A Death in the Family

by Michael Stanley

  Kubu’s father was wearing a white shirt with long sleeves, and a gray jacket open in front, as if to frame the browning crimson of the wound. The pockets of his trousers were turned inside out. Mabaku bent over and started searching. He rolled the body on its side to see if there was a wallet in the back pocket. There wasn’t, but lying on the ground was a cell phone.

  “That’s funny,” Samantha said. The two men looked at her, surprised. “I mean it’s odd. Kubu told me that Wilmon never takes his cell phone anywhere. He just uses it to get calls from the family. Kubu told me it once fell in the toilet, and his father pretended it was lost…” Her voice trailed off, and she felt her throat close. She swallowed.

  Mabaku thought for a moment. “We must check that with Kubu and Amantle. Maybe he was expecting a call. He doesn’t seem to have anything else with him.” He turned to Samantha. “Please check the phone for calls made and received for the past month and check with the telecom company as well, in case any of the records on the phone have been deleted.”

  Samantha nodded, then asked, “No wallet?”

  Mabaku shook his head. “Hardly surprising. If he was mugged, the wallet would be gone. Or the assailant could have taken it to make it look like a mugging. Wilmon must have dropped the cell phone when he was stabbed and fallen on top of it.”

  Zanele joined them looking tired and depressed.

  “Nothing yet. A dirt street is about the worst murder scene you can imagine. It’s been windy, so stuff blows away. People walk through here all the time, so anything we find might have nothing to do with the murder at all. I’ve already got a whole bag of junk. And I don’t think we’ll get any fingerprints.” She glanced at the rough brick walls.

  “Keep at it, Zanele,” Mabaku said. “Collect everything. Some of your junk could turn out to be important later on. In the morning we’ll search the whole area. Maybe the killer threw the knife away. And we’ll start checking right away if anyone in the area saw or heard anything.”

  Suddenly, Samantha had an awful thought. Suppose they never got to the bottom of this? Suppose Kubu had to live without knowing what had happened here and why? Then she pulled herself together. That wasn’t going to happen. Mabaku wasn’t going to let it happen and neither was she.

  The director turned back to her. “If this is just an opportunistic mugging, we’ll get him through the local police. Check with them in the morning and get them to see if their contacts have any information that could be useful. But if this is something to do with Kubu, then we’re going to have to get at the motive through him. That’s going to be painful for him because he’ll blame himself for his father’s death.”

  Samantha thought about it. “What if it’s neither a mugging nor connected to Kubu?” she asked tentatively.

  Mabaku shook his head. “Wilmon was as straight as an arrow. He would never have been involved in anything that would get him killed.”

  Samantha said nothing, but she wondered about that cell phone.

  CHAPTER 4

  Kubu walked into the tiny living room, where his mother was sitting. Two elderly neighbors were next to her, and the rest were standing, talking quietly.

  “Thank you all so much for being here,” he said. Despite his grief, he couldn’t help wondering how they came to be there. Had Amantle gone next door to get support, or had Mabaku called them?

  “Oh, Kubu,” one of the ladies said. “I am so pleased you are here. It is such a tragedy. What is the world coming to?”

  Kubu, he thought. Even among my parents’ friends, I’m Kubu. Somehow tonight he wanted to be David, the name his father and mother had given him, rather than his childhood nickname of Hippo that had stuck. But he said nothing like that to the kindly neighbor.

  “Thank you so much for being here, Mma Ngombe,” he said instead as he sat down next to his mother, who was struggling to stand to greet her son.

  “Don’t get up, Mother. I’m here.” Kubu didn’t know what else to say.

  He put his arms around her and held her close. They both started crying.

  “It is so terrible,” Amantle whispered. “Your father never hurt anyone. Everyone loved him. Why would someone want to kill him?”

  The two of them rocked gently back and forth.

  “I cannot believe he is gone. What am I going to do?”

  “Mother, you’ll come and stay with us. You can’t stay here alone.”

  “You do not have the room, and all my friends are here.”

  “Let’s not talk about it now, Mother. We can discuss it in the morning.”

  Kubu looked up at the two neighbors. “Who told you?”

  Mma Ngombe shook her head. “We woke up because of the lights on the police car. I think it was your boss. Edwin went out to see what was happening. When he heard, he thought Amantle would need me. He went and woke up Lizzie and her husband, and the two of us came over.”

  “Aaii! I thought Amantle would die also,” Lizzie said. “It is a tragedy.”

  Kubu pulled his mother closer. “Mother, did Director Mabaku ask you any questions?”

  “Yes. He was very kind. He just asked if Wilmon said why he was going out tonight or where he was going. Or if he seemed nervous or different.”

  “What did you say? Was Father behaving strangely?”

  “Well, you know he has been struggling recently. But tonight he seemed excited. He did not even finish his supper. And he kept looking at his watch. He said he was going to meet a friend. I told him he should not go out alone at night. That he would get lost. But he just said he would not be long. And about eight he left.”

  She started to cry.

  “I told him he was being an old fool. I should never have said that.”

  Her body shook in Kubu’s arms.

  “I never saw him again!”

  “It’s not your fault, Mother. He knew you always loved him. And he loved you too. More than he could show, I think.”

  Kubu patted his mother on her back.

  “I think you should try to get some sleep now. I’m sure the police will want to talk to you again tomorrow. I’ll pull the other bed out of your bedroom and sleep here.”

  He turned to everyone in the room. “Thank you all for being here. I really appreciate it.”

  Kubu let go of Amantle and stood up. He took her by the hand. “Come on, Mother. Try to get some sleep.”

  * * *

  EVEN THOUGH IT was two in the morning, Kubu knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, so he went out to the veranda and sat in the cool air.

  I owe everything I have to my parents, he thought.

  It was his father who had insisted that Kubu have the best education available; it had been his father who had approached their priest to arrange a scholarship for Kubu to Maru-a-Pula school—a school no poor family like Kubu’s would ever be able to afford.

  He took a deep breath.

  And it was his father who had served the community for years as a wise man and excellent traditional healer. Everyone trusted him.

  He brought his fist down on the arm of the chair.

  “Damn you! Damn you, you bastard.”

  He stood up and gazed across the sleeping houses. Somewhere out there is a murderer, my father’s murderer, he thought.

  He kicked at the veranda wall.

  “Damn you, whoever you are. Damn you!”

  “There’s nowhere for you to hide!” Kubu said, anger boiling inside him. “You’re not going to get away with this!”

  Suddenly, he wanted to see his father’s body. To see what the murderer had done. And to say good-bye.

  He hurried down the steps and walked briskly toward where the body had been found. He hoped it was still there and hadn’t been taken to the mortuary at Princess Marina Hospital.

  As he rounded the corner on Litabi Street, he stopped. Halfway down the block was the familiar sight of police cars with flashing lights, people milling about, constables keeping a few gawking spectators in pajamas and dressing gowns from encroac
hing on the crime scene, and a solitary ambulance, rear doors open.

  He took a deep breath and walked toward where his father must be lying.

  As he approached the yellow police tape, a constable he didn’t recognize stopped him. “Sorry, rra. You can’t go any further. This is a crime scene.”

  “I know it’s a crime scene,” Kubu snapped. “I’m with the CID.”

  “I’m sorry, rra. I’ve orders not to let anyone in.”

  “It’s my father who’s been murdered!” Kubu shouted. He pushed the constable aside, ducked under the tape, and strode toward the center of the action.

  “Stop him!” the constable shouted. “Stop him.”

  Everyone turned to see what the shouting was about.

  A second constable joined the first, and they grabbed Kubu’s arms and pushed him back.

  Kubu tried in vain to break free, but the men were young and strong.

  “Go back, rra,” the one said. “You’re not allowed in here.”

  Suddenly, Kubu saw Mabaku striding toward him.

  “Let him go,” Mabaku told the constables.

  They dropped Kubu’s arms but stayed close.

  “Kubu, you can’t come in here. I know you want to see your father, but you’ll have to wait for a few days. This is off-limits to you.”

  “But…”

  Mabaku put his hand on Kubu’s shoulder. “Go home, Kubu. Get some sleep. There’s nothing you can do here except cause problems later on. Go home, my friend.” He turned to one of the constables. “Get a car and take him home.”

  Mabaku turned Kubu and led him away.

  Kubu’s head dropped, and his anger was replaced with resignation.

  “I’m sorry, Jacob. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  “None of us can. But we’ll catch the bastard who did it.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The next morning, Kubu and Amantle were up early. Kubu had managed a couple of hours sleep, but Amantle had tossed and turned in grief. Amantle made a pot of tea and a stack of toast with jam, but neither felt like eating. To be polite, Kubu nibbled at a single slice, washing it down with tea, but couldn’t face any more.

  While they had a second cup of tea, Kubu said gently, “Mother, you shouldn’t be here on your own. I know the neighbors are kind, but you should be with your family. Come and spend some time with us in Gaborone.”

  Amantle said nothing for a few moments, and Kubu was afraid she’d reject the idea out of hand. Then she said, “There is no room in your house. Where will I sleep?”

  “You can use the kids’ bedroom. They’ll sleep on mattresses in the lounge. They won’t mind; it’ll be like a camping adventure for them.”

  Amantle finished drinking her tea. “All right,” she said at last. “I will go and pack some things.”

  Kubu breathed a sigh of relief, surprised she’d agreed so easily.

  “But I will come for only a few days,” she continued. “I must be here to receive all the condolences and to prepare for the funeral next Saturday. It will be a large gathering because your father was known and respected by many people.”

  Kubu had expected that Amantle would insist on a traditional funeral—a weeklong event that involved the whole community. Although surprised she was willing to curtail the preparations, he was happy she was going to spend time at his home—it would be good for her.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock on the door. He sighed and went to answer it. It was sure to be the first of the neighbors looking in.

  “Ah, Kubu. This is a sad day indeed. The first day without our beloved Wilmon. How are you? How is Amantle?”

  “Mma Ngombe. How kind of you to come. We’re as well as can be expected. My mother will be staying with us tonight. She’s busy getting ready at the moment.”

  The woman nodded doubtfully. “But what of the funeral arrangements?”

  Kubu parried her questions as best as he could, but it was nearly five minutes before the well-meaning woman finally left. As soon as Amantle came out with a cloth bag of clothes and toiletries, Kubu helped her into the Land Rover and left quickly before any other sympathizers could arrive to pay their respects.

  Amantle was uncharacteristically quiet in the car. She answered if asked a question; otherwise, she had little to say. She didn’t cry, but Kubu knew tears were very close. And when they arrived at his house, and Joy rushed to open the gate for them and helped Amantle from the car, both women dissolved into uncontrollable sobs as they hugged each other.

  Kubu left them to their grief and took Amantle’s bag inside. Ilia, their fox terrier, sensed something was wrong and, instead of her usual enthusiastic welcome, sat quietly on the veranda, whining softly.

  When Joy and Amantle eventually came inside, Kubu left them in the lounge and went out into the small garden of succulents and acacias. Ilia trotted up and put her front paws on Kubu’s thigh, hoping to have her ears scratched. But Kubu didn’t notice. He, too, was lost in grief.

  * * *

  AT THE CID headquarters at the base of Kgale Hill, most of the people around the table were bleary-eyed. The only exceptions were the detectives who hadn’t been involved in the late-night investigations of Wilmon Bengu’s murder. Ian MacGregor sat with his eyes closed, his head rocking slowly left and right as though in time to a Scottish dirge. The women in the room, forensic specialist Zanele Dlamini and Detective Samantha Khama, both normally wide-awake and chatting to each other, sat quietly with their eyes open but minds far away. Edison Banda, who had helped Samantha go door-to-door in the early hours of the morning, was slouched forward, arms on the table, head on his arms. No one was talking.

  The door opened, and Director Mabaku walked in and sat down at the head of the table. The chair next to him, normally occupied by Kubu, was vacant.

  “Good morning.” Even Mabaku’s voice was tired. A murmur of responses came from around the table.

  “I’m going to keep this as short as I can. We’ve got a lot of work to do today.” He turned to MacGregor. “Ian, do you have any updates for us on Kubu’s father?”

  Ian shook his head. “Unfortunately not, Director. I did a preliminary autopsy before I came in this morning. As I thought, he died from a single stab wound to the heart. The other blows all missed and did mainly surface damage. The stab to the neck narrowly missed the left carotid artery and would not have been fatal. The knife was about three-quarters of an inch wide at most and at least seven or eight inches long. It penetrated the heart and went right through it.” He took a sip of his coffee. “The perpetrator doesn’t appear to be professional—the overhand stabs and the multiple wounds probably indicate he didn’t really know what he was doing.”

  “Or she…” Samantha interjected.

  Ian glanced at Samantha with a slightly irritated look. “Or she.”

  “Did you notice anything else about the body?” Mabaku asked.

  “I didn’t have time to do a thorough examination. I’ll do that after the meeting. I’ve juggled my caseload to move this to the top. I thought you’d want that.”

  “Thank you. Let me know immediately if anything new turns up.” He turned to Zanele. “Has Forensics come up with anything?”

  She shook her head. “It wasn’t a good crime scene. There were lots of footprints in the sand, and it’s very hard to make sense of them. Anyway, I sent one of my men up there at first light this morning to take a closer look in daylight. We also have Rra Bengu’s clothes and are looking at them closely to see if there’s anything there—hairs, threads, etc. We won’t be able to get any prints off them, but sometimes things cling…”

  “So you don’t have anything at the moment,” Mabaku growled. The meeting was not going the way he’d hoped. He needed progress. He needed his best detective back.

  “And you, Samantha and Edison. I hope you have something positive.”

  Samantha and Edison looked at each other. Samantha pointed at Edison.

  Edison cleared his throat. “We’ve got
people searching a wide area around where Rra Bengu was killed looking for the murder weapon or any other clues. But nothing has turned up as yet.” He glanced at Mabaku and then quickly went on: “Of the people I spoke to last night, only one had any information. A Rra Mulale saw Rra Bengu leave his house at about eight fifteen and walk down the street. He’s known Rra Bengu for many years, so he’s sure it was him. He said Rra Bengu was walking faster than usual and that he was alone.”

  “Where does this Mulale live?”

  “He lives on the road where the body was found, halfway between it and the Bengus’ home.”

  “Did he notice if anyone was following?”

  “I asked him that. He said he didn’t notice anyone. Not much help, I’m afraid.”

  “And you, Samantha?” Mabaku’s patience was wearing thin. “I hope you’ve something useful.”

  “I have two things, but I’m not sure they’re useful.” She opened her notebook. “A Mma Pooe was walking her dog just before nine. A man ran past her, away from where the body was found. She noticed mainly because the dog tried to chase him and nearly pulled her off her feet. She said the man had a hood over his head.”

  “Where exactly—”

  “What sort of hood?” Mabaku interrupted Zanele’s question.

  “She said the hood was like the one you get on some tracksuit tops.”

  “Not a mask or balaclava, then?”

  “No. Just a hooded top.”

  “I wish you’d mentioned this last night, Samantha.” Zanele’s voice was uncharacteristically tinged with irritation. “We might have been able to get some footprints. Where exactly did she see him? It may not be too late.”

  “I’m sorry, Zanele. It was long after you’d left, and it didn’t occur to me to get you out of bed at that hour. I kept going to homes until about two thirty in the morning. Pooe’s was my last house. She saw the man opposite Plot 327 on Limpopo Street, just down the road from where Rra Bengu was killed.”