A Death in the Family

by Michael Stanley

  Dume put up his hand. The president nodded to him to take the microphone again.

  “But, Kgosi, it is not a good family when the father ignores what all the children want. That only makes the children want to leave or disobey the father.”

  “It is a good point, Rra Dume. Thank you. I will have my staff see how strong the support is for a change. Any other questions?”

  A middle-aged woman moved forward. “Dumela, Kgosi. Thank you for letting me speak. I am Alice Moyo. My son was killed at the riot last week. Not by the crowd but by the police. What is the country coming to when the police shoot their own people, people they know and are neighbors with? And what is going to happen to the police who shot at the crowd?”

  Kubu looked around and saw that the crowd was unsettled by the question. Probably bringing back bad memories, Kubu thought.

  “Mma Moyo. You have my condolences. I am sorry that your son had to die, particularly shot by a policeman. That must be terrible for you and your family.” He pointed to the commissioner sitting behind him. “I have instructed the commissioner of police to open a public inquiry into the police behavior on that day. Based on the findings, we will take steps to prevent it happening again.”

  And so the questions went on, about ten in all, but none very aggressive.

  The offer of immediate jobs has helped keep the meeting on an even keel, Kubu thought. The president has handled the situation well.

  Finally, Julius took the microphone again and thanked the president for his wisdom and for taking the time to come to a small village. Again there was applause—quite warm, Kubu thought.

  With a wave to the crowd, the president left the stage and, with the commissioner, headed back to his helicopter.

  Kubu and Mabaku watched the crowd disperse. “They look happier than before the meeting,” Kubu commented. Then he nudged Mabaku and nodded toward the exit of the visitor area. Shonhu had held back when the ambassador and Hong had left and was listening to an animated Mopati, who was whispering into Shonhu’s ear.

  “I wish I knew what that’s about,” Mabaku said.

  “Something about money, I would bet,” Kubu answered. “Lots of money. It makes me so angry that we can’t do something about it.”

  Mabaku stood up. “Patience, Kubu. Something will turn up. Let’s go. We’ve another long drive ahead.”

  CHAPTER 48

  The Chinese ambassador, Hong, and Shonhu walked back to the visitor parking lot. When they reached it, the ambassador told Shonhu to go on ahead. He wanted to speak to Hong alone and would drop him off at the Chinese compound a little later. Shonhu was unhappy about leaving his charge but could do little about it. He couldn’t disobey the ambassador.

  As he walked to Hong’s car, he talked himself into a bad mood. Why had he been excluded from the conversation? Didn’t the ambassador know that it was he who was really in charge at the mine? Didn’t the ambassador know that Hong was a dolt? What, in fact, did the ambassador know about anything? He’d just started considering whether he should send a report back to Beijing about the situation when his cell phone beeped. He looked at the text.

  Want you back visit me tiger

  Shonhu stared at the phone. Maybe that’s what I need, he thought. Get rid of my bad mood.

  After a few moments, he replied, 15 minutes.

  Too bad she’s not like Li back in Shanghai. She can take it.

  As he drove to her house, Shonhu thought about Jasmine. She’d approached him shortly after he arrived and offered her exclusive services. He refused, scared of AIDS. But she persisted, offered to take an AIDS test, and promised she would sleep with no one else. Eventually, he relented, missing what Li had provided for several years, and decided he’d have to use a condom. Jasmine was quite different from Li. She was tall, big-breasted—enormous compared to Li—and uninhibited. Li was short, compliant, and resilient.

  When he’d tried to persuade Jasmine that he wanted to fuck her for free before making a commitment, she laughed. “Three months in advance,” she said. “You will be pleased.”

  And he had been. She was very good in bed, quickly learning what made him happy. And she always seemed happy too. Happy to see him. Happy to do what he wanted.

  Except for one thing.

  She wouldn’t let him tie her to the bed.

  Last time, he was so angry when she refused, he’d taught her a lesson.

  “Get out!” she’d screamed. “Get out!” She threw some money at him and swore that she’d never see him again.

  He was surprised she’d contacted him again. Surprised but pleased. She must be missing me, he thought. Or the money.

  He smiled and climbed into the manager’s car.

  * * *

  WHEN SHE OPENED the door, she was wearing a simple cotton dress in a colorful African pattern. He caught his breath, as he always did. The dress revealed nothing, but only hinted at what lay below.

  She smiled. “Ni hao, China boy. I have tea ready.”

  He grabbed her and pulled close. “No tea today,” he grunted. “Need you now.”

  He pushed her into the small bedroom. “Today I tie you up.”

  He crushed his mouth against hers to stop any objection. She tried to struggle free, but he was far too strong. They fell onto the bed, and he straddled her, putting one hand over her mouth and holding one of her arms with the other. The other arm, he pinned under his knee.

  “No make noise,” he hissed. “Else I hurt you.”

  She struggled, trying to buck him off. He slapped her across the face. “Quiet!”

  She managed to free the arm that he’d trapped under his knee. She tried hitting him, but he just laughed. He hit her across the face again, this time much harder.

  She grabbed at the hand over her mouth and managed to get hold of a finger. She pushed it back, forcing the hand away from her mouth. She screamed. He punched her in the face. “I kill you.”

  She screamed again.

  He grabbed her throat and squeezed.

  Suddenly, there was a banging at the front door. “Is everything okay?” a male voice called. “Police. Open the door.”

  He let go of Jasmine and ran to the back door. He opened it and peered out. Nobody there. He went out and looked around the corner of the house. Still no one. He heard voices inside and ran to the car, hoping there was only one policeman.

  He jumped into the car and raced away.

  Fucking police, he thought. Didn’t they know she was just a whore?

  CHAPTER 49

  I seem to spend all my time in this meeting room, Kubu thought. All we hear is that there’s no progress on anything. We’d be better off shaking the bushes to see what slithers out.

  He looked around at the group—all good at what they do, all working hard, but seemingly unable to break the cases. He wondered whether they would ever solve any of them—none looked promising at the moment—and the least promising was the murder of his father.

  “Where’s Detective Khama?” Director Mabaku asked as he walked into the room. “She’s always on time. Has anyone heard from her?”

  There was silence from around the table.

  “She’d better have a good excuse.” He sat down and spent a few minutes giving an account of the president’s visit to Shoshong. “I think he calmed things down, but unless the jobs appear very quickly, the situation could turn ugly again.”

  “What about the Chinese?” Edison asked. “Were they there?”

  Mabaku nodded. “Including the ambassador. And Shonhu was as thick as thieves with the director of mines as they left. Probably talking about how much money they were going to make now that the American company was out of the running.”

  “When will the decision be made?” Zanele asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Mabaku replied. “Probably next week sometime. And given our current lack of progress, they’ll probably be uncontested and get permission to expand.”

  “Can’t you go and talk to the Minister of—” Before
Zanele could finish her sentence, the door to the meeting room opened, and Samantha walked in with a tall woman who looked very uncomfortable at being there. There was a gasp from Zanele, who was the first to react to the woman’s swollen and bruised face.

  “I’m sorry I’m late, Director,” Samantha said, “but I was helping my friend here. This is Bongi Modongo—she goes by the name Jasmine.” She introduced all of the detectives at the table and indicated to Jasmine that she should sit. “Please sit down,” she said quietly, and sat down beside her.

  “What is she doing here, Detective Khama?” Mabaku was obviously not impressed.

  “I’ve been so frustrated about our lack of progress,” Samantha replied, “that I wanted somehow to help things along. The only thing I could think of was the hair Zanele had found in Kunene’s car. But we had nothing to match it with. So I decided to see if I could get a hair from Shonhu’s head.”

  She rummaged in her purse and pulled out a plastic bag. “I did it!” she said, pulling a plastic bag from her purse and holding it up. “I got a hair from Shonhu. Two in fact.”

  “And how did you do that?” Mabaku asked acidly. “And who is this woman?”

  “Director, you may not know that I volunteer every weekend at a women’s shelter. Most of the women who come in have been assaulted, either by their husbands or boyfriends. But many of the women who come in are prostitutes. The men who pay them think that assault is included in the price.”

  She paused.

  “Of course, the police do nothing about most of these cases. Probably because the police also beat up on their women.” She looked around at the men. “Or they think it is a traditional Botswana value,” she added sarcastically, “and not worth pursuing.”

  She put her hand on Jasmine’s arm.

  “So I called the Mahalapye shelter on Saturday and asked if any of the prostitutes who had come to them for help had ever mentioned having Chinese clients. They told me that Jasmine had come in a few times, badly bruised, complaining about her Chinese lover.”

  She took a sip of water.

  “I called her, and she told me that the Chinaman was, in fact, Shonhu. I explained our situation and asked her to invite him back to try and get some of his hairs. When I promised that the police would take her seriously and that we’d prosecute the man, she agreed.

  “One of the Shoshong constables and I waited in the neighbor’s house in case there was trouble. When she screamed, the constable rushed over, but it was too late. Jasmine had been punched in the face and kicked, and Shonhu had fled through the back door.”

  She turned to Mabaku. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am that she got hurt. That was never meant to happen. Her injuries are all my fault. We need to make it right for her.”

  She lifted the plastic bag. “So it was actually Jasmine who got the hairs, not me.”

  “He could have killed her,” Ian said. “Has she seen a doctor?”

  Samantha nodded. “I took her to the hospital in Mahalapye. She has a slight scratch on her cornea and those bruises.”

  Kubu looked at Mabaku, who was clearly furious. Will Samantha still have a job here tomorrow? Kubu wondered.

  Mabaku stood up. “The meeting’s over,” he said. “Zanele, get the hairs from Detective Khama, and see what you can find. Get back to me as soon as possible.” He turned to Samantha. “Take this woman to Princess Marina for another check; then come and see me as soon as you get back.”

  When Mabaku, Samantha, and Jasmine had left, the room buzzed. The general reaction was that Samantha had done a very stupid thing but could possibly have broken the case open.

  Kubu stood up. “Don’t get too excited,” he said. “Hair matches are often not conclusive, so I’m not sure we’ll be able to use them anyway.”

  He walked toward the door, then turned to the group.

  “However, as Samantha says, just because Jasmine is a prostitute, that gives no one an excuse for violence. So we can go after Shonhu on an assault charge! Then we can get his fingerprints and search his home. And only then, we may have him.”

  With that, he turned and walked out.

  * * *

  MABAKU GLARED ACROSS his desk at Samantha. “So what did the doctor say, Detective Khama?”

  “She confirmed what the doctor in Mahalapye said. A slight scratch on the cornea of Jasmine’s left eye and facial bruising.”

  “So, what the hell did you think you were doing? This man Shonhu could be a murderer. You could’ve got that woman killed.”

  “We weren’t getting anywhere, Director,” Samantha replied. “You said yourself that they’d get away with it unless something turned up. I made it turn up. Jasmine knew exactly what she was getting into and was prepared to take a chance to get Shonhu charged. So I thought—”

  “But you didn’t think this thought of yours was worth discussing with anyone?”

  “When I had the idea, it was already Saturday,” Samantha replied.

  Mabaku whipped out his phone and held it in front of her face. “This, Detective Khama, is called a cell phone. I have it with me at all times. I often wish I didn’t, but it’s part of my job.” His voice rose. “In case you hadn’t noticed, my job is to direct the CID. That means I make the decisions about operations. We don’t all just do what we think is a good idea at the time. We work as a team.”

  Samantha leaned forward and asked, “And if I had asked you, Director? Would you have allowed me to do it?”

  “No! Absolutely not. This man is probably a trained killer. Putting a civilian woman at risk? She was lucky to get away so lightly. And what if she had been killed? We’d have been taken to the cleaners by the law and by the press. And you’d probably be off the force.”

  Mabaku battled to get himself under control. “What you did was incredibly stupid. CID work isn’t about daredevil antics and flashes of brilliance. It’s about working as a team, planning, attention to detail, one step at a time. And you’re part of that team.”

  “But we weren’t getting anywhere! We had the tapes, but Shonhu wasn’t giving himself away. He’s too clever for that. We had to have some physical evidence. And I was the only one who could do that.”

  Mabaku shook his head. “You’re not hearing me, Samantha. Here at the CID, we do things … BY … THE … BOOK.” He thumped the table in time with the last three words. “I’m going to let this go because I think you could become a decent detective. But never again. The next time you get a great idea…” He held up his cell phone again. “And if you don’t, you’ll be directing traffic in Ghanzi.”

  Samantha swallowed an angry retort; she still felt she deserved credit for what could be their first real breakthrough on the case. She started to say so but was interrupted by Mabaku’s desk phone ringing. He grabbed it, listened for a moment, and said, “Send her in.”

  Zanele came in, smiling. “It’s a match, Director. I think those hairs are from the same person. I’ve sent Samantha’s samples and the hair found in the car to Johannesburg, where they have a specialist on this sort of thing, but I’m convinced. I checked all the key features under a comparison microscope, and they all matched.”

  Mabaku nodded. “Can we do a DNA match as well?”

  Zanele shook her head. “The hair found in Kunene’s car didn’t have follicle cells attached.”

  Mabaku shrugged and turned back to Samantha. “Kubu suggested we use your fiasco to our advantage. Go and lay a charge against Shonhu for assaulting Jasmine. We’ll pull him in on that count. Then we can take his prints and get as many hairs as we want. And we’ll see if the commissioner can swing us a search warrant for Shonhu’s home and office in case he’s left something there.”

  He pulled a folder toward him—a sure signal that the meeting was at an end.

  “And if the fingerprints match,” he said as the two women reached the door, “it won’t be long before we’ll have Shonhu singing like a bird about his boss, Hong, and about the director of the Department of Mines.”

&
nbsp; CHAPTER 50

  The next morning Mabaku drove to Shoshong once again, this time with Kubu and an interpreter. Kubu knew that Shonhu could handle English, but other senior mine management probably could not, so they’d borrowed Liz Linchwe for the day from Foreign Affairs. She sat quietly in the back, not attempting to join in the discussion between the detectives.

  “We should’ve alerted the border posts,” Mabaku said.

  “Shonhu’s not going anywhere, Director,” Kubu replied. “He doesn’t know we’re onto him yet. Others in the mine management might take off once we arrest him, but there’s not much we can do about that—we’ve got nothing on them—and Shonhu may have been acting on his own, in any case.”

  “I don’t believe that for a minute,” Mabaku replied. “Hong is the head man there. He must know what’s going on. But I’ll settle for Shonhu first, as long as I get Mopati and Hong later. At this point, we say nothing to Hong about anything other than the assault.”

  That made sense, and Kubu nodded. They passed Tobela, and he felt a pang. Nothing had been found suggesting that his father had any involvement here. Was he wrong? Was his father’s murder just a random act of violence, never to be resolved?

  At the turnoff to Konshua mine, a police van with three uniformed constables from Shoshong joined them. Kubu wasn’t sure what to expect at the mine, and he wasn’t going to take any chances. Also, he wanted the road blocked. No one was leaving the mine without Mabaku’s permission.

  They drove in a convoy up to the security gate, where a surprised Chinese guard stopped them.

  “I am with the Botswana police,” Mabaku told him in English, offering identification. “I am here to speak with the manager, Mr. Hong, and some of his staff.”