Detective Kubu 02; The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu

by Michael Stanley

  ‘This is Major Du Pisanie,’ the commander said, ‘from the Selous Scouts. He needs some men. You’ve volunteered. You leave in thirty minutes. Go!’ I didn’t want to go. There were bad stories about the Scouts. If I was in town that day, I wouldn’t have gone. I wouldn’t have met Dupie. I wouldn’t be sitting here. I was in the wrong place again.”

  There was a long silence, and Tatwa was afraid that Enoch would say no more. But he was only collecting his thoughts. “People say that the Scouts were the best. We were. But we were also the worst. We did what we wanted, when we wanted, sometimes to innocent people.” Enoch struggled to maintain his composure. Several times he sucked in breath as though he was about to sob. “And I was one of them. I became like Dupie. And my ancestors shook their heads.”

  Enoch stopped talking. Tatwa noticed that one of Enoch’s eyelids was twitching.

  “How did you become so friendly with Dupie?” he asked.

  “We never became friends, but something happened near the end of the war. We learned that some workers at a farm near Bulawayo were supporting the freedom fighters. Giving them shelter and food. We went to find out what they knew. We got there at midnight and dragged the men from their beds. We stripped them and tied them to trees. Some of us started to torture them.” Enoch shook his head at the memory. “We were laughing as they screamed. I still hear the screams.” He paused. “Turned out later we were on the wrong farm.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Go on,” the Namibian policeman said, transfixed by Enoch’s story.

  “As we left, a man jumped from the bushes and rushed at Dupie. He had a big cane knife. He must have been peeing or something when we arrived. I didn’t have time to pull my revolver, so I jumped in front of him and took the blow on my shoulder. Dupie was able to shoot him before he could strike again.”

  Enoch continued to sit erect in his chair, but he looked as though his words were stuffing slowly being pulled from inside him. He seemed to shrink right in front of Tatwa, defiant and defeated at the same time.

  “I had a deep wound through my shoulder. It was bleeding badly. I thought I was going to die, and I was glad,” Enoch whispered, drawing the two policemen closer. “Dupie wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t like me, didn’t like any blacks, but I’d saved his life. In the end, he carried me almost a mile to where we’d left the vehicles. Without him, I would’ve died. After that we were partners. Looked out for each other. But never friends. Never friends.” He drained the glass.

  “After the war I went back to my village. Dupie left Rhodesia. He couldn’t accept being ruled by the terrorist leaders. About two years later, he came to the village. Said he needed someone to help him run hunting trips in Botswana. Someone to look after his back. Someone he knew he could trust. Would I go? So I did. There was no work for me in Zimbabwe. When he went to Jackalberry twelve years ago, I went too.”

  “What about the Eyes?” Tatwa asked, remembering Dupie’s office. He could see Enoch fighting to maintain a semblance of composure.

  “That came later. We took a group of businessmen hunting in the Central Kalahari. They were from Turkey. One of them walked right into a pride of lions lying in the grass. A lioness attacked him. Luckily we were close by and shot it before she killed the man. He wasn’t even badly hurt. Rips on his chest, but nothing terrible. He was grateful and gave us money and an Eye each. He made us promise that we would never get rid of them. He said they were for good luck and would protect us. I hung mine around my neck. Dupie carried his in his trousers. But we didn’t really believe him.”

  Enoch shook his head. “A few months later I went to see my family. I was waiting to catch a bus in Bulawayo. Someone tried to stab me and steal my money. The knife hit the Eye under my shirt. It saved me. When I got back and told Dupie, he said the same had happened to him. It was a cool night and he was camping, sleeping in the open. A mamba lay next to him for warmth. When Dupie woke up he scared the snake. It struck at him, but hit the Eye. After that we believed. What happened with the one happened with the other.”

  “And the night of the murders at Jackalberry?”

  Enoch shrugged. “When Goodluck arrived, Salome thought he was one of the men who had raped her thirty years before in the war. Dupie didn’t believe it. She often had nightmares about it. Sometimes she thought some guest at the camp had been there. It was difficult for Dupie because he loves her. But he didn’t believe her. Anyway he asked me to check Goodluck’s tent. I managed to get his keys and found a briefcase full of dollars. I told Dupie, and he saw a way to save the camp. You know Salome was running out of money?”

  Tatwa nodded.

  “I think he always loved Salome. Maybe he thought this was a way to show his love. To get her to love him. So he made this plan to kill Goodluck and steal the money. He thought Goodluck deserved this.” Enoch stopped talking.

  “Tell us what happened, Enoch. What happened that night?”

  Enoch remained quiet, head down, shoulders now slumped.

  “Tell us. What happened?”

  Suddenly Enoch sat upright and stared into Tatwa’s eyes. “Dupie killed Goodluck. He had a sharp wire set in a piece of wood. Something from the war. He knocked Goodluck out and stuck him through the chest. Then he grabbed the briefcase, and I lifted the body. We meant to throw it in the river. But suddenly Dupie realized the briefcase was too light. It was empty. He’s quick, Dupie. He always was. He told me to drop the body, and he cut the throat and ears. I didn’t know what he was doing, but he’d made a new plan. Goodluck must’ve given the money to someone else at the camp, and he guessed it was Zondo. So we went to his tent, made him give us the money, and then we killed him. We carried him to the river and pushed him into the current.”

  A chill ran through Tatwa, thinking of the body sinking in the water with monster scavengers. “Unfortunately Langa was snooping around and saw us. I had to kill him too.

  “In the morning, I wore Zondo’s hat on the boat in case someone saw us on the river. Dupie wanted people to believe that Zondo had left, that he was the murderer. It would’ve worked, but Rra Board-man was up early looking at birds.” He shook his head. “The ancestors again, you see? Well, he saw through his binoculars that it was me not Zondo in the boat. He tried to blackmail Dupie.”

  “So you had to get rid of him too?” Tatwa said.

  “Yes,” said Enoch, finally. “We had to get rid of him too.”

  Tatwa had the confession he wanted. The case was solved. Why was he not elated?

  “My ancestors knew I would end up here,” Enoch said. “It is how my life was to be.”

  Enoch put his arms on the table, his head on his arms, and said no more. Tatwa and the Namibian policeman tried to get more details but to no avail. Enoch had told his story. He had nothing more to say.

  ∨ The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu ∧

  78

  On Monday at 8:00 a.m., Mabaku arrived unannounced at the Central Prison and had Beardy brought to an interview room. He waved away the guards, who withdrew doubtfully. This was against procedure. Beardy wanted his lawyer but Mabaku dismissed that with contempt.

  “It’s time for us to have a private talk, Mr. Khumalo. You’ve not been very helpful. Lots of promises, lots of delaying tactics, no delivery.” Beardy started to protest but Mabaku frowned him to silence. “Yes, you’ve told us all about the kidnappings. Everything we already knew. But not what it was all for.” Again Beardy tried to interrupt and again Mabaku ignored him. “Well, we know now. Assistant Superintendent Bengu has unorthodox methods, but they sometimes pay off. You were part of a plot to depose – perhaps assassinate – the president of Zimbabwe. We don’t yet know all the details, but we will. This will be very embarrassing for the Republic of Botswana. It seems that we were also used as a conduit to finance this attempted coup. We will, of course, cooperate fully with the Zimbabwean authorities. But we don’t want to look incompetent. We want to be able to show them that we took every step to avoid an illegal action ag
ainst their government.” He glared at Beardy. “You can help us. If you do, we will recommend leniency on the kidnapping charges. You’ll want to be in a Botswana prison for the time being, safe from extradition to Zimbabwe, won’t you, Mr. Khu-malo?”

  Mabaku sat back, folded his arms, and waited. If Beardy called his bluff, he would have no options left. It all depended on whether Beardy believed the plot had failed and moved to save himself, or whether he decided that if he kept silent all might still be well. Mabaku stared at him without blinking. At last Beardy dropped his eyes. That was when Mabaku knew he had won.

  ♦

  Mabaku went straight to the commissioner. He was involved in an important meeting, but Mabaku persuaded his assistant that he had to see him immediately. A few minutes later he was ushered into a small meeting room. The commissioner had been talking to the Minister of Foreign Affairs and International Cooperation. The commissioner introduced Mabaku and invited him to sit. “I think I know what you are going to tell us, Mabaku. The minister should hear it directly from you.”

  “Thank you, Commissioner,” Mabaku said. Turning to the minister, he continued, “I have a confession from a certain Mr. John Khumalo, who is being held in connection with the kidnapping of Assistant Superintendent Bengu’s sister-in-law. It probably won’t stand up in court, because I embellished the truth a bit, but the purpose was to discover what was going on. Before it was too late.”

  “And that is?” The minister seemed only mildly interested.

  “A plot to overthrow the president of Zimbabwe. A coup is planned for the period that he is out of Zimbabwe, when he is here in Botswana for the African Union meeting. What’s more, it was being financed by monies smuggled from South Africa into Zimbabwe. Through Botswana.”

  The commissioner cut in. “After you spoke to me last night, Mabaku, I decided that I should apprise the minister of the possibilities you suggested. He wasn’t as surprised as I expected. It seems there have been rumors developing over the past few weeks. We knew nothing. So we said nothing. Now we know something.” He stopped and looked at the minister expectantly.

  The minister rubbed his beard, making a sandpaper noise. “Director Mabaku, you are aware, I’m sure, that the relations between ourselves and the current leadership of Zimbabwe are very strained. Since we rejected the 2008 elections, we have been almost alone in Southern Africa in opposing the regime there. We had great difficulty accepting that Zimbabwe’s president will be here for the African Union meeting, but it was made clear that if we interfered, the meeting would move elsewhere.” He looked at Mabaku with more intensity. “What do you think we should do with this information now, Director Mabaku?”

  Mabaku looked back without blinking. “Minister, I’m a policeman not a politician. I enforce the laws of the country. I have no doubt that many laws have been broken. Laws of this country and of another. We are obliged by protocol to inform that other country. Without delay.”

  “Even if that removes the possibility of a different sort of government taking the reins in an important neighboring country?”

  “Minister, as I said, I’m not a politician. But I haven’t noticed great democratic progress in countries where governments came to power in coups or military takeovers. I believe in the rule of law. The end is desirable, but it can never justify inappropriate means.”

  The minister rose and held out his hand. “Thank you, Director. I’m glad we have people like you running our police force. We’ll think about what you’ve told us. In the interim, I trust you will keep this meeting and everything you have learned today in the strictest confidence?”

  Mabaku gave a stiff nod, shook hands, and left for his office at Millennium Park.

  ♦

  That afternoon General Joseph Chikosi received a message from a contact he trusted. The message was short. The general and his key men had very little time to flee the country. The government would soon be looking for them. And once it looked, they would not be hard to find. The general felt obliged to tell Madrid. He, too, would soon be in serious danger. Chikosi didn’t really care about that, but he had his honor. However, Madrid was nowhere to be found. It seemed Madrid’s spies were even better than those of the leader of the coup.

  That evening the government of Zimbabwe announced that due to pressing business, the president would not, after all, attend the African Union meeting. A deputy with full rights to speak on behalf of the government would stand in for him. This came with a very gracious apology to the government of Botswana. It seemed relations were on the mend.

  ♦

  The evening before, a charter flight left Zimbabwe headed for Argentina. None of the passengers went through customs or immigration formalities. The plane’s cargo was in sealed boxes that also were not inspected. One of the men was a short and swarthy European. He spoke in Spanish to the pilot, who nodded without surprise. The flight plan had just changed, but Zimbabwe air traffic control would not be informed.

  Madrid settled himself into an aisle seat. He started to relax. He had played double or quits with Joseph Chikosi and had lost. Shoving some U.S. dollar bills into his wallet, he came across a remaining 1,000,000 Zimbabwe dollar note, a souvenir. Madrid laughed, partly at the size of the note – worth less than 10 U.S. cents on the black market – and partly because he had offered it in answer to Johannes’s question about how much he would spend to spring the bearded idiot from a Botswanan jail.

  He signaled for a beer. He was philosophical about the Zimbabwe project. Madrid was leaving empty-handed, but there would be another country, another opportunity. There always was.

  The plane started to taxi to the runway, and he checked his watch. It was 6:30 a.m. Good. He had told his Zimbabwean contacts he would leave early the next morning. He fully expected the airport to be full of soldiers by then. They had skins to save too.

  The plane took off and headed west over Zambia and Angola, then out over the ocean. As Madrid sipped an ice-cold beer, the huge ball of the setting sun spread blood over the African Atlantic.

  ∨ The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu ∧

  79

  As soon as he came in the next morning, Kubu tossed his briefcase onto his desk and barged passed Miriam into Director Mabaku’s office. Warily, Mabaku looked up from his desk. “You made Beardy talk, didn’t you?” Kubu threw himself into a chair, which creaked ominously.

  “Yes, Kubu, you were right.”

  “But they knew already, didn’t they?” said Kubu shrewdly. “That’s why I heard nothing from you. They were just keeping a low profile hoping it would all work out.”

  Mabaku was puzzled. “Who knew?”

  “The commissioner! The minister! The great Republic of Botswana! We were in on it, weren’t we? More what the world expects from the CIA than from the Republic of Botswana.”

  “Kubu, this is nonsense. I’m sure the commissioner knew nothing about the coup. I’m not saying no one knew what was going on in Zimbabwe. It all seemed rather neat, didn’t it?”

  “And my family was attacked because the politicians decided to dabble in the affairs of another country!”

  Mabaku was getting irritated. This was an issue that should be left well alone. “You may recall that you were the one who got Madrid onto your family. That had nothing to do with any high-ups. I was furious with you at the time, and I was right.”

  Kubu had to accept the justice of this.

  Mabaku spread his hands on the desk in a conciliatory gesture. “We didn’t engineer this. That’s for certain. You think they’d pick someone like Goodluck Tinubu to courier more than half a million dollars from South Africa? Hardly. I’m sure no one in the government even knew about him, otherwise I’d have had a lot more heat when they discovered he was dead.”

  Kubu had another thought. “Maybe it was the South Africans? That would explain their shadowing of Tinubu without letting you know. Maybe the money was raised by powerful people ready to support the coup. Maybe the money started life as South African rand
s before it morphed into U.S. dollars.”

  Mabaku shrugged. “The South African government always seemed pretty hands-off about Zimbabwe. Rich, well-connected individuals putting up the money to further their own agendas? Well, that’s certainly possible.”

  Kubu wriggled in the chair, causing more creaking protests. “A good man, a citizen of Botswana, was murdered for that money. Money for an illegal plot. And we turned blind eyes to it.”

  Mabaku shook his head. “It won’t stand up, Kubu. Goodluck knew what he was doing, and he must’ve realized the risks. What happened was the result of a confluence of circumstances.”

  “So Goodluck’s life was wasted twice.”

  “Well, I had a call from the commissioner this morning. It seems a pretty clear message got through to the president of Zimbabwe. We may see some changes there in the future.”

  Kubu thought for a moment. “Perhaps,” he said.

  Mabaku spotted the hesitation, the waning of steam, and slyly moved the subject to the Jackalberry case. “Tatwa’s very pleased with himself. Getting that confession from Kokorwe really tied up the case. He’s done a good job. Impressive. Of course, you were the brains behind it. When you decided to use them.”

  “It was a joint effort. Tatwa’s a good detective. He’s got brains too. He’s learned a lot from this case.”

  “What was the final story of the murders? I’ve got Tatwa’s report, but I haven’t had a chance to read the details yet.”

  Kubu thought for a moment to get the pieces of the story in the right order.

  “Well, it was pretty much the way we’d worked it out already. Salome thought Goodluck was one of the group who’d attacked her and murdered her family, so Dupie snooped around in his tent. Dupie was intrigued by the briefcase, which looked out of place with the old suitcase and cheap clothing Goodluck had with him, but it was locked. So Dupie got Enoch to filch Goodluck’s keys and investigate at dinnertime. That nearly went wrong, because Goodluck realized almost at once that the keys were missing and made a hell of a fuss. But they pretended he’d dropped them at the buffet.