Detective Kubu 01; A Carrion Death

by Michael Stanley

  The assistant was speaking into the handset now. Had she been able to contact Angus? She smiled, said something he didn’t catch, and carefully replaced the handset. Then she gave the thumbs-up. She’s behaving as though we’re on a sound stage, Cecil thought with disgust. The whole issue of Angus being in hospital for this crucial meeting infuriated him. It destabilised the meeting. And he remained unaware as to what Angus wanted or what he would say. How could the young man have been careless enough to pick up malaria at this crucial time? He realised he was nervous, still shaken by the interview with Mabaku. Those issues had yet to be resolved. They hung over him like an unpleasant shadow.

  Cecil decided that they might as well begin. He cleared his throat officiously.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your attendance. I would especially like to welcome my niece, Dianna Hofmeyr, who is joining us this afternoon at my invitation. I also want to welcome my nephew, Angus Hofmeyr, who is unable to be here in person, as he is ill in South Africa, but who has joined us by teleconference from his hospital. This is the first occasion we have used this particular innovation. Angus, we are all extremely sorry to hear that you’ve contracted malaria and give thanks you are on the mend. While we would have been delighted to have you with us, we are glad that you are participating in this way and trust that it will be satisfactory for the board and for yourself.”

  There was polite applause. After several seconds’ pause, Angus’s voice came from the speaker. “Thank you, Uncle Cecil. I’m grateful to have this opportunity to address the board. As you all know, as of last Thursday, I speak for the Roland Hofmeyr Trust. And I have had quite a bit of time to think over the last few days. I’ve tried to put my ideas together in a short statement. I wanted to discuss it with you, Uncle Cecil, and Dianna first, but it simply hasn’t been possible. So I request the chairman’s permission to read my statement.”

  Cecil was taken aback. He had expected polite acknowledgements from Angus and Dianna followed by the smooth formality of the board’s normal meeting. He had not expected any substantive input from the twins other than their acceptance, with appropriate thanks, of their nominations to the board. Still, he could see no reason to delay whatever it was that Angus wished to say. At this point he was interrupted by his secretary, who had glided quietly into the room. She said something to him, and he nodded and waved her towards Dianna. “If no one has any objection?” he asked looking around the table. Of course, there was none.

  Dianna read the note the secretary had handed her. She turned to Cecil, “I’m sorry, Uncle, it’s an urgent call concerning my mother in London. She’s…not well. Excuse me. Please go on without me. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She stood up and left, followed by the ever-attentive secretary.

  Cecil was furious. How were the Hofmeyrs going to run one of Botswana’s most important companies if they couldn’t get through a board meeting without rushing off to deal with each other’s medical problems? He had little time for his brother’s trophy wife. He thought her a hypochondriac and a shallow snob. She would have fitted perfectly into the British Raj, where she would have found kindred spirits in the British upper class to isolate her from the country in which she lived. In Botswana there had been none of that, and she had not fitted in at all. Now she had to interrupt her daughter at a crucial moment to complain about one of her spells, no doubt. He ground his teeth. Then he realised that everyone was looking at him, waiting for his decision on Angus’s request.

  “I’m sorry. Dianna had to deal with an urgent issue and will rejoin us in a few minutes. Please go ahead, Angus.”

  Angus cleared his throat.

  “The Botswana Cattle and Mining Company has a long and distinguished history in this country, dating to my father’s development of it from a collection of small cattle-farming properties in the south and mining investments around Francistown. The company is now a major player in Botswana, with government shareholding, providing great benefit to all the shareholders and the Botswana people. The company has a proud history of achievement.” A pause, and then he continued. “The company started in the colonial Bechuanaland days, when exploration and development were synonymous with progress, and little regard was paid to the environment or to the indigenous peoples. The rules of the game have changed since then. It is no longer acceptable to make profits and accelerate national development without thought of the cost. The world demands sustainable development and long-term concern for the environment. It wishes to see the local people benefit, as well as the economy as a whole.” He paused again to a murmur of agreement around the table; this was motherhood and apple-pie stuff and needed due recognition but nothing more. Cecil fidgeted with his pen, wondering where this was leading.

  “I wish to raise in particular the issue of the Bushman people. This company has supported moves to force them off their ancestral lands, and they have become little more than research material for anthropologists and a curiosity for tourists. Their deep culture and knowledge, nurtured and tempered by the desert, is facing destruction. Fewer than a hundred thousand survive! Their protests are treated merely as a passing embarrassment by the government. The High Court has upheld their appeal against their forced removal from the Central Kalahari Game Reserve. One of them said, and I quote, “I don’t need any piece of paper to show that land was given to me by God. It belongs to my forefathers and all my children who were born there.” The issue has even been raised at the United Nations! This company is doing no better by them. My father was a great admirer of the Bushmen, and their help and advice enabled him to select the appropriate areas for his first farming ventures. Now that is all forgotten. I’m convinced that we must address their needs and legitimate grievances. This is not only morally right; it is essential for the continued acceptance of this company’s business in the Western economies and by the people of Botswana.”

  He seemed to finish, and there was silence. This went way beyond the acceptable platitudes, and Cecil wondered what on earth to make of this surprising intervention. Angus had never shown any interest in these types of issues before. Almost anything the chairman said would be problematic. Even lip service to this ideal could embarrass the representatives from the government, whereas to reject it would seem callous and dismissive.

  “We have always been concerned—” he began, but Angus ignored him and interrupted.

  “I fear that we will not be able to achieve this new approach with management so steeped in the previous philosophy of the company. I’m sure that we need new leadership, while at the same time appreciating and utilising the experience and expertise of the present management team. I look forward to your reactions and guidance on these crucial issues.”

  A stunned silence descended over the boardroom.

  Once they were outside the boardroom, the secretary led Dianna to a small office next to Cecil’s suite. “You can take the call here, if you like,” she said. “It’s quite private. The doctor said it was very urgent, so I asked him to hold and came to call you at once.” Dianna nodded her thanks and waited for the secretary to leave and close the door behind her. She took a deep breath, made herself relax, and picked up the handset. “Hello, darling. I’m here,” she said.

  Cecil realised that in his confusion and hesitation, he had lost the initiative. Several hands shot up around the table. He was relieved to see that one belonged to Roger Mpau, a respected investment manager believed to manage funds controlling almost five per cent of the company. He was a level-headed and independent person who would be able to say the proper, soothing things from the politically correct side of the racial spectrum. “The chair recognises Mr Mpau,” he said gratefully.

  “Mr Chairman, this is a very unusual state of affairs. We have had an unexpected and, may I say, radical proposal presented to us by someone who is not even a member of this board. In the normal course of events, we should politely note the proposal and move on with the items on our agenda. Or perhaps, if feeling generous, appoint a small subcommitte
e to prepare a report for urgent presentation in six months or a year.” This produced some smiles, and Cecil started to feel relief that the issue would soon be gracefully behind them. But the relief was to be short-lived.

  “However, this is by no means the normal way of things. I need to remind this board that Mr Angus Hofmeyr, as of a few days ago on his thirtieth birthday, controls the Roland Hofmeyr Trust, which in turn holds forty per cent of this company. He is, to put it plainly, the new controlling shareholder. But more important still, what he says makes a great deal of sense. I know that the Botswana government cares deeply about the Bushman people.” Here he nodded pointedly to the two government appointees, thereby coopting them as accomplices to his argument—unwilling accomplices, perhaps, but still trapped by the political imperatives of what he was saying. “Several funds that require good practice on the sustainable-development front will not invest in our shares. We need to move to reassure them and our other stakeholders that we have recognised these issues and moved on. We should ask Mr Angus Hofmeyr how he proposes we do that.”

  Without waiting for Cecil’s reaction, Angus broke in over the speakerphone. “Mr Mpau has summarised the situation very well. I think we need new leadership, but also the expertise and experience of our current management team. We also need a champion for sustainable development and the long-term environmental issues associated with our business.”

  “Exactly what I think,” said Mpau. “I propose we achieve this neatly without embarrassment to any party by separating the role of chairman and chief executive officer, as recommended by best corporate governance practice in any case. Specifically, I propose that Mr Cecil Hofmeyr become CEO of the company, and that Mr Angus Hofmeyr become the chairman. Under his new leadership we will be able to address these issues of concern properly.”

  Cecil was dumbfounded. This was crazy! How could anyone imagine that he would give up his dictatorship of BCMC to a thirty-year-old playboy with no experience? Anyway, Angus hadn’t even suggested that. Had Mpau gone mad? As before his delay cost him momentum, for Angus was speaking again.

  “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I really must decline. I know I’m regarded as a bit of a dilettante, and although I hope my intervention here today has indicated I am deeper than you may have believed, I have no illusions that I have the ability, background or commitment to chair this company, even with my uncle’s invaluable help. However, I believe I can suggest someone who has all three of these qualifications, as well as my unqualified support.”

  “I think we are running ahead of ourselves.” Cecil tried to regain control of the meeting. “We need to consider what—” But Angus’s voice cut across him, either on purpose or as a result of the imperfect teleconference communication.

  “I propose we offer the chairmanship to my sister,” he said, and went on for several minutes, summarising her impressive CV. As he finished speaking, Dianna came back into the room.

  Dianna sensed the change immediately. The mood was no longer one of quiet confidence, almost boredom. Now there was tension, uncertainty, even a hint of fear. She resumed her seat next to Cecil, offering an almost inaudible embarrassed apology. But she felt exhilarated. My God, she thought, it’s actually going to work. “Is Di back?” Angus asked.

  “I’m here, Angus. It was a call about Mother. She’s all right. She had a dizzy spell—her blood pressure wasn’t right—and she fell. But she’ll be fine now.”

  Angus ignored this. “Di, we’ve been discussing the leadership of this company. We feel it needs new direction and new blood, as well as the experience and support of our current management. We want you to be the new chairperson, with Cecil continuing as chief executive.”

  Dianna made herself look surprised. The timing has to be right, she thought. She counted silently to ten. Then she said, “Uncle Cecil, what do you think about this?” Cecil thought that perhaps he was being offered a way out.

  “Well, I could see a longer-term—” But Angus’s voice cut across his.

  “We are agreed on this, Sis.”

  Mpau nodded. “I believe the board supports it.”

  Dianna lowered her eyes. “In that case, thank you, Mr Mpau. I will be honoured to accept the chairmanship, assuming that my uncle is willing to support the new structure you propose, which will lead to what is really only a token change in his position.” And she looked directly and enquiringly at Cecil. A bland look, but her eyes were already triumphant.

  Now the board was looking to Cecil for his decision. If he wanted to fight, he knew he would win here easily. Most of the board would back him if, for example, he asked for a postponement to allow him to regroup and fight another day. But what would be the point? Angus would just call a special general meeting and vote him out. And if things got nasty, there were areas where he was dangerously exposed. He thought again of Mabaku. He kept them all waiting for several long moments, while he brought himself to accept that these two near-children had outmanoeuvred him with no apparent effort. Oh, but there was some! He wondered what Roger Mpau’s payoff was going to be.

  “I’m willing to resign as chairman effective immediately, and accept the new position of chief executive officer, if the board creates such a position,” he said at last.

  For a moment there was silence as the men and women around the table digested Cecil’s decision to give up without a fight. Then Dianna said formally, “Angus and I have always known that Uncle Cecil’s commitment to this company was absolutely paramount, ahead of his personal interests. He has just demonstrated that again.” She began to clap, and all the members of what had been Cecil’s board less than half an hour ago joined in one by one. For the first time Cecil felt fear. My God, he thought, do Angus and Dianna actually hate me? Can they possibly suspect the truth about their father’s death? But how? When the clapping stopped, it was replaced by a jeeringly rhythmic bleep from the telephone. Evidently they had lost the connection.

  Dianna collected her papers and rose. With all eyes on her, she walked around the table to her father’s chair. She sat down facing Cecil. He found it hard to meet her eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, his assistant lifted the receiver and replaced it. The noise stopped. No one suggested trying to reconnect to Angus.

  The formalities were soon concluded. The necessary motions were proposed and seconded, and the board coopted Dianna and Angus Hofmeyr as directors until the next annual general meeting. It then elected Dianna as chairman, and Cecil to the newly created position of CEO. Finally it appointed Roger Mpau to head a task group to look into sustainable development issues. Dianna then adjourned the meeting, pleading the need for time to inform herself on the company’s businesses and strategies. She asked Cecil and Roger to join her in the small committee room next door to prepare a press statement. The rest of the board members stood up and wandered out in near silence, all concerned about their own positions as much as the new direction of the company.

  Cecil left as soon as he could without appearing to be running away. He drove home with his mind in neutral. Only when he settled into his favourite armchair, with a large helping of his favourite twenty-year-old Lagavulin with just a few drops of water, did he start to analyse the events that had just occurred. He wondered what had been offered to Mpau; he wondered if he might still get the government to intervene; and he wondered about Dianna’s oh-so-convenient exit when Angus was ready to sing her praises and put her case. He particularly wondered about that. He thought that he had neglected his sister-in-law. He should phone her in the morning and find out if she was quite recovered.

  ∨ A Carrion Death ∧

  CHAPTER 44

  Peter Tiro did not fit the usual perception of a policeman, let alone a detective. He was introverted and very quiet, hardly ever volunteering an opinion. Few people got to know him well. But Tiro was amazingly adept at asking questions that encouraged people to open their hearts to him. He listened carefully and asked more questions. When a conversation was over, people felt there had been a very mean
ingful exchange. In reality, Tiro had learnt a lot more about the other person than the other way around.

  It was children who made the hidden Tiro emerge. His only child had been killed by a drunken teenager who lost control of his car and swerved off the road on to the dusty sidewalk. Tiro’s nine-year-old son was walking home from school when he was hit by the car. Perhaps the only blessing was that he died instantly. The loss of his son had intensified Tiro’s love of children, as did the fact that he and his wife were unable to have more.

  Detective Tiro had been assigned to scour the Mall for clues to the murder of the unidentified huge black man. Late in the afternoon, he had walked slowly up the Mall away from Parliament House towards the National Museum and talked to the many women street vendors packing their wares for the night. None had seen anything the night of the murder. As he neared Independence Avenue, a filthy street urchin had run up to him, begging for money or food. The child was dressed in a variety of tattered garments, some male, some female, and was covered in the ever-present Botswana dust. Even in the open, Tiro flinched at the bitter smell of weeks-old sweat. Despite his appalling lifestyle and living conditions, the boy’s smile melted Tiro’s heart.

  “Dumela,” Tiro said gently in Setswana. “Hello. My name is Peter. What’s yours?”

  The boy looked at him with uncertainty. He was not used to being spoken to politely. He was used to being shouted at, or kicked, or chased if he grabbed something from a street stall. But an adult saying hello and asking his name made him very suspicious. He looked around to see if this was a trap, but there was nobody else in sight. He decided to take a chance—perhaps this man would give him a few thebe.