Detective Kubu 02; The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu

by Michael Stanley

  “Morne du Pisanie, I am arresting you in connection with the murders of Goodluck Tinubu, Peter Jabulani (also known as Ish-mael Zondo), Sipho Langa, and William Boardman. You are not required to say anything at the moment, but take note that anything you do or say will be recorded and may be used in a court of law. Do you understand what I have told you?”

  Dupie said he did, while Tau handcuffed him and searched him for weapons. A good idea, Kubu thought.

  “I’ll need some things,” said Dupie. “Till you catch Enoch, and this is all cleared up.”

  Kubu nodded. “Tatwa, take Dupie back to Jackalberry. Arrest Salome too and then get them to Kasane. Leave one of the constables at the camp to keep an eye on Moremi and Solomon in case we were wrong about them. I’m going to take the money and catch that plane. If I hurry, I can still get back to Gaborone today. Tau can drive us to the airstrip. Okay?” Tatwa nodded. He, too, was high on the mixture of triumph and excitement. He headed back to the police launch.

  Kubu searched for something to hold the money. There was the boat tarpaulin, but it was much too big. He needed to catch the plane! At last he grabbed Tatwa’s backpack and emptied its contents onto the backseat, rescuing a couple of T–shirts that ended on the dusty floor. Then Kubu and Tau stuffed the money into the backpack, dumped Tatwa’s clothes on the tarpaulin, scrambled into the vehicle, and took off. They made a fine pace over the bumpy road, as a few items of Tatwa’s underwear they had missed escaped into the African bush.

  ∨ The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu ∧

  Part Eight

  ONE MAY FALL

  One may fall, but he falls by himself,

  Falls by himself with himself to blame.

  —RUDYARD KIPLING, ‘THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS’

  ∨ The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu ∧

  73

  By the time Kubu landed at Gaborone, he was tired but content. The money was safely locked away at the police station in Kasane, Dupie and Salome were being held there, and Tatwa was keeping a close watch on them. Enoch had survived the day, but could not remain at large for long, now that they knew pretty well where he was. Best of all, Joy would be waiting to meet him at the airport. So he grabbed his luggage and looked around for her, his mind on a delicious dinner with good wine, and a beautiful woman before, during, and after. When he saw her, he dropped his case, folded her in his comfortable bulk and lifted her off the ground, and kissed her with the passion of absence.

  “Oh, Kubu, put me down! Everyone’s watching! You’re embarrassing me!” she said through her laughter. Indeed, many travelers glanced at them, the bored expressions of business travel replaced with smiles.

  “My darling, I’ve missed you and been worried sick about you, but now we are back together and everything is fine.” Kubu confirmed this remark with another kiss, this time with all feet on the ground.

  “Oh Kubu, you got them? Solved the case?” Joy was breathless.

  “Well, I know who did what and how. One suspect is still at large, but the others are in custody. We’ll have it all wrapped up in no time. And after this I’m not budging from Gaborone.” He picked up his bag and headed for the exit with his arm around her shoulders.

  “Will Pleasant and I have to testify? Identify the suspects?”

  Suddenly Kubu realized that they were talking about two different cases. “Well, we haven’t got that lot yet. This was the Jackalberry Camp murder case.” Seeing her disappointment, he rushed on. “But it’s all linked. We’ve got the money that the kidnappers were after, and it will be all over the newspapers tomorrow. They won’t dare set foot in Botswana again. And Beardy is going to tell us everything we want to know. He’s just looking for a deal.”

  But Joy was not consoled. “Kubu, I’m so tired of worrying about myself and Pleasant. I wish you could catch these people. I think they might try again. We’re scared.”

  “My darling, I had to go to Jackalberry to solve this case, but it’s done and I’m staying right here. The whole thing is just about wrapped up! There’s absolutely nothing to worry about.” He sounded much more cheerful and confident than he actually felt. He leaned over for another peck, and Joy responded before quickly turning away, but not before he had seen the wetness in her eyes.

  When they reached the car, it was shaking from Ilia’s jumping and barking. She was trying to squeeze herself through the two-inch gap at the top of the window that Joy had left open for fresh air. There was nothing for it but to open the door and let her dive into Kubu’s arms and do a complete lick and polish of his face.

  “You’re impossible, Ilia. You’re so badly behaved. But I love you. Now get back into the car so we can go home. I very much hope that your mother has a fine dinner waiting for both of us.” Eventually they managed to get Ilia sufficiently under control to get the doors closed and the trip home underway.

  “How have you been feeling, my love?” asked Kubu, realizing he was on shaky ground.

  “Oh, much better. I’ll be fine now that you’re back. It was all just the stress and worry.”

  “Is that what Dr. Diklekeng said?”

  Joy shook her head. “I’m so much better I didn’t want to waste his time. Anyway, let’s talk about something else. I’ve made a delicious curry, and I’ve put a bottle of gewürztraminer in the fridge. See? I’m learning which wines go with what. And Ilia can have the sauce over her dog biscuits. She’ll love that. And then we can have a nice quiet evening together. Quiet until a bit later on that is.” She gave him a naughty smile, her good humor apparently restored. Kubu marveled at how neatly she had changed the subject. He could already smell the spices, taste the fruity richness of the wine, and feel the touch of her soft hands on his body. He must stop nagging her. All would be well.

  “How is the karate going?” he asked, once more on bedrock.

  “Oh, I’m not sure I want to go on with it. I’ve got so much on my mind, so much to do. I’ll think about it. You’re here to look after me now.” Kubu felt the rock turning to sand. She loved her karate.

  “As a matter of fact, I need a checkup too,” he said. “That strain in my shoulder has been worrying me a bit again. I’ll make an appointment with Dr. Diklekeng, and we can go together.” Catching Joy’s developing scowl, he used her technique of changing subjects and scrambled back to solid ground.

  “Tell me about the curry you made. Is it a new recipe or an old favorite? I want to hear the details.” Joy laughed in spite of herself and started talking about meats and spices. Ilia barked as though this discussion was much more interesting.

  ♦

  Early the next morning Kubu headed to the office. He expected to have an exciting day, but he was disappointed. Up to now, he had been active, exploring aspects of the case in Gaborone, Bulawayo, and Jackalberry. Here he found himself at the eye of the storm, in the center with everything happening around him, but just out of reach. It was Tatwa who was trying to get Dupie and Salome to break and tell the true story of that fateful Sunday night. So far without success. It was the Namibian police and the Botswana Defense Force that were scouring the border area for Enoch, who had so far eluded them. Now that Mabaku was trying to keep one step ahead of his wife and doctors, it was Edison who paid daily, unprofitable visits to Beardy. Even Joy wished to go her own way, finally agreeing to visit Dr. Diklekeng but on her own.

  What was Kubu supposed to do? He picked up the jar containing the bullets Paulus Mbedi had given him and headed to Ballistics. By making a nuisance of himself, he persuaded them to take a look immediately, and they became intrigued by the story. After analysis, they confirmed what Kubu had already guessed. He thanked them and went back to his office.

  AK47 bullets. Used by the Russian-armed fighters in Africa. Goodluck had been shot in the back by one of his comrades. Perhaps one who had a score to settle after the raid on the farm.

  But he was no further with the case. Those comrades had died in a fire fight with the Selous Scouts, including Dupie and Enoch. They c
ouldn’t be involved in a chain of murders in Botswana, thirty years on. Something else had driven Goodluck to Jackalberry. But what? Kubu thumped his fist on the desk and watched the effect on his pencils with satisfaction.

  At last he could stand his own company no longer and phoned Ian MacGregor.

  “Ian, it’s Kubu. I’m back.”

  “Kubu! And successful, I hear. Money found, villains arrested. Time for a celebration.”

  “At eleven in the morning?”

  “I meant after work.”

  Kubu was tempted. “Ian, I can’t. Joy’s seeing Dr. Diklekeng. She’s still not right. And I don’t want to leave her alone. We haven’t caught the kidnappers, and they’re the ones I’m really worried about. In the meanwhile I’m sitting here counting my buttonholes.” He tried to keep any hint of self-pity out of his voice, but was not entirely successful.

  “Ah, Kubu, always the man of action,” said Ian with a hint of uncharitable irony. “Did you find the drugs they were smuggling?”

  Kubu shook his head, forgetting Ian couldn’t see it. “No. Actually I don’t believe there are any drugs. It doesn’t fit Goodluck’s personality.” Kubu described his visit to Zimbabwe and what he’d learned there and at Ballistics a short while before.

  “It’s a sad story,” said Ian. “Hang on, let me get my pipe.” Obviously he was not in a hurry and intended to concentrate on the issue. Kubu was glad of that. A minute later Ian was back.

  “Right. I’m settled. Now where were we? Ah, the drugs. You say he was a good guy. Is it possible he was selling drugs to help Zimbabweans?”

  “It doesn’t add up. He was involved with a small support operation for Zimbabwean refugees in Gaborone, but he gave his time, not money. At least not a significant amount. They confirmed that to Edison early on.”

  Ian digested this, but did not want to abandon his theory so easily. “Maybe it was money collected for people in Zimbabwe, and he was just a courier. Could that be it?”

  “Too much money. It was more than half a million U.S. dollars.”

  Ian took his pipe out of his mouth and whistled. “That’s a lot of money! Enough to start a small war. Pity you don’t get a percentage.”

  “I wouldn’t want any of that money. The notes should be printed in blood red, not green.”

  “And you found nothing else? Just the money?”

  Kubu confirmed that.

  “Could it have been a payment then? For services rendered, or to be rendered in the future?”

  This was a new twist. Kubu had always visualized an exchange. Zondo and Goodluck swap money and…something. But suppose there was no swap? Suppose the money was simply to be delivered to Zondo. Perhaps, then, Goodluck’s involvement made sense. He was just the courier. Of enough money to start a small war. Kubu bunched his fists as his subconscious kaleidoscoped ideas.

  “Ian, you’ve been very helpful as always. I have an idea. Let me check up on it and see if it makes any sense before I waste any more of your time.”

  Ian sighed. He was used to this. Occasionally Kubu needed someone to help with his lateral thinking, but once a sideways thought came along, he would be off on his own again. Telling Kubu he was welcome, and that they must get together soon, he hung up.

  Kubu scrabbled through his file until he found the report from Forensics in Kasane. He scanned it until he came to the list of Goodluck’s personal effects found in his tent and in his tote. He was looking for some hint of what Goodluck had been doing, something that Dupie and Enoch would have ignored when they went after the money. Something that would lead him to Madrid and the thugs who had dared to threaten his family. He wanted them very badly indeed.

  There was nothing. Inexpensive clothes of the type found in any clothing chain. Two pairs of sneakers. A hand-knitted jersey – something made by his mother, a girlfriend, grandmother? He had been wearing it the night he was killed; threads from it had been caught on thorns at the lookout. Sun hat, glasses (reading and sun), but no binoculars, camera, or anything for the wildlife enthusiast, such as an animal or bird book. A copy of the Botswana Gazette. Some note paper but no notes. A copy of Mandela’s autobiography Long Walk to Freedom, with a bookmark on page 120. A digital watch (with no alarms set). Forensics had been meticulous, Kubu thought with approval. A Maglite flashlight. A road map of Botswana. A packet of liquorice all-sorts, which ants had discovered. Goodluck liked candy, so what? The holdall was a cheap plastic carrier, no special marks or compartments. Goodluck’s briefcase, which had caused all the grief for Joy and Pleasant, was with Forensics in Gaborone.

  It looked like a meaningless collection of items that anyone might take on holiday. But he wasn’t on holiday, thought Kubu. Hence no nature stuff. What about the map? Why didn’t he leave that in the car? Perhaps he thought he might need his bearings if something went wrong. What about the newspaper? He probably bought it in Mochudi before he left for Kasane.

  But he couldn’t let it drop. He phoned Tatwa.

  “Oh, hello Kubu, still no joy from Dupie or Salome. They just stick to their stories. Dupie insists it must’ve been Enoch who hid the money in the tire of the spare wheel. Salome is adamant that she knows nothing about the money or the murders. I haven’t been able to trip either of them up. You know, even with the money, we need Enoch to get them convicted.” He sounded discouraged.

  “Cheer up. They’ll get Enoch,” Kubu told him confidently. “I phoned about something else, actually. Goodluck’s stuff. Was it all fingerprinted, checked for notes, that sort of thing?”

  Tatwa dug out his file. “Yes. Nothing unexpected about any of it.”

  “Even the map and the newspaper?”

  Tatwa scanned the report. “So it says. The map was the standard Veronica Roodt one and had fingerprints from Goodluck and Langa. What you’d expect since they drove together. The newspaper was the Gazette. Anyway, it was an old paper; they thought Goodluck probably used it for padding.”

  Suddenly Kubu was interested. “What do you mean old?”

  “Well, it just says it was old.”

  “What did he have that was breakable?” There was something here. There had to be.

  Tatwa looked through the list of effects again and admitted that nothing seemed to need padding.

  “Tatwa, can you lay your hands on that newspaper? While I hang on? I’ve got a feeling it might be important.”

  Tatwa pointed out that it was nearly lunchtime, which he thought would close the discussion, but Kubu said he would wait. Tatwa promised to phone back as soon as he located Goodluck’s newspaper.

  It took fifteen minutes. “It’s a copy of the Gazette, Kubu. Dated the week before Goodluck’s Jackalberry visit. It’s not scrunched up or anything, but it’s a bit creased. Maybe he had it in the hold-all.”

  “So he packed it. What’s in it?” asked Kubu. He wished he had the newspaper in his hands to tell him its story directly.

  “In it? Speech from the president, announcement of the plan for the African Union meeting, schedule of all the leaders’ visits and so on, something about the police getting an Air Wing. That’s the front page.”

  For a full minute there was no response, and Tatwa checked that Kubu was still on the line. When the response finally came, Kubu’s voice was tense, although the words were bland enough. “Read what it says about the Zimbabwe visit,” he said. Puzzled, Tatwa did so.

  “The Zimbabwe delegation will include the president himself and several senior members of his government. Clearly the high-level delegation is intended to emphasize the legitimacy of the government after the recent contested elections and broad criticism by the government of Botswana. The delegation will stay a week in Gaborone. Meetings with the Botswana government are also planned.”

  Then there’s a list of the delegates attending and some comments by the president. Do you want me to read that too?”

  “No, that’s okay,” said Kubu. “It’s like the road map. He had it with him just in case they needed those details. Thanks, Ta
twa.”

  “Needed for what? What do you mean, Kubu?” But to Tatwa’s annoyance, the only response was the dial tone.

  ♦

  Kubu looked for Edison and found him at the tea urn. “We’re going to interview your Mr. Beardy,” he said, by way of greeting.

  “Now, wait a minute,” said Edison. “Firstly, he’s not my Mr. Beardy. But more importantly, you know the director’s rule. You don’t go near Beardy. Too much personal involvement. You can’t come.”

  “Edison, this could be really very important. I promise I’ll just ask a couple of questions, make a few suggestions. Never raise my voice. Not once.”

  This did not encourage Edison much. He was still getting black looks from Mabaku over the blown trap for the kidnappers. “We have to get Mabaku’s approval first,” he said firmly.

  “Edison, the director’s otherwise occupied. He’ll agree once he has the facts. But we do have to get some lunch first. I’ll buy you lunch at the Delta Café on the way.” He was already striding off to his meal, and Edison knew it was hopeless to argue. He sighed, and then hurried to catch up. He liked the Delta Café.

  ♦

  “Who’s the fat guy?” Beardy asked Edison, rudely pointing at Kubu.

  “I’m the man whose sister-in-law you kidnapped and whose wife you tried to abduct and, no doubt, rape.” Kubu said it calmly, as he had promised, but it clearly affected Beardy. He shrank back into his seat.

  To Edison’s relief, Kubu continued, “Don’t worry. I know you were just doing a job. I’m here to tell you it’s all over. The Zimbabwe secret police have got Madrid and all the other ring leaders. They’ll be having a very uncomfortable time from now on, I expect. But not for all that long, I imagine. You’re very lucky to be in custody here. There, you’d probably be sleeping on a concrete floor. No toenails left, either. And I doubt you’d have much interest in prostitutes again.”