Then he went into the house. He wandered around the lower section, getting the feel of it. Clearly the house had recently been inhabited. The kitchen looked used, and the stove needed cleaning. This house had been abandoned weeks, not decades, ago. There were three bedrooms downstairs and two bathrooms with showers and toilets. But Kubu wanted to look upstairs and find that empty window.
He climbed the staircase to the upper level, where he found a door ajar at the top of the steps. The first thing he noticed was that it had a deadbolt screwed on to the outside with heavy screws. That would withstand a lot of pressure, he thought. This was a lock to keep someone in, not for privacy. No corresponding lock was on the inside of the door, although there was a normal lock with the door handle. The key was on the outside too. Kubu stood looking at the door for a few moments. The deadbolt had been added recently. He could understand Aron becoming an embarrassment if he had stumbled on some sort of scam at the mine, but why hold him prisoner? Why not get rid of him at once?
He walked into the room. It was spartan and self-contained—a bed, a wardrobe, a table and chairs, and one easy chair. He carefully opened a door on the left without disturbing any prints that might be on the handle. It led to a typical bathroom containing a bath with a hand shower and a mount for it on the tiles at one end, a toilet, and a wash basin. Everything was covered in fine dust. Over the toilet was an open window. Next to the toilet, leaning against the wall, was a wooden panel about the same size as the window. Kubu examined the area around the window and noticed the screw holes. He nodded, mentally matching the wood with the window and the screw holes. Looking out of the open window, he realised that it was the one that had so disturbed him on his first reconnaissance.
He turned his attention to the bath. He leant over, blew away the dust from around the plug hole, and looked at it carefully. Then he went back downstairs and found Zanele.
“Get your people to go over the bath upstairs carefully, and also check out the shower fittings. I think you’ll find that Aron died up there. Also, tomorrow morning, get someone to follow the tracks heading south from the shed. Aron’s vehicle’s been dumped down there somewhere. Probably in a donga.”
Kubu wiped his forehead. “I’ve had enough. I’m going home. We can talk in the morning.” Zanele nodded, distracted. The excitement of the crime scene was absorbing her attention. There was so much to do. She was happy to be left to get on with it. Kubu went to find Mahongo and Mike. If they left now, they could still get back to Gaborone. The Forensics team could camp in the house and hold the fort until the morning.
As the chopper took off, Kubu was isolated in his own thoughts. He felt depressed by what they had found. I should be celebrating, he thought. I’ve found where Aron was murdered, and the vehicle they used, and I’d bet on finding Aron’s vehicle tomorrow. It’s only a matter of following the spoor now, and we’ll catch the murderers. Why aren’t I elated? Because there’s more to come, he answered himself. This isn’t the end of it. There are more nasty surprises ahead.
He looked at his watch. He would be home by eight. He could still have some of the delicious stew that Joy would have prepared for their dinner, perhaps with a glass of red wine, or even two. The thought cheered him up at once.
∨ A Carrion Death ∧
CHAPTER 41
Kubu had meant to phone Director Mabaku as soon as he got home, but he was tired and hungry, and after supper and a few glasses of wine, it was too late. He would see his boss first thing in the morning.
But when he arrived at the CID headquarters and walked towards his office, he could hear his phone ringing. By dropping his briefcase and leaving his keys jangling in the door, he managed to answer it before it cut off.
“Hello,” he said a touch irritably. “This is Superintendent Bengu. Who is this?”
“Kubu, it’s Zanele. I’m on the plane radio. Communications put me through to you.”
“Oh! Zanele! How are things going there?”
“Fine. You were right about the bloodstains. Actually, there are a lot of them if you know where to look. The killers tried to clean up and wipe everything down. But I think they were in that house for some time. You can’t live somewhere and not leave prints in odd places. We’ve got quite a few. Some are quite good.”
“Good! The trick will be to match them with Frankental’s. Also compare them with Ferraz’s. We’ve got those on file because we had to exclude them from Aron’s bungalow.” Kubu let his mind run. “Also check them against the one on the cash slip we found at Kamissa. And against the delightful character who gave me the sore head. And run them past Interpol, of course.”
Zanele laughed. “Yes, Superintendent. I’ll do all that. But I’ll have to get back to the office first. It’s quite a job checking a whole house, you know. We are waiting for a police vehicle from Molops to arrive. Once they get here, they can check the roads and see if you were right about the victim’s vehicle.” There was a burst of interference, and Kubu lost the next part. It was something to do with the BCMC-yellow Land Rover.
“Say that again.”
“The vehicle’s pretty clean. Someone did a really good job on that. But I think we may have some blood traces there too. And we’ve collected dust and thorn samples from the tyres. Unlikely to help, but who knows?”
Kubu recalled how impressed he always was with Zanele’s work and thoroughness. He was lucky that they had sent her.
“There’s one more thing, Kubu. Jason Ferraz left the mine yesterday. I discovered that when I phoned through this morning to ask them for some help with provisions and stuff.”
Kubu sat upright in his chair. “You mean he’s done a flit?”
More static. When the signal cleared, he could hear Zanele saying something about a holiday. Then she was lost in static again. Kubu became impatient.
“Thanks, Zanele,” he said loudly. “I’ll get on to it myself right away. Carry on with your work. See you soon.” And without waiting for a response, he hung up.
He retrieved his briefcase and the keys from the door and closed it. A few minutes later he was on the phone to Shirley Devlin, who seemed to be the closest thing the mine had to an administrator.
“Mr Ferraz’s trip has been planned for some time, Mr Bengu. He’s been talking about it for a month, I would guess. He’s going to visit the British Geological Survey and other research institutions, and someone involved with the Kimberley Process. But he’s also spending time in Portugal. Visiting family he hasn’t seen for quite a while, I think. Maybe Madeira?”
“So you all knew he was leaving yesterday? But no one mentioned it to me when I was there the day before?”
He could visualise Shirley’s shrug. “I suppose you didn’t ask. Did you tell Mr Ferraz you wanted to know about his movements?”
“No, I did not,” Kubu admitted with considerable chagrin.
“Well then,” commented the efficient administrator, her point made.
“When did he leave?”
“Early in the morning. He was driving to Gaborone to catch his flight later in the day.”
“How long will he be away? Do you have an itinerary for him?”
“Three weeks. He didn’t leave a detailed itinerary, but he said he’d have his mobile phone on international roaming in case of anything urgent. I can give you the number.” She did so.
Kubu let his frustration get the better of him. “But how can the manager walk away from a diamond mine for three weeks? Who’s running the operation?”
Devlin replied coldly. “Mr Dingake is in charge, Superintendent. This isn’t a one-person show, you know. We can cope for a few weeks without the boss on site. Will there be anything else?”
Kubu sighed. “No, you’ve been extremely helpful, Miss Devlin, and I’m most grateful. If you hear from Mr Ferraz, please ask him to phone me. If I think of anything else, I’ll be in touch.”
Immediately Kubu called Edison and asked him to check passenger lists for flights out of Gaborone for yeste
rday and today. Ferraz might have driven to Johannesburg or caught a connecting flight. Kubu knew that it would take much longer to get information from Johannesburg International, and potentially forever from the Botswana border posts if their computers were down. He was cross. He had been so pleased with himself for shaking up Ferraz, but now he had a search for a fugitive on his hands.
He tried the mobile phone number and heard a recording. He left a message asking Ferraz to contact him as soon as possible. He wasn’t optimistic he’d hear back soon.
Well, he thought, let’s see if Jason’s boss knows where he is. Rather to his surprise, Cecil Hofmeyr’s secretary put him through promptly.
“Superintendent Bengu? Still after our second-hand Land Rovers, are you?”
Kubu had forgotten that embarrassing matter. But now he felt the boot was on the other foot. “Well, actually, we rather think we’ve found that vehicle, Mr Hofmeyr. On one of your properties, as a matter of fact.” Kubu gave Cecil a sketch of the events of the past two days. He was pleased to find the captain of industry at a loss for words.
“This is terrible. Director Mabaku told me you believed Frankental had been murdered. Do you really think that he was murdered on a BCMC property near the mine?”
“Once we have the forensic evidence, I’ll need to ask you more questions about Aron and that letter. Please let us know if you expect to leave town.” Kubu was surprised that Cecil didn’t react to his insulting tone. “What I really need to know,” he went on, “is whether you know where Jason Ferraz is right now.”
“I presume he’s at the mine.”
“They say he’s gone on a trip.”
“Oh, yes, of course. I’d forgotten about that. He’s on a combination business and pleasute trip to Europe. It’s been arranged for some time. I think he left a few days ago.”
“Do you have an itinerary for the trip?”
“I don’t. Perhaps my secretary does. I can’t keep tabs on the whereabouts of all my employees personally, you know.” Cecil was recovering some of his arrogance.
“Would you ask her? Now, please?”
A pause, as Kubu was put on hold. Then a click, and Cecil was back. He sounded a bit puzzled. “Actually, she didn’t know he was going away. She expects the mine will have his itinerary. Try them.”
“I already have. They don’t know where he is.” Kubu paused. “Where can I find your niece, Dianna Hofmeyr?”
“Why would you want her?” Cecil asked. “Anyway, she’s at the Grand Palm Hotel.”
The door opened, and Edison came in. “That’ll be all for the moment, Mr Hofmeyr. I’ll get back to you as soon as we know something more. Goodbye.” Without waiting for a response, Kubu hung up. He raised his eyebrows at Edison.
“He wasn’t on any flight out of Gaborone yesterday, Kubu. And he’s not booked on any flight out today. I’ve asked the border posts to check their exit forms, but that could take a while. I guess we should check with Johannesburg directly; that’s probably the best chance.”
Kubu nodded. Then he saw the figure in the doorway. His heart sank. He had completely forgotten about Mabaku in the rush of events.
“Ah, Bengu,” said his boss sweetly. “I’m so sorry to disturb you. I can see how involved you are. I was wondering if you could spare a minute or two to brief me on what’s been happening with the Frankental case.” He held up his hand as Kubu started to apologise. “Of course, if you’re too busy, I can wait until the Daily News comes out tomorrow. I’ve had a chat with one of their reporters already. He seemed to think I might know something about what’s going on here. Perhaps because it is my department? These newspaper chaps have odd ideas, you know. Anyway, why don’t you just pop in when it’s convenient?” He headed back to his office. They heard the door slam.
“I think you have a problem,” Edison said, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a smile.
“How on earth are the papers on to this already?” Kubu wondered.
“Oh, that’s easy. Your Bushman translator—Mahongo—makes a bit on the side with tip-offs to the press. Used him myself once or twice when I wanted to get stuff to the public. Didn’t you know?”
Kubu’s heart sank. Mabaku had every right to tear a strip off him, which he did with enthusiasm even when he didn’t have a cause. He heaved himself out of his chair and headed for Mabaku’s office. Even though he closed the director’s door behind him, the secretary and Edison could hear all of Mabaku’s side of the conversation. It was rather embarrassing.
Detective Mogani was proud to be leading the relief team to the murder scene. Gaborone CID called the shots; Molepolole was out of the mainstream, so he didn’t get much opportunity to work on high-profile cases. Although he carefully followed the directions he had been given, he took a few wrong turnings. It was late morning by the time he reached the old farmhouse.
Zanele was delighted to see him. She and her team had finished their work, and she was keen to get back to headquarters and start analysing the evidence. After showing him around the house, she took him out to the shed and told him Kubu’s theory. Mogani also noted the oil on the right-hand side of the shed and the tyre tracks leading out to the road. He saw immediately that they couldn’t have been made by the yellow Land Rover. He had to agree with Kubu. He thanked Zanele and went to fetch his vehicle.
Mogani was not a tracker, but anyone who has grown up in the Kalahari has a feeling for it. He expected it would be easy to find where the vehicle had turned off the road. Even so, wind can do strange things to tracks, and he almost missed it. Not far from the house, he came to a dry riverbed with a rocky bottom where the road crossed it. He stopped and looked around carefully in case his quarry had driven up the river. But it seemed undisturbed. Just after the river the land rose. On the higher ground he spotted what looked like a track turning off the road. The dirt road verge had been repaired, so the track was difficult to spot.
He pulled over and followed the tyre marks on foot. They led back to the river and here there was a steep drop to its bed. From this vantage point he could see what looked like boulders at the side of the river, which had trapped a few logs in the last flood. But as soon as he took a second look, he realised he was looking at a smashed vehicle with dry logs propped against it. It was cleverly done. It would be almost impossible to spot from the air.
He clambered down into the riverbed. When he reached the vehicle, he saw it was scorched. It must have been doused with gasoline and then set alight. He looked inside, careful not to touch anything. The seats were burnt too. With relief, and a touch of disappointment, he decided that the vehicle had not been occupied when it was torched. He walked rapidly back to the track. He wanted to catch Zanele before she left for Gaborone.
Kubu was not his usual self for the rest of the day and complained about his head hurting again. He was not even cheered by the news that—as he had predicted—an old diesel Land Cruiser had been found in a riverbed near the BCMC house. It was out of sight from the road and had been burnt. The hope was to check that it was Aron’s vehicle by the engine number. The number plates had been removed.
With a sigh, Kubu picked up the phone and called the Grand Palm Hotel. He was pleasantly surprised that Dianna was in her room. The way things had been going, he had expected that she would be impossible to find.
“Ms Hofmeyr, this is Assistant Superintendent Bengu from the Botswana CID. I apologise for calling you at your hotel, but your uncle, Cecil Hofmeyr, suggested I might find you there.”
“How may I help you?” Dianna said, a touch of uncertainty in her voice. “Is there a problem?”
“Ms Hofmeyr, do you happen to know where Jason Ferraz is? I believe you know him quite well.”
Dianna hesitated, assessing how much the policeman could know of their friendship. “No, I don’t. He is somewhere in Europe, I believe. He was planning to take a vacation and attend some conference or other. Why do you ask?”
Kubu decided not to reveal too much. After all, she was Ferraz’s
lover, as far as he knew. “We have some information about an employee of his whom he reported missing. We need to verify some details.”
“Well, I can’t help you with Jason. What did you find out about Frankental? Has he turned up?” Dianna asked.
Kubu ignored her question. “Do you have any idea how we can contact Mr Ferraz? Do you know when he is expected back in the country?”
Again, a slight hesitation. “No, Superintendent. I don’t know exactly when he will be back. In about three weeks, I think. Have you tried his mobile phone? He said he was taking it with him.”
“Do you have that number, Ms Hofmeyr?”
Once more a hesitation. “I think I have it. Please hold for a minute.” Kubu waited patiently. “Yes, here is the number. Do you have a pen?”
Kubu wrote down the number, checking it against the one the mine had given him. It was the same. “Thank you, Ms Hofmeyr. Please let him know that we need to speak to him. I will leave a message on his phone if I can’t reach him. Please take my number.” Kubu gave both his office and mobile numbers. “It’s really important that I speak to him. Please let him know that, if he contacts you.”
“May I give him some more information than that?” Dianna asked. “What have you found out?”
“I think it would be better if I explained it directly to him. Thank you for your concern, Ms Hofmeyr. I appreciate your help.” He hesitated, and then said, “By the way, is your brother in town for the board meeting? I would like to contact him if possible. We were quite friendly when we were at school. Is he also staying at the Grand Palm?”
This time the delay was longer, like those on some overseas calls, as though the voice were travelling through the air. “Unfortunately he is not in town,” Dianna replied at last. “He contracted malaria on one of his jaunts and is laid low in South Africa. He’ll be back here in a few weeks, when he has recovered.”
Detective Kubu 01; A Carrion Death Page 22
