accident, not so?”

  “If I’m going to be late, I leave a message at the same number’ with an estimate of when I’ll be there.”

  Kubu leaned back in his chair. “Thank you, Ms. Levine. That’s been very helpful.” He leaned back in his chair and stared at her. She’s becoming quite twitchy, he thought. Tapping her foot. Cracking her knuckles. Twisting her fingers. Another hour or so she’s going to be desperate.