A Death in the Family

by Michael Stanley

  He left the conference at lunchtime, hailed a cab like a real New Yorker, collected his bags at the hotel, and soon was on his way back to JFK. He now thought of himself as a seasoned traveler, confidently using the self-service check-in kiosks and taking off his shoes and belt to be X-rayed, while he stood with his arms above his head in the body scanner. After only half an hour of standing in various lines, he found himself in the departure area, faced with an array of shops and with time to kill. Everything was on sale and duty-free, and the temptation was too great. He had to buy gifts for the family.

  For the girls, it was easy. He bought them each an “I Love New York” T-shirt with a picture of the Statue of Liberty on the front. For his mother, he bought a silk scarf with rainbow colors. It wasn’t really a souvenir from America since it was made in China, but he thought she’d love it anyway. It was a present for Joy that posed a real problem.

  First, he thought perfume would be good, but he wasn’t sure what she liked. Then he passed a jewelry store and spotted a pair of twisted gold earrings marked 50 percent off. These he knew she would adore. Even with the discount, they were expensive for a Botswana detective. The shop assistant noticed his hesitation and said, “Shall I gift wrap them for you, sir? No extra charge.” Kubu grimaced and nodded.

  * * *

  THE FLIGHT HOME was much better than the journey out. Not only was the jet stream helping, but the flight to Johannesburg was nonstop, so it seemed much shorter. Best of all, there was a vacant seat next to Kubu, so he could spread out, lean his pillow against the window shade, and doze from time to time.

  Nevertheless, by the time he arrived in Johannesburg, he was pretty shattered. Once more, he had to negotiate customs, immigration, and security, but all continued smoothly, and, for once, Air Botswana was on time. I’ll be home for dinner, he thought. Or is it lunch?

  In any case, it was only a few more tiring hours before he carefully negotiated the steps down to the runway in Gaborone and was hit by a blast of dry hot air. He smiled. Fifteen minutes later, he had a child in each arm and a wife and mother whose smiles looked as though he’d just returned from months in the wilderness.

  “Daddy, Daddy, we missed you,” Tumi yelled. “Did you take pictures? Did you bring us presents?” Joy started to scold her but then just laughed. In the meanwhile, Amantle was looking hard at Kubu’s face. “David, I can see your face is chapped from the cold. I told you that you needed a proper hat, but you didn’t listen!”

  “I’m fine, Mother, and anyway I bought a hat,” Kubu said. To cheer her up, he added, “But it was very cold. Much colder than any of you can imagine.” He gave a theatrical shiver, much to the delight of the girls.

  Once they got to the car, there was a huge welcome from Ilia to finesse, but eventually they were all settled with Joy driving, Kubu in front holding the fox terrier, and Amantle in the back with the girls talking nonstop.

  And half an hour after that, he was home.

  CHAPTER 45

  As Mabaku drove to the Department of Mines, he planned the coming meeting. He was a straight shooter. He liked to say what he meant and mean what he said, and he disliked lying under any circumstances. He didn’t do it and wasn’t going to start now. In any case that might be ruled entrapment. What he intended to do was to be selective with the truth, and he had no great problem with that.

  A twinge of doubt remained. Zanele had told him that there was a very high probability that the voices were the same, and then she gave him a lecture on key frequencies and confidence intervals and continuity measures. The bottom line was that she thought Newsom’s recording was genuine and that the participants were Mopati and Shonhu. That was good enough for him, but if Kubu was right about Newsom being CIA, then it was just possible they were falling for a scam. Another reason to be careful in the interview.

  As soon as Mabaku arrived at the office of the director of mines, he was shown in. Mopati greeted him and ushered him to his meeting table. He reminded Mabaku that they’d met before at a government function and offered coffee.

  Was there an undercurrent of nervousness below the friendliness? Mabaku wondered. He thought there was, but maybe he just saw it because he expected it.

  Until the coffee was served, they compared their plans for the kgotla at Shoshong on Sunday. Then Mabaku got down to business.

  “Director, I know you must be very busy, so thank you for seeing me at such short notice. The reason I asked to see you urgently is to brief you on certain important matters that we’ve discovered since the Shoshong riot. The minister and even the president may need to know, so we felt you must be completely in the picture. Before I do that, however, I’d like to get a little more background from you. Some points are confusing us, and I’d like to be sure we understand the situation properly.” Mabaku paused until Mopati nodded his agreement.

  “I understand there are at least two applicants for a mining lease over the contentious area in Shoshong. Is that right?”

  Mopati hesitated. “That’s correct. This is confidential, of course, but I have no problem sharing it with you. Both the Konshua Mine and an American company have applied for the lease. They have both been involved in prospecting the area. Konshua is proposing a large expansion of their existing operation; a US junior, UNE—Uranium and Nickel Exploration—wants to start a new open pit in an overlapping area. We need to choose which one to award the license to.”

  “But all this depends on the people of Shoshong?”

  Mopati nodded. “Both developments will dispossess a significant number of people. Whoever wins the lease must come to a settlement with them.”

  “Konshua tried and apparently—at this point—failed. What about the American company?”

  “It’s a bit technical, Director Mabaku. Konshua’s view was that if they could get approval from the people and if they had a strong economic case for Botswana in terms of jobs and revenue, they would have a big advantage. They were probably right. But as it turned out…” He shrugged. “They made what I felt was a generous offer. I was most surprised by what the chief decided. It was a big mistake, I think.”

  “It certainly was for him,” Mabaku commented dryly. “And the US company?”

  “They’re applying for the lease subject to subsequent approval from the community. And they have the US embassy backing them with offers of all sorts of support. The US is lagging China in investment here, and they’re obviously keen to catch up.”

  “And how will you decide between the two applications?”

  Mopati frowned. “There are many issues, and the minister has the final say, of course. I don’t believe it will be helpful to go into the details of the process now.”

  I’ll bet you don’t, Mabaku thought. “The minister will presumably follow your recommendation?”

  Mopati nodded. “Probably. That’s why I have this job.”

  Yes, thought Mabaku. A very senior and quite well paid position. But it’s not enough for you, is it? “Let me explain my interest, Director,” he said. “There are several issues that have arisen during our investigations. In the first place, it’s possible that Konshua was doing more than making promises. Julius Koma—the chief’s son—was clearly compromised. He negotiated with the mine management behind his father’s back and used every opportunity to push the mine’s case. He even advised people to show displeasure if the chief ruled against them—mainly unemployed young men. As a member of the chief’s council that wasn’t ethical.”

  “True, but unless the mine was paying him off, it wouldn’t have been inappropriate on their part.”

  “There’s more. Two of the men arrested for committing murder during the riot claim they were paid to cause serious trouble if the chief rejected the mine’s offer. That included bringing knobkieries with them and jumping onto the stage to threaten the chief and elders. Also, they handed out sticks and alcohol to friends at the kgotla, friends who supported Konshua.”

  “That’s much more serious. Do you have proof that
the mine was behind this? It would be very foolish of them. Isn’t it possible that these men are making this up as a mitigating circumstance for their crimes? There was nothing in the papers about people jumping on the stage and inciting the crowd.”

  “They claim that the crowd surged forward without them having to do anything. And, no, we don’t have proof at this stage. Nor have we been able to identify the man who paid them as yet.”

  “Maybe this Julius Koma was behind that too. It sounds as though he’s playing a dirty game.”

  “It’s possible, but either way you should be aware that there was inappropriate pressure being applied in Shoshong. That was at least partly responsible for what happened at the kgotla.”

  Mopati nodded. “I appreciate that,” he said. “I understand that the press is calling for an inquiry into the police reaction, suggesting that it too was partly responsible for the disaster.”

  “That’s possible,” Mabaku said shortly, and changed the subject. “Now there’s another matter, equally serious, we believe. Do you know a man named Peter Newsom? An American?”

  “Of course. He’s the front man here for UNE. He’s been coordinating their efforts to secure the license.”

  Mabaku paused, carefully picking his words. “What I tell you now has to be in strict confidence because the matter is still under investigation. But I have to tell you that in looking into Goodman Kunene’s death, we’ve discovered that he was working for Newsom.”

  Mopati looked shocked. “Working for Newsom? What do you mean? He was my assistant director!”

  “I mean that Newsom was paying him—at least for information, but perhaps more. It’s possible he was also trying to sabotage Konshua’s application. We really don’t know the extent of the corruption involved at this point.”

  Mopati shook his head. “I’m really shocked. Goodman was a trusted colleague, a friend … I can’t believe it.”

  “Did Kunene ever try to influence you about the decision? In a way that went beyond what you would expect from his role in your department?”

  Mopati hesitated. “I have to say that he did favor the US bid whenever the issue came up.”

  Mabaku nodded. This was exactly what he expected to hear, whether or not it was true.

  “Is what you say definite? Do you have proof?” Mopati asked.

  “I’m afraid so. The investigation is still going on, but we have bank records, and Newsom has pretty well admitted it.”

  “Will you charge him?”

  “He’s in the US. We think he has some security service role there. Perhaps the CIA, but that’s just a guess.”

  “That’s amazing! You realize this will pretty well exclude the UNE application? But we will need firm proof.”

  “We can’t supply that at the moment, but we expect the minister will want to delay the lease decision. The president will say something along those lines when he speaks at the kgotla next Sunday. Of course, he won’t say why. The deaths will be reason enough to delay.”

  “Very wise,” Mopati said, nodding. He picked up his empty coffee cup and examined it. “Does this affect the issue of Goodman’s death at all?”

  He’s not much of an actor, Mabaku thought. “Based on the circumstances of his death, the most probable cause is suicide.”

  “Perhaps the guilt of the betrayal…” Mopati put down his cup with a small clink.

  He’s learned a lot this afternoon, Mabaku thought. I wonder if I can also learn something. “One thing really puzzles me, Director. Perhaps it isn’t relevant, but I’m curious. With uranium in the doldrums, what’s so attractive about this prospect? What’s attractive enough to involve the US embassy and to persuade Konshua to make generous offers to the locals? What is so appealing about the area to be worth bribing government officials and paying off agitators? I don’t get it.”

  Mopati leaned forward, suddenly alert. “It’s all economics and politics, Director Mabaku. A bit out of your area of expertise, I would guess. A lot of people think that with global warming, nuclear power will be the only way to go in the end. That fossil fuel plants will only make things worse. Obviously, these companies subscribe to that point of view.” He checked his watch. “It is getting late. I’m extremely grateful to you for filling me in on all these developments. Is there anything else?”

  Mabaku got to his feet, accepting the brush-off. So Kubu is right, he thought. There’s more going on here than the extension of an old uranium deposit. And Mopati knows all about it. Now we’ll see if he takes the bait.

  Mabaku shook Mopati’s hand, wishing that he didn’t have to, and took his leave.

  * * *

  MABAKU DIDN’T HAVE long to wait. By the time he was back at the CID, Edison was waiting at his office, bursting with excitement. “He must’ve phoned Shonhu pretty well as soon as you left. They think it was from his car because the signal was a moving location. The number he phoned wasn’t the one Shonhu usually uses, though. Obviously, he has a special phone for private conversations with Mopati. That’s smart. But Mopati isn’t that smart. He called from his own cell phone.”

  “Do you have the recording?”

  “Yes, I’ll go and fetch the recorder and get it set up.”

  The phone rang and Mabaku grabbed it. “Yes?”

  “It’s Kubu, Director. I’ve just got home.”

  “Ah, Kubu. Did you come back with an American accent?”

  Kubu laughed. “Hardly, Director. I was only there three days. But my body doesn’t know where it is.”

  “Well, the news is that I met with Mopati, and right after I left his office, he made a call to Shonhu. Edison’s going to play it for me now.”

  “Excellent. Director, I just wanted to say it’s good to be back.”

  “It’s good to have you back.”

  There was a knock, and Edison bustled in carrying the recorder.

  “Kubu, I’ll speak to you in the morning. There’s a meeting here at ten. Have a good night.”

  Edison apologized for the interruption, but Mabaku waved that away. “Let’s listen.”

  For the next seven minutes, they listened to Mopati speak to Shonhu. They listened as Mopati explained that the police seemed to have accepted Kunene’s death as suicide; they listened as he gloated about Newsom being caught out and the result being that the UNE application would be rejected; they listened as Mopati told Shonhu that he expected an even bigger return on his investment after this; and they listened as Mopati warned Shonhu that the police had their eye on Julius, and it would be best to keep him out of the picture. Finally, there was a click as he disconnected and the recording ended.

  Mabaku allowed himself a smile. “We’ve got him!” he said.

  PART 7

  CHAPTER 46

  As Kubu made his way to the meeting room, everyone he met stopped him and wanted to hear about his trip. It’s as if I’ve been away for weeks on vacation, he thought. But as much as he’d resented being thrown out of Shoshong, he had to admit that the trip had been quite an experience. And, of course, he’d tracked down Newsom, although he suspected it was rather the other way around.

  Mabaku came in not looking happy. Kubu’s heart sank. Something’s gone wrong, he thought.

  The director took the seat at the head of the table and folded his arms. “I’m going to fill you in on what’s happened over the last few days. But I want it absolutely clear that everything I tell you is in strict confidence. Is that understood?” He glared around the table until everyone had offered a nod. Then he laid out the whole story of Kubu’s meeting with Newsom, the verification of the voices on Newsom’s recording, the possibility of a much more valuable ore body than the Department of Mines had been led to believe, and, finally, the Mopati sting. “All Kubu’s idea,” he concluded generously, “and we pulled it off!”

  There was a buzz around the table and broad smiles. Mabaku held up his hand. “But…” Everyone quieted down. “But I’ve been talking to the prosecutor and the commissioner this morning.
It’s not enough. It won’t convict Mopati, because all this evidence is tainted by Newsom’s illegal recording. It’s likely we won’t be allowed to use our own recording in evidence either because the authority to tap the phones was based on illegally obtained information. Anyway, Shonhu was careful about what he said. When Mopati told him that we thought Kunene’s death was suicide, he said: ‘That is good.’ That’s hardly an admission that he had anything to do with the murder.”

  Mabaku slapped his hand on the table in frustration. “These bastards aren’t going to get away with what they’ve done. No way Mopati quietly resigns, or this Shonhu character gets deported. They’re criminals—possibly killers—and they’re going to pay for it.”

  There was silence for a moment before Mabaku continued, “We’ll go after Mopati. Damn it, he must’ve left a paper trail. We can follow that. For a start we know about the payoffs. We should be able to trace them.”

  “Is it possible Mopati actually helped Shonhu with the murder?” Samantha asked. “They both had a motive, and it would’ve taken two people to set up the fake suicide.”

  Kubu shook his head. “It’s possible but unlikely. People like Mopati don’t get their hands dirty if they can help it. He’ll have a watertight alibi, I’m sure.” He took a sip of water and thought for a moment. “We mustn’t see the Kunene case in isolation,” he continued. “Somehow I’m sure they’re all connected: the attack on Newsom, the shooting of Chief Koma, even the murder of my father. I’m not saying the mine was responsible for all of it, but I believe the mine’s at the center of all of it.”

  Samantha joined in. “If our riot suspects were paid to cause trouble at the kgotla—that could be the link. I’ve got a webcam videoing people coming and going at the mine’s admin building. Julius Koma went in and out twice over the last couple of days.”