A Death in the Family

by Michael Stanley

  Kubu nodded, but in his experience, politicians and senior administrators tried for each other’s jobs by stabs in the back rather than by asphyxiation.

  “Had anyone threatened him?”

  Mma Kunene looked around the room as if she expected to find the answer written somewhere there. At last she said, “I don’t know. But there was the insurance policy.”

  Kubu leaned forward. This was an interesting development. He waited for her to continue.

  “He took out a new life policy about six months ago. He said it was just in case something unexpected happened, but I’m sure he was worried about something. I’m sure there was more behind it, but he refused to tell me.” She looked down and fiddled with her jacket.

  “How much was this policy for?”

  “One million pula.”

  Kubu was careful to show no reaction. A million pula was a lot of money! He spotted a possible reason for Mma Kunene’s concern about the cause of death.

  “And the company won’t pay for suicide?”

  She shook her head. “No, because the policy is so new. But that’s not the point, Assistant Superintendent. I don’t care about the money. Something happened to my husband, and I want to know what.”

  Kubu watched her face for several seconds, but she didn’t look away. Maybe it was true. Maybe the money wasn’t the issue.

  Kubu leaned forward. “How did you hurt your arm?”

  “I fell.” Now she avoided his eyes.

  “And your face?”

  “The same fall.”

  Kubu frowned. Obviously, she was lying. It was almost certain that it was her husband she was protecting, and it was too late for that now anyway. “Mma, you believe we’re dealing with murder here, and you may well be right. Lying to the police is a very serious matter. It could even make you a suspect. Don’t make me ask your boys what really happened. You all have enough to deal with at the moment.”

  Tasela turned away from him, and tears ran down her face.

  Feeling awful, Kubu went and asked the neighbor for more tea and a few tissues. She gave him a dirty look and bustled in, but Tasela seemed to have pulled herself together. Nevertheless, she added three spoons of sugar to the tea, stirred, and sipped it in silence until the neighbor left again. Only then did she answer Kubu’s question.

  “We had a fight. It was my fault, really. Goodman sometimes has to work very late, meeting people for drinks and so on. Last week, he missed dinner and came in a bit drunk. I accused him of having another woman. He denied it and said he had a special contact he had to see after work, but he wouldn’t tell me who it was or anything about this person. I got angry and screamed that I didn’t believe him, that he was sleeping with another woman. I … I called him bad names. It got out of hand. He was very sorry afterward. Said it would never happen again.”

  “Has it happened before?”

  “Only once before. Look, Assistant Superintendent, we were happy. Really. He wouldn’t kill himself over a fight, would he? Everyone has them…”

  “Certainly not a week later, mma. There’s nothing to blame yourself for.”

  “He hit me in the face, just once. I fell and cut my arm. That was all there was to it. He just lost his temper. It’s not as if he beat me or something.” She looked away again.

  Kubu sighed. The case was getting more complicated rather than clearer.

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “At breakfast. He was in a hurry. He had a busy day. He usually did.”

  “Did you expect him home for supper that night?”

  She shook her head. “He phoned me around lunchtime and said he had a late meeting, and I should just leave something in the oven for him.”

  “Did he say who he was going to meet?”

  She shook her head again. “He just said it was the special contact.”

  “And what did you do that night?”

  She gave him a surprised look. “I was here with the boys. They had to have their dinner.”

  “When did you get concerned?”

  “When I woke up the next morning and he wasn’t here. I gave the boys their breakfast and sent them off to school. Then I phoned his office, but they hadn’t seen him either. I was thinking what to do next when there was a knock on the door, and your men were there. Then I knew. I knew something was terribly wrong.” The tears started to run again, but she brushed them away angrily. “Is there anything else, Assistant Superintendent?”

  “Not now. Thank you, you’ve been very helpful. I’ll have to send someone to take your fingerprints—the boys also—just so we can eliminate those when we check the car. Will that be all right?”

  Mma Kunene nodded, and shortly afterward Kubu took his leave.

  * * *

  AS HE WAS driving back to the CID, his cell phone rang. He saw that it was Zanele, so he pulled over and answered.

  “Hello, Zanele. What have you got?”

  “The problem is that we’ve got too much,” she replied. “Too many fingerprints, hair samples, cloth fibers. That car hadn’t been cleaned for some time. We’ll have to follow up with the family and eliminate all sorts of things before we can see if anything sticks out.” She added with disapproval, “And the policemen on the case handled everything and trudged all over the scene!”

  “What about the section of hose?” Kubu asked. “Where did it come from?”

  “It’s ordinary garden hose. It’ll be hard to trace. I’ll tell you one thing though. It’s not the same as the one Kunene has at his house. Edison checked.”

  Kubu realized that Edison deserved more credit than he’d given him. “Any fingerprints on it?”

  “There were some prints and some smudges, but we haven’t identified them.”

  “What about Kunene’s prints?”

  Zanele paused while she checked her notes. “Not unless it was a smudge.”

  “If it was suicide, you’d expect Kunene’s prints on it.”

  Zanele hesitated. “I suppose so.”

  “Keep working on it, Zanele. Thanks. And see if you can find out where the hose was bought.”

  He pulled back into the traffic, thinking about Goodman Kunene. The insurance policy seemed to be key. Why suddenly take out a large policy? Mma Kunene had said he seemed worried about something. He must have perceived a threat if he thought he needed extra life cover. That didn’t fit with suicide. And where did he get the hose? His prints should have been clear on it. There was no reason for him to clean it off.

  The phone rang again; this time it was Ian. Once more Kubu pulled over and took the call.

  “Kubu? It’s Ian. I’m afraid I was right. The lab found benzodiazepine in the samples from Kunene.”

  “Benzodia-what?”

  “Benzodiazepine. It’s a class of sedative drugs. Like Valium. Like Rohypnol, which has made a bit of a name for itself as a date-rape drug. It’s likely it was used to knock Kunene out before he was dumped in that car. Nasty business.”

  Kubu was convinced. Goodman Kunene had been murdered. And he’d bet that the mysterious special contact Kunene had met on the evening of his death was an important link. Possibly even the murderer.

  CHAPTER 23

  The next morning found Kubu fretting in the reception area of the director of mines. He’d been waiting for over half an hour and had only been offered rooibos tea. Not even a biscuit. The director’s secretary ignored his glances at his watch and occasional sighs. He passed the time reexamining Kunene’s phone records, which Edison had obtained for him. He sighed again. Samantha would have identified the people by how they fitted into Kunene’s life. However, Edison just gave the names and left it at that. Mma Kunene had assisted by identifying some as friends and family, but quite a few were left. It would have helped if they could actually find Kunene’s cell phone with its contact list, but the phone was missing. Another puzzle.

  Kubu concentrated on the day Kunene died. At around nine in the morning there was a call to a number that Ediso
n had identified as “US Embassy.” After that there were several office contacts, an incoming call from an unidentified number, and then, at lunchtime, a call to Kunene’s wife—presumably the call where he told her he’d be home late. The unidentified one was interesting because it lasted nearly ten minutes. Edison noted that he’d requested more information from the phone company.

  At last the secretary’s phone buzzed, and she waved him through to Director Mopati’s office.

  “Assistant Superintendent, my apologies for keeping you waiting. Things are upside down here since Goodman passed away. My people are doing their best, but…” He shrugged and motioned toward a seat facing his desk.

  “I understand, Director. And I won’t keep you long. I’m investigating Rra Kunene’s death.” Kubu hesitated. “Certain aspects have come to light that aren’t consistent with suicide.”

  Mopati sank into his executive chair opposite Kubu. “I thought suicide was obvious from the circumstances,” he said.

  “Perhaps, but we want to check all the possibilities. Did Rra Kunene ever give you any indication that he might want to take his own life?”

  Mopati shook his head. “Absolutely not. It was a great shock to us all.” He hesitated, rubbing his chin. “To be honest, he sometimes did seem disturbed in recent months. I once asked him about it, but he said he was just going through a bad time at home. That everything would be fine. He apologized, but his work was always excellent. Nothing was too much trouble. His work always came first. He was a very impressive man.”

  “Did he tell you about his domestic problems?”

  Mopati shook his head. “He was having some issues in his marriage, I believe. I’m sure his wife didn’t tell you that.”

  Kubu nodded. Kunene was having issues at home, and maybe more than his wife had suggested. But nothing that sounded like a reason for suicide. He waited for the director to continue.

  “Women can be difficult, Assistant Superintendent.”

  “Did he sometimes seem nervous or depressed?”

  Mopati took his time. “Now that you mention it, perhaps. He always kept his own council, so maybe I didn’t realize it at the time.”

  Kubu made a few notes while he collected his thoughts. “What was he working on in the days before he died? Could it be related to that?”

  Mopati shook his head firmly. “Absolutely not. Routine stuff about applications for mining permits and the like. Nothing dramatic.”

  “I have his phone records for the week before he died. Some are friends and relatives. I checked with Mma Kunene this morning. Some are other members of staff here, but there are a few less obvious ones. For example, would he have had any reason to call the US embassy?”

  The director shrugged. “Of course we have contacts with other governments. Goodman was in touch with someone in the economic section there—I can’t remember the person’s name. But there was no reason I can think of for him to brief them right now.”

  Kubu made a note of that. “I also want to check his appointments. Can you please arrange that for me?”

  “Why do you want to do that?”

  “I only want to know who he saw in the last couple of days. Just routine.”

  The director looked unhappy, but all he said was “My secretary will help you with that.”

  “I’d like to look at his office too. His cell phone is missing, which seems very odd for a suicide.” Mopati nodded but didn’t comment.

  Kubu tried another approach. “Did he have any serious enemies here? I’m talking about someone who really hated him, someone who would be glad he’s dead. Not someone who just didn’t like his opinions or personality.”

  Mopati shook his head. “No one. He was well liked, although he tended to keep to himself.”

  “Do you know who he was meeting on the night he died?”

  The director shook his head again. “I didn’t know he was meeting anyone. He didn’t say anything about it. Was he meeting someone?”

  Kubu ignored the question and flipped back through his notes. There were a few things that puzzled him. Kunene had called the US embassy, yet his boss didn’t know of any reason why he should have. Kunene was sometimes depressed and kept to himself, yet he explained to his boss that he was having personal problems at home. Which he was, but why had Mopati been in such a hurry to say Kunene’s wife wouldn’t have admitted it?

  “Mma Kunene said that her husband had recently received a promotion. Is that correct?”

  “No, he’s been my deputy for some time. I wonder why he would tell her that.”

  “And the insurance policy?”

  “What insurance policy?”

  Kubu rose to his feet. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve taken enough of your time, rra. I know how busy you are. I hope this will all be cleared up soon.” He offered his hand, and the director shook it, but Kubu could tell that the man was dissatisfied by the sudden way the interview had ended.

  * * *

  THE SECRETARY TURNED out to be quite helpful. She even pulled up Kunene’s appointments on her computer while Kubu was looking through the office.

  “We share our calendars on Outlook,” she said. “Much more efficient.”

  And much less private, Kubu thought. The secretary could and did tell him who was involved in all of Kunene’s meetings. He’d had a long meeting with the director and representatives of a mining company on the afternoon that he died, but there was nothing scheduled for the evening.

  “He wouldn’t note his private appointments here,” Kubu mused. “He’d put them on his phone or something.” He’d looked through Kunene’s office, but there was no cell phone or anything else helpful for that matter.

  Disappointed, he took his leave and headed back to the CID.

  * * *

  WHEN HE GOT back to his office, Kubu called the US embassy number. It turned out to be their general-inquiries number, and he had to wait as the recorded voice offered various options before eventually defaulting to a human. Explaining he was from the CID, he asked to be put through to the head of the economics department.

  “That would be the Political and Economic Section,” the receptionist informed him, and put him on hold. After a moment, another woman answered, this time with a strong American accent.

  “Assistant Superintendent? I understand you wanted to talk to me. My name is Connie Olsen. How can I help you?”

  “Good morning, Ms. Olsen. I’m investigating the death of Goodman Kunene. Did you know him?”

  “Yes, I did. He was at the Department of Mines. He was our contact there for mining and exploration matters. His death is a great tragedy.”

  “It is. Did you speak to him last Thursday? The day of his death?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. He phoned me in the morning. I was so sad the next day when I realized that we’d never speak again.”

  “Did you know him quite well then?”

  “No. We met a few times. Business and a couple of embassy functions. That’s all.”

  “When you spoke to him on Thursday was there any indication that he was upset?”

  “Not at all. We just discussed a routine matter. He seemed fine.”

  “And what was that routine matter?”

  Olsen hesitated. “It was in connection with a mining lease that had been applied for by an American company. He told me the matter was still being considered. They needed more information.”

  Kubu thought about that for a few moments. “Why didn’t he just go to the company concerned?”

  “It’s complicated, Assistant Superintendent. The lease is important for strategic reasons. The United States is offering certain guarantees to support the applicant company. That’s what he wanted to check with me.”

  “What’s the name of the company?”

  “Uranium and Nickel Exploration. It’s applied for quite a large lease in the region of Shoshong.”

  Kubu had never heard of the company, and this conversation didn’t seem to be going anywhere. The call
to the embassy was a dead end; Kunene was just doing his job. He thanked the woman, who told him he was welcome, and he hung up.

  But he would have been very interested indeed if he’d heard the next call Connie Olsen made on the embassy’s secure line.

  CHAPTER 24

  The six men were sitting under an acacia tree at the far end of the Shoshong cemetery. “Father, you have no choice,” the youngest said. “Your people need jobs! Half the village is out of work.” He pumped his fist to emphasize the point. “There will be two hundred new jobs at the mine. Well-paying jobs. Shoshong will start growing again and be a place where children want to stay, not get out of as soon as possible.”

  “That is true, Julius, my son.”

  “Kgosi, you must remember what happened last time.” It was the man who had spoken at the kgotla. “I and many others lost our homes. The ones we were promised were nearly a year late, so we had to live with my daughter-in-law.” From the look on his face, it was clear what he thought of her. “And then they were so badly built that we couldn’t stay in them, and even the cows wouldn’t go in. It was a disaster for the village.”

  The chief nodded, eyes closed.

  “That is true, my friend.”

  Julius jumped in. “We can insist on the conditions the people talked about—money for moving paid at once, and we can start building the new houses right away. There’s no risk. The real risk is that the mine may change its mind!”

  The chief looked at his son and decided not to respond. He closed his eyes once again.

  “If you accept this offer, Kgosi,” another elder said, “the whole of Shoshong will change. We will lose our traditions. We will see drugs and drunkenness more than we have now.” He spat in the dirt.

  “It may happen.”

  “This is ridiculous, Father. There’s chaos now because there are no jobs. We already see more crime because people need to eat. More money and more jobs help the village.”

  For a long time the chief said nothing. Then he lifted his cane and brought it down hard onto the ground. “Enough!” he said. “Enough!”

  He stood up and looked at the group. “Thank you for your opinions. I will give my decision at a kgotla on Saturday afternoon.”