“What was in that one?” Zanele asked.
“It could be a gold mine!” Edison’s eyes lit up. “A large box with thirty-one videotapes in it—all from Kobedi’s little studio! I wasn’t able to look at them because the director took them and said he would review them. Scared of who could be on them, I guess.”
“That has the potential for being a huge scandal, if the tapes are of what we think. Government officials caught with their pants down—literally!” Zanele said with a giggle. “No wonder the director doesn’t want anyone to see them. Kubu, do you think he will tell us who was on them?”
“Mabaku needs these murders solved. He’ll let us know whatever’s necessary. But he’s also well aware of the chaos it would cause, if all the details came out. We can trust him. I’m not so sure about his superiors, though.”
All three were silent. All imagining who could be on the tapes, and picturing the outcry if they became public.
Kubu brought the discussion back to the Kamissa body. “I spoke to the German embassy about Frankental, as well as to the German police. The police know nothing of him, and he has no record of any sort. Not even speeding fines. The embassy contacted his parents. They’re arriving in Gabs today. The embassy asked them to bring any of his medical records they could obtain. I’ll go and see them after lunch. Obviously they are very upset and, apparently, don’t think that the Botswana police can be any good. But I’m hoping they may be able to help us decide whether or not the corpse is their son.”
Kubu changed tack again. “Do the guys from the CID Diamond Branch have anything to say about the mine? They were there on Wednesday.”
“Not yet,” Edison answered. “I spoke to Afrika Modise this morning before I got here. He said the report would be finished in a few days. I asked him for a quick summary, but he said it was premature to say anything.”
At that moment the door swung open, and Mabaku walked in.
“I hope you’re making progress!” he said. “I am beginning to get flak from the commissioner. He says some higher-ups want to know what’s going on.”
“The same higher-ups who enjoyed Kobedi’s comforts, I bet!” Kubu said with a hint of anger in his voice. “They’re worried about what may come out. What else has the commissioner said, Mr Director? Does he want the Kobedi case closed?”
Mabaku’s face hardened, and he stared at Kubu, eyes angry. After a few seconds, he sat down. “Kubu, don’t push me! I should have you disciplined for your insinuations about the commissioner.” He paused. “But I have some sympathy with your sentiments. I’m tired of being pressured. It’s time everyone lived by the same rules as we do. I think the commissioner feels that way too.”
Kubu, Edison and Zanele looked at Mabaku in astonishment.
Mabaku stood up and said, “You never heard me say that! Okay? All I can say is that the big black man we think murdered Kobedi was not on any of the tapes I’ve watched. Now, where are we with all these bodies?”
It took Kubu fifteen minutes to lay out what they knew. Mabaku paced up and down, occasionally stopping to stare out of the window. He didn’t say a word. At the end, he turned towards Kubu and said, “Kubu, we need to make progress. I know you’re doing what you can, but we need more, and soon.” With that he turned and walked out.
Almost immediately there was a knock on the door, and Detective Tiro walked in with a big smile. “Portuguese! They were speaking Portuguese! We played a number of tapes to the kid, and he lit up when the Portuguese tape came on. He mimicked it well, with lots of ‘sh’ sounds at the end of words. I think we can deduce the big guy was from Angola, and that he was shot by someone else from Angola.”
Kubu closed his eyes and let his mind tumble this new information. BCMC and Angola and diamonds and some small coins from a petrol station. They seemed to mesh. He was starting to see a pattern at last.
∨ A Carrion Death ∧
CHAPTER 46
Kubu was tired when he returned to his office after his meeting with the Frankentals. The meeting had been difficult. Not only was there the language barrier, but also an unspoken accusation that the police could be, and should be, doing more to resolve the issue. On the positive side, the Frankentals were sure that their son had never broken either of his arms, and fairly recent medical records they had brought with them corroborated that. Given that information, Kubu felt confident enough to give them the good news that the Kamissa body was not Aron, but cautioned them that he did not think their son would be found alive.
He collapsed at his desk with patterns and people in his mind. He was trying to force them into focus, but they remained hazy, peripheral. He needed to change the perspective, add another dimension. Angus used to say that about cricket. When the bowlers were making frustratingly little progress, you had to change the perspective, reshuffle the deck and pull a new card. That reminded him that Dianna had given him Angus’s South African mobile phone number. He decided to give him a call. Perhaps he would draw an ace.
Kubu dialled the number, but it rang for so long that he thought it wouldn’t be answered. But then he heard a click as the connection was made.
“Hello. This is Angus Hofmeyr.”
Despite the indifferent quality of the mobile phone, Kubu recognised the voice of his old friend. “Angus,” he said. “It’s Kubu. How are you?”
“Kubu! Wonderful to hear from you.”
“Angus! Are you okay? I gather you’ve been quite ill.”
“Well, first they said it was malaria, then tick-bite fever, then they became more honest and said they didn’t know. I’ve been stuck here for over a week. Thank God for the test match on television. I would have died of boredom without it. Did you manage to watch any of it? Great that the South Africans beat the Aussies, wasn’t it!”
Kubu admitted that he had had little time for cricket recently but had seen some highlights over the weekend.
“Good God, man. No time for the cricket? What’s happened to you, Kubu? You need taking in hand.” He sounded scandalised.
Kubu laughed. “Actually, I’ve been battling with a case. Or maybe it’s two cases, or even three. I phoned to find out how you are, but now I realise that you are just malingering so you can watch the cricket in peace! Didn’t want to be interrupted by silly board meetings and changes of control of Botswana’s largest public company, and so on.”
“Well actually, the board meeting was a problem. Uncle Cecil was absolutely furious that I wasn’t there. But he’s probably even crosser now!” He laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh.
“I understand that Dianna’s taking over as chairman. I have to admit I’m surprised. I thought you were pretty set on taking the helm yourself.”
“I’ve got lots of other things to do with my life. Important things. So many beautiful women. So little time! Di’s the one who wants it, you know, and she’s got the qualifications. Worked for it like a dog. London School of Economics and all that. And she’s really smart.” There was a pause. “She really deserves it, actually. And she was my father’s favourite too. He would have been really happy to see her take over. Really happy.”
Kubu didn’t know what to say. The thought of the misogynistic Roland Hofmeyr wanting a woman—even his own daughter—to run his company was just too peculiar. Angus had always been the apple of his father’s eye—sometimes embarrassingly so. It certainly seemed that Angus had changed. Well, Kubu thought, it’s been many years. Perhaps even Angus has grown up.
“I’m sure you’re right,” he said blandly. “Where are you, by the way? What do you intend to do when they let you out of there?”
“I’m at a private clinic in the Cape. After this I’ll go up to Plettenberg Bay and spend some time there at our beach house. Relax. Get my strength back. Swim. Work on my tan. After that, I’ve got lots of time to decide. All the time in the world.” He laughed again, but Kubu wasn’t sure why.
“I guess you have.”
“Well, Kubu, it’s really great to hear from you. We must g
et together as soon as I’m back in Gaborone. Go watch some cricket. Now, was this a social call, or can I help you with your multiple cases?”
It was Kubu’s turn to laugh. “You see through me, don’t you, Angus? As a matter of fact, I do want to ask you a couple of questions. It seems this case is somehow connected with BCMC, but I’ve no idea how or why. We’ve got enough bodies to stage the final scene of Hamlet.”
“Bodies? It’s a murder case?”
“Yes, it certainly is.” Using broad brushstrokes, Kubu filled his friend in on the developments since Bongani and Andries had found a corpse in the desert. Angus seemed very interested and asked for the details. He particularly wanted to know where Kamissa was located. Kubu finished by describing Zanele’s doubts about Aron Frankental being the Kamissa corpse, and how that had been corroborated by Aron’s parents. “We don’t know where Frankental is, and we’ve no idea who was found at Kamissa. Nobody who would fit the bill has been reported missing. Do you have any idea where Jason might be? Or Frankental, for that matter?”
There was a long pause. I’m wasting my time again, Kubu thought.
“I know Jason. I spent time with him at the mine. He took me hunting. Decent sort of chap.” Angus hesitated. “I also met Aron. Quiet chap. Keeps to himself. Probably lonely. Out of it, you know? Being German and all that. I’m not surprised he developed some weird ideas alone in the desert.”
“You think the idea of theft at the mine was weird?”
“Well, certainly Jason stealing the diamonds is weird. Did you know he is a twenty-five per cent shareholder? Stealing from himself would be crazy, not so? I went through the whole operation with a fine-toothed comb. Clean bill of health. I wasn’t so sure about Jason’s expansion plans, but I don’t pretend to be a geologist. I looked into it all pretty carefully.”
Very carefully, Kubu thought, for someone who wants to carry on life as a playboy.
“So you’ve no idea where either of them might be?”
“Not a clue.”
Kubu hesitated, wondering if he was about to presume on their friendship. “Was your sister involved with Jason?”
The laugh again. “Certainly! She seemed to like him well enough. Light relief for her, not so? She’s gorgeous. She can have any man she wants. Perhaps she’d know where he is?”
“She said he was on a trip. That’s all she knew. And the letter? Did Cecil ever talk to you about it?”
“Not a word.”
Kubu felt a return of the morning’s frustration. Another blank. He kept drawing twos and threes. When was he going to turn over an ace?
“Well, I’d better get back to work before they notice that I’m using the phone to chat long-distance to my old school friends. Oh, by the way, speaking of school, you know who I met a few weeks ago? Lesley Davis—our old English teacher. Retired now, of course.”
“Yes, I remember him well. He was quite a character. Well, good luck with your case, Kubu.”
“Yes. Thanks,” Kubu said blandly. “Well, keep in touch, Angus.”
“Certainly will. Goodbye, Kubu.”
“Goodbye.”
Kubu looked at the telephone handset as though he’d never seen one before. Then he carefully replaced it on its cradle. He hadn’t turned up an ace, but it seemed he had uncovered a joker. For Lesley Davis, who had taught them both English literature, was a woman.
∨ A Carrion Death ∧
CHAPTER 47
Dianna wandered through her suite at the Grand Palm. In one direction, she had lovely views of Kgale Hill. In another she could see sprawling, dusty Gaborone teeming with traffic. The room was quiet—the double-glazed windows muffled the city sounds. It was as though she was isolated from the real world outside, protected in a silent cocoon. She sat down at the desk in the study alcove, rested her head on her hands, and talked to herself for several minutes. At last she unlocked the top drawer. She took out a mobile phone—not the one she usually carried with her—and punched in a number from memory. After a few rings, Jason answered.
“Jason,” she said calmly, “I had a call from your police friend—Superintendent Bengu. He’s very eager to see you. Told me to get you to contact him at once. I think it’s time you told me the truth. The truth about what happened at Maboane.”
Jason hesitated. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what happened to Aron Frankental.”
“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Jason said blandly. “He’s missing—has been for a week or so. I reported that to the police. They know about it, but haven’t found him.”
“You know about the letter he wrote to my uncle claiming you were stealing diamonds. I think you got rid of him.”
“For God’s sake, Dianna!” Jason shouted. “Why would I do that? I’m not stealing from myself. And I’d be the obvious suspect if something happened to Aron. Calm down, will you.”
“And what about the body the police found? What do you know about that?” Dianna was fighting to keep her voice under control.
“Darling, what’s got into you? Of course I know nothing about a body. I read about it in the newspaper. It’s most probably some dumb tourist. Calm down.”
“Listen to me, Jason,” she said with venom. “If I find you’re lying, you’ll regret it for as long as you live. Don’t you dare cross me!”
Now Jason fought to keep his voice under control. “Look, this doesn’t change the way I feel about you, you know? We’ve got big plans. Together. I hope you still feel the same way.”
She wanted to scream that she never wanted to see him again. But instead she said quietly, “I’ll see you soon, darling.” Then she broke the connection and sat for a long time with her head in her hands, mumbling to herself.
∨ A Carrion Death ∧
CHAPTER 48
The mobile phone played its silly tune, and Red Beard picked it up. He recognised the supercilious English voice at once.
“How’s your prisoner? I’m worried about him”
“Ah! Mr Daniel, my friend! I wonder when I hear from you again. He fine. Everything fine.”
“I am not sure I believe you. I am told a body has been found.”
“Bullshit. Prisoner fine.” Red Beard wondered how Daniel had found out. He would have to be very careful of this man. He always knew too much. “Prisoner fine. But maybe he has accident pretty soon.”
“I want to talk to him! Now! I want to be sure!”
Red Beard squirmed. He could feel a quarter of a million dollars slipping away. “I no take orders from you, Mr Friend! No way you talk to anyone here. Only me!”
“I’ll phone you back in five minutes. You had better have him there. I know everything about you. The police will be very interested, not so? Five minutes, no more.”
Exactly five minutes passed, and the phone rang again. Red Beard punched the accept button hard. “He not here,” he said at once. “I move him somewhere safe. Somewhere even you don’t know about, Mr Friend.”
“Do you think you are playing with children, you idiot? I know about every move you make.” There was a pause. “You have nothing to say? I thought you could be trusted if there was money on the line. Wrong again. You’re going to be very sorry you underestimated me!”
“Okay! Okay! We have problem.”
“We have a problem?” Daniel shouted. “ You have a problem! Not me. Not we. You! What happened?”
“He tried escape. Hit head. Die. Accident.” He held the phone away from his ear, expecting the worst. There was silence. Red Beard waited. Silence. Then he asked, “You there? You okay?”
The voice at the other end had lost its heat and was now icy. “When did this happen—exactly?”
“February twenty-fourth.”
“Yes, well, hardly the arrangement we made. Not at all a convincing accident. And very bad timing. Total shambles actually. I expect to get all my money back.”
“You think this a shoe shop?” Red Beard growled. “No refunds! But I keep my word. You get you
r accident. Just like you wanted.”
“Well, it’s a bit late for that now, not so? The police have found the body, and they know when he died. Not really easy to stage a convincing accident post-mortem, is it? Cart before the horse, you might say.”
Red Beard didn’t understand these allusions so he ignored them. He shook his head and said, “Took body far away from here. No connection. No identity. No worry. Lots of things you don’t know. And I have a plan, Mr Friend. Uma planta simples. What you say—an easy plan, no? I tell you.”
And he did. At first Daniel was unconvinced, finding objections and gaps. But Red Beard had thought hard about his simple plan; after a while they were both raising objections and both finding the answers. They argued it back and forth for half an hour, like jackals worrying a wounded springbok lamb.
At last neither spoke for some seconds. Then Daniel said, “Will Hofmeyr and Ferraz go along with this?”
“They in too deep. They do what they told.”
“There are loose ends,” Daniel said. “Hofmeyr’s the key to all this. We mustn’t touch. But Ferraz is a loose end. You understand?”
“I have friends in Lisboa. But expensive.”
“Oh, no. You screwed this up. You sort it out at your own expense. I’ll be in touch to let you know where Ferraz is staying.” With a click the line went dead.
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