Detective Kubu 01; A Carrion Death

by Michael Stanley

  “All right,” he said. His voice was strong, but Mabaku sensed he was fighting to keep it that way. “I didn’t tell you the whole truth when you came the day of the break-in. There was some cash taken, but also the letter Jonny mentioned. I’ve no idea how Kobedi knew about the letter or why he wanted it. It had nothing to do with him or anything he was interested in. I should have told you about it, but I was under a lot of stress. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” Cecil looked out of the window again. “The company has invested a lot of money in the Maboane mine, and I’ve been very nervous about whether we will get it back, let alone make a profit. The manager, Jason Ferraz, is very optimistic, but I am not so sure. He has been pressuring me to invest a lot more to take it to the next stage.”

  “What has that got to do with the letter?” Mabaku asked, standing up.

  “The letter raised concerns about the mine. I didn’t tell you about it because it is very sensitive information. I couldn’t risk letting this information become public. That could have caused all sorts of problems. I could see our investment disappearing. I was holding the letter to confront Ferraz when the time came. I haven’t yet made a decision about investing more.”

  Cecil ran his hand through his hair. He turned and walked over to Mabaku. “I know it looks bad, Mabaku. But I had nothing to do with Kobedi’s death. Right after the letter disappeared, he phoned me and offered it back for five thousand pula. Like a fool, I agreed and went over to his house. I paid him off and took back the letter. He was very much alive and gloating when I left. You must believe me!”

  “I know he was alive when you left on Tuesday,” Mabaku said, “because he was murdered on Friday. Where were you on Friday afternoon?” He stared at Cecil.

  “At what time?”

  “Between two and five.”

  “I was at home! I needed my own space and took the day off. The servants can vouch for me.”

  “Were they with you all the time?”

  “No, I took a nap later on and sent them off.”

  Mabaku nodded but looked unconvinced. “What happened to the letter? I would like to have it, please.”

  “I destroyed it.” Cecil’s voice rose. “Can’t you see? It was causing all sorts of problems. When I got it back, I shredded it.” Cecil walked around his desk so that it was between him and the policeman. “It only dealt with the mine!”

  Mabaku leant over the desk. He was angry. “Mr Hofmeyr, I don’t believe you! I am going to give you one more chance. If I am not satisfied, I will be forced to take you to headquarters and officially question you there as a suspect in the murder of Thembu Kobedi. I’ve been giving you every chance to explain what happened, and all you have done is lie to me.”

  The fight seemed to go out of Cecil. He walked to a wall safe in one of the cupboards, opened it, and pulled out an envelope. He pushed it over towards Mabaku, who carefully held it by the corner and shook the contents on to the desk. There were three folded sheets of paper. No piece was torn out of any of them. Without saying a word, he sat down, lifted his briefcase on to his lap and opened the lid. Keeping the lid between himself and Cecil, he took out a copy of the fragment Kubu had found and compared it to the letter. The fragment was identical to the bottom left quarter of the last page.

  I wonder if one’s a copy, he said to himself. Using his handkerchief, he turned the last page over and saw an indentation from the signature. He wondered whether the fragment he had left with Kubu had also been signed. He should have checked.

  He closed the briefcase and put it on the floor. He scanned the whole letter and said, “I don’t understand any of the geology. The last page seems to sum it up, though.” He read it aloud.

  In view of the above analysis of the geology, and Mr Ferraz’s attitude, I feel I have to tell you about this yourself. I give my overall conclusions here.

  Mr Ferraz does not take my ideas seriously. He does ignore my concern about the geology model at the mine. The current model is not right. So there may be better diamonds that we are missing. I believe a more careful geological study of the area is needed. The production is not correct with what should be produced according to my models and the selection of stones we are seeing from the mine.

  Also Mr Ferraz has a not good reputation among his colleagues in the industry. I am worried about his approach which I think is unhonest at worst and unscientific at best. I cannot trust him.

  I think we are not getting the true output from the mine. Because of above, I think something is very wrong about the big gemstones. Perhaps some of the best quality diamonds are actually stolen.

  Yours faithfully,

  A.K. FRANKENTAL, BSC

  SENIOR MINE GEOLOGIST

  Mabaku looked puzzled and reread the letter. He looked up at Cecil and said, “Cecil, you need to tell me what is going on here. The letter is full of gobbledygook about rocks and geology. The only thing that looks sensitive is the suggestion about stolen diamonds. What’s all that about?”

  Cecil grimaced. “It’s complete nonsense! No one has stolen anything! Every stone that comes from the mine is accounted for.”

  “Of course, but could someone be stealing diamonds from the mine?”

  “We have the best security money can buy. And Jason himself is a shareholder, so you can bet he’s on top of everything. It’s all rubbish. I don’t know what this chap could be thinking.”

  Mabaku shook his head. “I don’t see anything in this letter that could possibly be regarded as ultrasensitive, worth five thousand pula, or worth killing for. It raises a question about a manager, and that’s it. What am I missing? You’re sure that this is the same letter?”

  “Mabaku, I promise you that is the letter that was stolen by Kobedi and Jonny. It is the same letter that I got back from Kobedi on Thursday evening. It cost me five thousand pula to get it back!” Mabaku could sense Cecil’s desperation. He was starting to hyperventilate.

  “Look, Mabaku, we are old friends. You can’t believe I had anything to do with this murder! It was just a silly mistake about the letter. It’s critical that nothing of this gets out, especially now, right before a crucial board meeting.”

  Mabaku sat without saying a word, letter in hand, occasionally carefully turning it over as if to ensure there was nothing written on the back. He took a deep breath. He placed the fragment and the letter in his folder and shut the briefcase. He stood up.

  “What’s in this letter that could affect your board meeting?” he asked. “It’s nothing but speculation.”

  Cecil hesitated before answering. “You don’t understand, Mabaku,” he said. “Any red flag influences decisions, no matter how small. The letter would distract the board and possibly lead them in the wrong direction. We need their unqualified support of the mine expansion.”

  “And you would withhold information that may influence that decision?” Mabaku’s voice was tinged with disgust.

  “They don’t know the whole story. They trust me on this.”

  “Cecil. All you have done today is lie to me. I have always tried to help you because you and BCMC are important to Botswana, and I thought that we were friends. And this is what you do. Lie to me.” Mabaku’s voice was rising. He took a deep breath and said more evenly, “Cecil, I don’t know what is going on here, but believe me, I will find out. I don’t think you are a murderer, but there is something you are trying to hide. I’ll find that out too. For the moment this will be a matter between the two of us. I suggest you stay in town for a while and run your meeting. Make sure you let me know if you think about leaving Gaborone, let alone the country. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mabaku. Thank you.”

  With that, Mabaku nodded and stalked out of the office.

  Cecil was shaken to the core. His wealth, his company, his reputation were teetering. “Fuck you, Kobedi!” he shouted. “This is all your fault. Rot in hell!” He looked down at his hand. It was shaking. It still held the pen. He snapped it in half and threw it at the Battiss. Then he held his
face in his hands as he battled for some semblance of calm.

  After leaving the BCMC building, Mabaku drove the short distance to the hospital, stopping only to drop the letter off at Forensics. He felt rather pleased with himself. At least he believed that Cecil knew nothing about Kobedi’s murder. Thank goodness for that.

  In less than ten minutes he was at the hospital.

  “I need to speak to David alone,” he said as he walked into Kubu’s room, directing his comments at Joy and Bongani. “Why don’t you come back after lunch if you want to continue your conversations?” Kubu sighed at Mabaku’s lack of civility. Mabaku must have sensed this because he added an abrupt, “Thank you!”

  Mabaku sat down and related what had happened in his interview with Cecil. He emphasised that he was sure that Cecil knew nothing about Kobedis murder. He also thought Cecil knew nothing about Frankental’s disappearance. However, he still didn’t understand why Cecil had lied and not told them about the letter in the first place, since it seemed relatively innocuous. He handed Kubu a copy of the letter.

  “This is a copy I made before I left the original at Forensics,” he said. “I think yours may be a copy too.”

  “You’re right,” Kubu replied. “Bongani pointed that out to me. It is a very good copy. We should check if there are any colour-copy places near Kobedi’s house.” Kubu took a minute to read the letter.

  “This makes no sense at all, Director. There is nothing in here that warrants Hofmeyr’s lies. Aron seems very anti-Jason and accuses him of all sorts of things, but there is nothing here that warrants murder. I’m not sure Hofmeyr is being honest, even now.”

  “Cecil says that if the board saw the letter, they might not fund the expansion that he wants. That doesn’t sound like honest management to me. My guess is that he has his own money in the mine too.”

  Kubu shook his head gingerly. “There has to be something else going on.”

  “David,” Mabaku said sharply. “I am sure that Cecil Hofmeyr wasn’t involved with the murder. He wasn’t shocked when I told him about Kobedi’s death, but I believed him when he said he knew nothing about it. Call it intuition, if you like. He isn’t the murdering type. He also said he’d never spoken to Frankental directly. I have to admit that the letter is a mystery, but I am sure Hofmeyr knows nothing about the murder.”

  “Did you tell him that Frankental is missing?” Kubu asked, feeling his headache returning.

  “Yes. I told him that we thought the corpse at the waterhole was Frankental. I think that helped eventually, because he must have thought we didn’t know who wrote the letter. That is why he lied about it. He must’ve been scared we would believe he was linked to both murders. I think that’s what made him go over the edge. I don’t think he knew Frankental was missing.”

  The two men were quiet for some time. Then Mabaku said, “Of course, if Ferraz is stealing diamonds, and Frankental found out, that would be a motive for getting rid of Frankental. Then the letter would be incriminating. I think we need to speak to Ferraz again. Why don’t you arrange that as soon as you get out of here?”

  “I’ll arrange it for Monday, Mr Director. I know I will be fine then.” Kubu felt a surge of excitement. His headache disappeared. He started to plan his visit.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Mabaku. “Did you get the photo I sent you?”

  “I got nothing. A photo of what?” Kubu asked, now curious.

  “Maybe it is at reception,” Mabaku said. “I’ll go and check.”

  A few minutes later Mabaku returned. “Idiots! You were sleeping, and they thought they shouldn’t disturb you.” He handed Kubu the photo of the latest victim. “Recognise him?”

  Kubu was startled. “Where did you get this, Director? I think this is the man who knocked me out.”

  “He was found this morning in an alley. Shot in the side of the head. Point blank. An execution, I think.”

  Kubu lay back on his pillows. What was going on? Bodies everywhere, but no motive. No reasons. No real clues. He frowned and pressed his call button for more medication. He needed to get out of the hospital. So much to do.

  “There is no way you are leaving the hospital until the doctors say you are okay,” Mabaku said sharply, reading Kubu’s mind. “Tomorrow afternoon at the earliest! Maybe only Monday.”

  Kubu opened his mouth to object, but shut it quickly when he saw Mabaku’s scowl. “Yes, Director,” he said meekly.

  At that moment, Mabaku’s briefcase started playing William Tell. Mabaku scrabbled for his phone. “Yes, Banda?” He listened for a minute. “Thank you. Good work. Leave your report on my desk.”

  Mabaku turned back to Kubu. “That was Edison. One lead is dead. The Dutchman showed up for his flight.” He stood up, again told Kubu not to leave the hospital until the doctors said he could, and left.

  For the rest of Saturday, Kubu was like a caged lion. Every fibre in his body wanted to be out working on the case. He’d done enough thinking. He needed action. Even periodic telephone calls from Edison had failed to mollify his frustration. Nobody seemed to be making any progress. Even Joy was unable to calm him down. Eventually she gave up and told him that she was going to have dinner with Pleasant.

  ∨ A Carrion Death ∧

  CHAPTER 37

  Contrary to his expectation, Kubu slept well, with only occasional discomfort. When wakened early on Sunday morning for his tea, he realised that the night nurse must have slipped him a sleeping pill as a defence against his bad mood. He was thankful that she had. Still, he had another eight hours to wait before he even had a chance of leaving. The doctor had promised to visit after lunch.

  Joy looked in early and brought the Sunday newspaper and some fat cakes that she had bought from a street vendor on the way to the hospital. She was on her way to see his parents, but promised she would be back in case the doctor discharged him. She knows me too well, he thought. She knows I will be impossible to be with today.

  As soon as she had left, Kubu opened the newspaper and found the coverage of the two murders. It was sparse, but surprisingly accurate. The report recapped details of Kobedi’s death and reported that the police believed that his murderer might himself have been murdered—assassinated was the word they used. There was a picture of the big black face, with a caption asking anyone who recognised him, or who had seen him, to contact the police. Kubu thought that the assassin must have used a .22-calibre pistol, or something similar, because the bullets had not blown away the face. A weapon that was easily concealed and less noisy, Kubu thought.

  There was a brief mention of Kubu being assaulted at the scene of Kobedi’s murder. “Assistant Superintendent Bengu is recovering in the Princess Marina Hospital and is expected to be released on Monday.” Kubu snorted. “Monday, my foot!” he said out aloud.

  The rest of the paper had little of interest. Kubu’s mind was elsewhere. However, he did notice a short article discussing BCMC and the fact that the board would meet on Thursday. There was speculation that Angus Hofmeyr, the son of the founder Roland Hofmeyr, would assume control of the company now that he had inherited a controlling share.

  Kubu’s interest picked up when he turned to the sports section to see whether South Africa had beaten Australia in the third cricket test match at Newlands in Cape Town. Like most fans, he ardently hoped that the Aussies would be walloped; there was natural support for fellow Africans. He was pleased to see that the Proteas were in a strong position going into the final two days.

  While he was reading the details of the match, Edison Banda walked in with a folder in his hand. “Morning, Kubu. How are you doing?”

  “I’m in terrible shape, Edison,” Kubu replied. “I’ve been fine since yesterday morning, but they won’t let me out of here. The doctor is only showing up after lunch—hopefully lunch today! There’s so much to do. I can sense we’re about to break these cases wide open, but I’m useless stuck here.”

  Edison waited for Kubu’s rant to end. “I have something that w
ill take your mind off your misery,” he said, handing the folder to Kubu. “This is the report from Kobedi’s house. He was quite a boy, Kobedi was.”

  Kubu put the folder on his bedside table. “Tell me about it.”

  Edison sat down and started his tale.

  “After the pathologist had left, and the photographers and Forensics had finished their work in Kobedi’s bedroom, we went through the house with a fine-toothed comb. We could find no sign of a forced entry, so it’s possible Kobedi was expecting his murderer, or at least knew him. This is supported by the fact there were two half-empty glasses of Scotch in what seems to be a study. One had Kobedi’s prints on it and the other had the prints of the guy we found dead on the mall. So you were probably right; he was the person who knocked you out. Certainly it seems that way. We didn’t find any money on either Kobedi or your assailant, but we haven’t had a chance to go through a safe we found. We’ll get into that on Monday morning. Our locksmith can’t open it—it’s a German safe. We’ve contacted the agents in Johannesburg to help us. They’re sending someone down in the morning.”

  A nurse’s aide pushed a tea trolley into the room. Both Kubu and Edison took a cup and a few biscuits.

  “We also couldn’t find any other pieces of the letter you saw,” Edison continued after a few sips of his tea. “Our only guess at the moment is that your assailant took them. Maybe the person who shot him then took them from him. Kobedi could have used one of two copy shops. They are shut for the weekend, so tomorrow morning we’ll see if we can get an ID from them on either Kobedi or his killer.” Edison took a bite out of his lemon cream biscuit.

  “As for the rest of the house, it was for the most part as you would expect—expensive and garish. Halfway-decent paintings, leather and chrome chairs and sofas, shag carpeting, and some real champagne in the fridge.”