Detective Kubu 02; The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu

by Michael Stanley

  Kubu felt a wave of frustration and tried to hide it by swallowing his coffee. He was looking for a crack, a chink. But he had found nothing. They were calm, unsurprised. He knew some were involved, others maybe not. Or maybe they were all involved. He had spelled out how it had been done. But he had no evidence, no proof. Moremi was absolutely right.

  “Oh, we’ll prove it all right. Don’t worry about that. In the meanwhile, everyone stays here,” Kubu said. His eyes moved from the table to the dock where the other two constables were tying up the police motorboat. There was no doubt about the purpose of their presence now. They would ensure that no one left the island.

  ♦

  Kubu and Tatwa sat on their own away from the communal area. Kubu had deliberately shown his hand, now he was going to need to play his cards quickly. “It’s the three of them, Tatwa,” he said. “Dupie, Salome, and Enoch. Dupie and Enoch know how to go about this sort of killing, and they had to cooperate to murder Boardman. It would take two people to pull off the camp murders, too. Salome was the one who recognized Goodluck, got them to search his tent. She was probably the brains behind it all.”

  “What about Solomon and Moremi?”

  Kubu shook his head. “Solomon wasn’t even on the island that night – we checked with the villagers, and he was there with Beauty. So what was his role in the whole thing? And why bring up the issue of the borrowed mokoro? It was an important piece of the puzzle for us, and he volunteered it. He’s not smart enough for a double bluff.” Tatwa nodded, accepting this.

  “As for Moremi,” Kubu continued, “well, he’s Moremi. I just can’t see it. And he found Zondo’s hat. That’s what led us back here to the camp. They’ve both got reason to be loyal to Salome, but murderers? No.” Kubu shook his head again.

  Tatwa was thoughtful. “There were a lot of odd features about the camp murders. Why did they do it that way? Zondo murdered and maybe thrown into the lagoon for the crocs, Goodluck murdered twice – stabbed and throat cut – and mutilated, and Langa casually bashed and dumped in a donga?”

  “I’ve thought about that. I think the plan was to murder Goodluck with as little fuss and evidence as possible, dump his body in the lagoon, and pretend he had to get home early and left by plane for Kasane. Easy enough to get rid of his car at Kasane later on.”

  “What about Langa? He came with Goodluck?”

  “No problem. Enoch would just take him back to Ngoma at the end of his stay. They didn’t know he was a policeman. When people came to look for Goodluck, they would shrug. Yes, he was here. Yes, he left early. Said it was an emergency at home in Mochudi. He had arranged a plane to pick him up in the morning. Yes, he was carrying a briefcase when he left. No problem.”

  “But?”

  “But when they killed him, they discovered he didn’t have the money anymore. So they came up with the plan of pinning Goodluck’s murder on whoever did have the money. It would be too coincidental to have both people disappear from the camp on the same day. So they made a virtue of necessity, if you can call cutting Goodluck’s throat and hacking off his ears a virtue.”

  “How did they know that Zondo had the money?”

  Kubu shrugged. “They probably were watching Goodluck. I don’t know for sure. Anyway, they headed for Zondo’s tent, took the money, murdered him the same way, probably stripped his body, and then started for the lagoon with its convenient crocodiles. But there was a problem. Langa had seen the money change hands, and his brief was to follow the money, so now he was watching Zondo, and that turned out to be fatal. And there was no time for anything fancy. Not with Zondo’s body lying on the path.”

  Strangely, but not uncharacteristically, Tatwa was thinking of the people involved rather than the crimes. “Do you think they were friends after all, as Moremi said? Zondo and Goodluck? Comrades from the Zimbabwe war? There were the two glasses in Goodluck’s tent.”

  “I’m not sure. That could’ve been a setup as Zanele suggested. Just take a glass from Zondo’s tent with his fingerprints on it. Just the sort of misdirection I would expect from Dupie. Too clever by half.” He shrugged. “Or maybe they really did have a drink together and chewed over old times.”

  “Two fighters for freedom turned drug smugglers. Awful.”

  But this time Kubu firmly shook his head. “I don’t buy it. It makes no sense. We don’t know much about Zondo, but it’s completely against Goodluck’s character. Something else was going on. I think we’ll know what when we find the money.”

  Tatwa nodded. “That’s the one piece of evidence they can’t get rid of. The money, they had to keep. We’ve got to find it, because otherwise we’ve got nothing. With it, the whole pact of silence will collapse. Especially with three people involved. Two’s company, but three’s a crowd.”

  “Someone will break ranks,” Kubu agreed. He rubbed his jowls. But what if we don’t find the cursed money? he wondered. Somehow we’ll have to get them to break ranks anyway.

  His thoughts were interrupted by his cell phone. “Hello. Bengu here,” he said.

  “Kubu! It’s Mabaku. These idiots didn’t want me to phone you! I feel fine. Come and pick me up and get me back to headquarters. There’s lots to do! We’ve got to get Beardy to tell us what he knows. I’ve a feeling that it may be important. Very important.”

  “Director, I shall do no such thing,” said Kubu firmly. “You’re to stay in hospital until you are completely recovered. We can handle matters here.”

  “Bengu, that’s insubordination! Get here at once! These doctors will be the death of me!” And they said I was a bad patient when I was stuck in the Princess Marina Hospital, Kubu thought with a smirk. “Director, I’m at Jackalberry Camp,” he said gently. “Why don’t you give your wife a call? She can visit you and check with the doctors.”

  “Oh, yes, I’d forgotten where you were. Marie’s here, but she thinks I need to spend a week in bed. Kubu, don’t let me down. Phone me as soon as you have anything to report. Hey, give me…” The line went dead. Kubu suspected Marie had intervened. He turned to Tatwa with a broad smile.

  “Director Mabaku’s going to be fine,” he said.

  ∨ The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu ∧

  70

  Kubu thought about the money. It had to be a lot of money. They’d needed a briefcase. This wasn’t a payoff in a fat envelope from someone’s inside jacket pocket. And almost certainly the money was in an international currency, not rand or pula. If it was in U.S. dollars, it could be half a million dollars in one hundred dollar notes, even if the briefcase was not full. And if it was in euros, it could be almost ten times that because euros come in notes up to 500. But apart from issues of size and weight, the briefcase had led to at least four murders. It had to be a lot of money.

  “What about the heroin or whatever it was?” asked Tatwa.

  Kubu shook his head. “We don’t know what it was. Drugs? Maybe they didn’t even keep those. Too dangerous and impossible to sell quietly unless you have the contacts. Diamonds? We’ll never find them. No, we concentrate on the money. We know it existed, and they must’ve kept it.” Kubu scratched his head. “Tatwa, what sort of search did your people do when they came out the day of the murders?”

  “We were looking for evidence connected with the murders. We weren’t looking for money. We didn’t know about the money, then. But the guys checked all the luggage, all Goodluck and Langa’s stuff, of course, and looked over the island. We did a cursory check of the vehicles, the other tents, the kitchen area. If you’re asking if we could’ve missed a stash of hidden money, the answer must be yes.”

  “Okay, that means that they had time to move the money to a better hiding place after we all left and before Madrid turned up. For that matter, Dupie could’ve hidden it anywhere along the road to the airstrip. We know he went there because he dumped Zondo’s stuff near it. They could even have taken the money to Kasane – you may as well check with the banks. See if they deposited it or accessed a deposit box. Just b
ecause something is incredibly stupid, it doesn’t mean they wouldn’t have done it. But I think the money’s nearby. I don’t think they would want that money out of their control. Especially not with three people in the know. I’ll bet the money’s within walking distance of right here.” He heaved himself to his feet. “Let’s go and find it.”

  A different type of search took place around Jackalberry Camp. Two of the constables walked the island, looking up into the trees for anything unusual that might indicate a package. Kubu scanned the messy bird nests in the dead trees near the water’s edge with binoculars. Tatwa took on the kitchen area, opening boxes of provisions in front of a scandalized Moremi and irritated Kweh. The third constable, accompanied by Salome, went through each tent, quickly checking the vacant ones, and carefully going through the staff accommodation.

  Kubu finished first and returned to the reception area. He found Dupie there drinking tea and looking smug. “You’re howling up the wrong tree, Superintendent. You’re not going to find anything because there’s nothing to find. What’s next? Dig up the island for buried treasure? Dredge the lagoon?” He laughed.

  In fact, Kubu had thought about the money being buried or hidden in the lagoon and had rejected it. The crime was opportunistic in the sense that they’d planned it when they found the money. He did not think that a suitably strong or waterproof container would have been available. But it was a concern. If he were wrong, there were hundreds of places the money might be. They might never find it.

  “I want to look at the stuff on the mainland. The vehicles and that shed you have there. Any objection?”

  Dupie shrugged. “Help yourself. But everything is locked. Has to be, with the village just down the river. I better come with you. I’ll get the keys.” He swallowed the rest of his tea, climbed to his feet, and headed to his office tent. At the same time, Tatwa appeared from the kitchen wiping his head with a tea towel. He had been through everything, concluding with Kweh’s perch-cupboard. Kweh had been so outraged that he had broken his strict housetraining. Kubu could not help smiling as he detected a note of triumph in the raucous ‘go-away, go-away’ that followed Tatwa’s departure.

  “Nothing,” Tatwa announced, dumping the wet towel. “They’re low on provisions, too. Either they’re not expecting to be in business much longer, or they’ve delayed stocking up because of the Madrid story. And Moremi’s in as bad a mood as Kweh now. Don’t expect a gourmet dinner.”

  Kubu pouted because Tatwa expected that. But actually he was keen to get home, touch base with Mabaku, and most of all to see Joy. Perhaps he would have to take her to Dr. Diklekeng himself. And he felt the urgency again. Something was going to happen. Perhaps they would break the case given enough time, but instinctively he felt that time was exactly what they didn’t have.

  “I want to check the boat and the vehicles and look around at the landing on the mainland. Dupie will come with us. He’s gone to fetch the keys.”

  ♦

  The boat had a sealed fiberglass hull and a few storage compartments that were damp and stuffed with life jackets and fishing gear. Nevertheless, they were unpacked and the compartments checked with a flashlight. It was soon obvious to Kubu that there was nowhere on the boat that you could hide anything, let alone the amount of money he thought was involved.

  They took the police launch to the mainland. There they carefully checked the vehicles, looking for extra tanks or compartments. Both vehicles had second tanks for long distance driving, both contained fuel. They checked under the seats, inside the seats themselves, and in the small camping fridges whose contents kept guests cheerful on game drives. The open Land Rover had long since lost the sealed dashboard area, but there was closed space behind the Toyota Double Cab’s façade. It was large enough. Kubu asked Dupie to disassemble it.

  “Hell, that’s a big job. I don’t want my vehicle messed up because you’re on a wild goose chase.”

  “Then we’ll have to impound the vehicle and take it apart in Kasane.”

  “Like hell you will! Shit! Okay, I’ll get some tools from the shed.”

  “I’ll come with you. I want to look at the shed anyway.”

  Dupie battled briefly with the rusted padlock on the door of the small storeroom and then creaked open the door. There was no window, but enough light came in through the door to be able to see. The place was as messy as Dupie’s office. You can judge a workman by his tools, thought Kubu. Someone had told him that; he was not much of a workman himself. There was a scatter of wrenches, screwdrivers, and other tools on a rickety wooden workbench. They had to step over a drip pan for oil changes – still containing oil – to reach it. A couple of spare tires leaned against one wall next to a hopelessly distorted wheel rim and some tire irons and clamps. Clearly Dupie did – or tried to do – much of his own maintenance for the boat and the two vehicles.

  Dupie cursed.

  “Your bloody people took half my tools! When am I going to get them back, hey? How long does it take to check if they were involved in whacking Langa?”

  Kubu treated the question as rhetorical. There were some greasy boxes under the workbench. He pointed to them. “Spare parts?”

  Dupie glowered. “Yes. You want to check? Help yourself while I waste my time pulling the vehicle apart.” Carrying a selection of screwdrivers, wrenches, and a pair of pliers, he headed off. Kubu was tempted to let it go. But it could be a bluff. So he started on the boxes.

  Ten minutes later he emerged into the sunshine, blinking, and with nothing to show for his efforts but greasy hands. He tried to clean them with a rag from the boat. By the time he felt he could survive until soap was accessible, Dupie had the dashboard off, and Tatwa was shining the flashlight and poking around inside. He shook his head when Kubu approached.

  “You satisfied?” asked Dupie. “Can I put it back together now?” Tatwa was checking depths from the engine side to be sure there was no hidden compartment. He nodded. It was another blank.

  “Thanks. Much appreciated,” said Dupie, sarcastically. Kubu was looking at the inside of the vehicle doors. “Do the windows open?” he asked.

  “Of course the windows open,” said Dupie with irritation. Then he guessed where Kubu was heading. “Oh shit. You want me to take the door panels off too? Well, why the hell not?” He started viciously levering them off with a screwdriver. A lot of dust and rusty mechanism was exposed, but not a single dollar bill.

  Kubu took another look under the vehicle. Like many bakkies, the spare wheel was held under the vehicle with a protective plate. It kept the tire out of harm’s way. It also meant that the wheel’s center cavity was hidden. That could hold a lot of money.

  A stream of invective was coming from the front of the vehicle, where Tatwa was trying to help Dupie replace the dashboard. The screwdriver had slipped and gouged Dupie’s hand. Kubu decided to wait a while before raising the issue of lowering the spare wheel. He noticed that the front driver’s tire was a bit flat. Maybe Dupie would want to change it. He left Dupie and Tatwa to their struggles and wandered over to the Land Rover. It had two spare wheels, one on the hood and one fixed to the tailgate. Neither rim had any significant space for hiding money. He scanned the river bird nests again with his binoculars, checked around the shed, and got back to the Toyota Double Cab in time for Dupie’s satisfied grunt as he tightened the last screw.

  “Your front tire’s a bit flat,” Kubu offered.

  Dupie took a look at it and tried a kick. “Well, I’m not going anywhere, am I? I’ll pump it up when I am.”

  “I’d like you to take down the spare.”

  Dupie did not even argue. Without a word he rummaged in the vehicle and appeared with a tire spanner and jack handle. Then he said to Tatwa, “You’d better do it. Neither of us will fit under there.” Suddenly in a better mood, he offered Kubu a wink. So it was Tatwa who emerged five minutes later, covered in dust. He had lowered the wheel far enough to check there was nothing hidden, and then cranked it back into place. By
that time Dupie had locked the shed. He accepted the vehicle’s tools from Tatwa and packed them away, locked the doors, and rubbed his hands on his shorts.

  “Tell you what, you owe me a beer. On you this time, Superintendent.”

  In spite of himself, Kubu smiled. But why was Dupie suddenly in a good mood? Was the beer something of a celebration? Had they, after all, missed something? If they had, Kubu could not think where. He sighed and relaxed.

  “Okay. I’ll buy you a beer.”

  Despite Dupie’s sudden bonhomie, it was a somber evening. Dupie drank his beer and took himself off, leaving Kubu and Tatwa to ponder the disappointments of the day. Kubu tried to phone Mabaku, but the call went straight to voice mail. Kubu smiled. Marie must be in full control.

  Next he tried Joy. She answered, but sounded tired and distracted, and again asked when he would be back. The stress is starting to tell, he thought. He told her they would be leaving tomorrow. The thought had become a decision. He had to get back and, anyway, his investigation was stalled. Tatwa, pretending not to listen, was relieved. He, too, could see no point in hanging around the camp.

  They walked up to the lookout to watch the sunset. It was as spectacular as the sunrise, but this time brought no inspiration. Then they wandered back to the bar and, in Dupie’s absence, Kubu opened a bottle of cold sauvignon blanc. Dupie arrived shortly afterward, changed and showered. Dupie was friendly, but thoughtful and restrained. There was no sign of Salome or Enoch until dinnertime.

  As Tatwa had predicted, dinner was not gourmet fare. Moremi produced cold meats, bread and cheeses, salad, and fruit. He had little to say to anyone and retired early with Kweh. Solomon and Enoch followed soon after. Dupie brewed a pot of coffee while Salome sat in hostile silence with the detectives. The three constables had set up camp near the landing. The pretense of an attack from Madrid had been abandoned. It was clear to everyone now that the policemen were there as guards not protectors.