Detective Kubu 01; A Carrion Death

by Michael Stanley

  “He wasn’t upset about anything? Gave you no reason to believe he might want to leave the next morning?”

  This time there was a long hesitation, but when the answer came, it was unequivocal. “Absolutely not.”

  “Look, Ms Hofmeyr, we don’t usually consider someone missing until a couple of days have passed. I bet he went for a walk, and it went on longer than he thought and he forgot his phone. I bet he’ll be back for lunch. But I can tell you are worried. What I’ll do is phone the hotel, ask around. Check the hospital. By the way, is he a good swimmer?”

  “Very good. Competition good. Scuba-dives, too.”

  Bakkies nodded, relieved. The day was calm, the sea in the bay would be friendly, and the beach populated even quite early. “Call me when he gets back,” he said. “I’ll get to those inquiries just in case. Good day, Ms Hofmeyr.” He hung up before she could object.

  Dianna phoned back two hours later. There was still no sign of her brother. She sounded more worried, but also more angry. And Bakkies had turned up nothing from the standard enquiries. He sighed and picked up the note of her address. “I’m coming out there to see you, Ms Hofmeyr. I’m on my way,” he said.

  The house unfolded down the dune as though it had started life as liquid and been poured. The top floor was open-plan, bounded to the south-east by curved glass affording a panoramic view of the ocean. Part of the area was for dining, adjacent to a modern kitchen. The sitting area was flanked by a well-stocked bar. Dianna Hofmeyr offered Bakkies a seat and introduced him to an elderly but wiry lady of mixed descent. “Zelda is our maid,” she explained. “She’s been with us for years. She comes in the mornings when we are here. I asked her to wait for you.”

  Bakkies turned his attention to Zelda. “Did you see Mr Hofmeyr this morning?” Zelda shook her head, but it was Dianna who replied. “I woke about seven and went to work out. There’s a gym on the bottom level. I’d heard nothing from Angus and thought he’d decided to sleep in. Zelda made some coffee at nine, and I suggested she take Angus a cup. She said there was no response when she knocked on his door. So I went to wake him, but he wasn’t there. That’s when I remembered that he’d said something about an early-morning swim if the weather was good. So I didn’t worry, then.” She arranged herself on the couch. “I’m seriously worried now, Inspector. Just what are you doing about finding him?”

  “I’ve checked hospitals, the morgue, accident reports. Nothing. I also asked the Beacon Island Hotel to keep a lookout. Can I see his room?”

  Dianna took him down a flight to a bedroom with a more restricted but still stunning view. Obviously the room had been cleaned. The bed was made, a pair of black silk sleep shorts folded on the pillow. Dianna noticed his attention and said, “He doesn’t need to wear much in bed. He doesn’t sleep alone very often.” Bakkies didn’t comment, but opened the cupboard. Sports clothes. Toiletries in the bathroom. If Angus Hofmeyr had left, he hadn’t packed.

  “Do you have a recent picture of your brother?”

  Dianna nodded. “Let’s go back upstairs.” There she gave him a head-and-shoulders photograph. It showed a face that was solid rather than handsome, but set off by eyes of an intense blue, almost indigo. The shoulders were wide—rower’s shoulders. Bakkies could appreciate why Angus seldom slept alone unless he wanted to.

  “Ms Hofmeyr, was anything disturbing your brother? Any recent problems? Anything that might have made him take off without a word?”

  Dianna seemed to want to dismiss this with the ironic superiority that had characterised the conversation. But she hesitated. At last she said, “Zelda, if the inspector has no more questions for you, perhaps you’d wait outside.”

  Zelda got up. “I’ve missed my lift,” she said accusingly.

  “The inspector will take you into the village.”

  Zelda nodded and left, closing the front door behind her. Dianna waited a moment. Then she said, “My brother came here from a clinic, Inspector. He hasn’t been completely well recently.”

  “What was the nature of his illness?”

  “Does that matter?”

  “Perhaps. If he had heart problems, perhaps he had an attack while swimming.”

  “It was nothing like that. He needed to detox. It was like a health hydro.”

  Bakkies digested that. Then he got to his feet. “Your brother has been away since seven a.m.—pretty well eight hours. I’m going to get some constables to look around here in the undergrowth, ask the neighbours if they noticed anything unusual. We’ll keep watching for any accident or assault reports. We’ll do everything we can.” He took his leave. Dianna was polite but sceptical.

  Driving Zelda into town, as much to make conversation as for information, he asked her in Afrikaans when she had last seen Angus Hofmeyr.

  “Not on this visit,” she replied, shaking her head.

  “How come?”

  “He kept to his room yesterday. Didn’t want to be disturbed.”

  Bakkies thought that odd. “Was the bed slept in last night?”

  “Oh yes. And the clothes on the floor, and a dirty cup. Mr Angus all right.”

  “And yesterday?”

  The maid shrugged. “I heard him talking to Miss Dianna in the morning. They seemed to be arguing. They usually do.”

  Bakkies nodded. “Brothers and sisters are like that sometimes,” he said, thinking of his own ambivalent relationship with his social-climbing sister.

  “Do you think he’s okay? He’s a good boy, whatever they say.”

  “Oh yes,” said Inspector Swanepoel. “Probably met something young, attractive and willing on the beach and went to her pad. I think he’ll turn up.”

  But he did not. The next day passed with no reports, and the neighbours had seen nothing untoward. Bakkies distributed copies of the picture and released the story to the press. The police asked people on the beach. No one had seen Hofmeyr, but one swimmer claimed to have seen a large shark close to shore, and had rapidly left the sea to work on his tan. They tried dogs, but although they happily followed the scent to the beach, there they lost focus. Perhaps all the disturbance of people walking barefoot. Perhaps Hofmeyr had gone straight into the sea. Against his will, Bakkies began to believe that Angus Hofmeyr had not come out of it again.

  ∨ A Carrion Death ∧

  CHAPTER 54

  Strings of expensive homes and holiday villas straddle the first dunes along the sea of Plettenberg Bay. Behind are condominiums housing the somewhat less wealthy. One of these belonged to a middle-aged divorcee, Pat Marks. She shared it with Marcel.

  Pat made a habit of an early jog along the beach with Marcel, followed by a swim. After the exercise she felt refreshed and ready to face the day. Marcel loved to jog. He was a standard poodle, black and boisterous with a Latin temperament to match his name and breeding. Pat had no time for toy dogs. Marcel provided protection as well as company and entertainment.

  As she jogged along Robberg Beach past the Hofmeyr house, Pat felt a twinge of guilt generated by her previous twinges of envy. The house gazed down from its lofty setting on the dune, its curving patios on three levels seeking the ultimate view rather than architectural elegance. She had only met Dianna Hofmeyr once, and had found her pleasant enough. Pat could imagine her pain now, two days after the disappearance of her brother. The agony of speculation without certainty.

  After another kilometre, Pat was tiring. Usually she would catch her breath and have a swim. Marcel would patiently wait, having discovered long ago that he did not like the sea, and that his mistress did not welcome being saved from it. But this morning she just slowed to a walk. The sea wasn’t inviting.

  Marcel caught up and passed her. With more enthusiasm than grace, he dived into a roll on the beach. He got up full of sand, shook himself, and sat on his haunches. His pink tongue quivered as he panted. His pom-pom tail wagged when Pat laughed at him. Then he was up again in her footsteps. Suddenly he was off, haring across the beach. Pat laughed again. She knew wha
t he was about. His great joy was chasing seagulls, and she could see three black-backed gulls some way off. Today, as usual, the gulls took flight, but Marcel seemed to have lost interest in them. He was sniffing a piece of grey driftwood where they had been. Checking the male competition, Pat assumed. But then he lifted it in his mouth. Pat was getting closer now, and it didn’t look like driftwood any more. Even before she was close enough to tell with certainty, she realised what it was.

  “Marcel! Leave! Come here!” The dog was not particularly well trained, but reacted to the tone of voice. He dropped it, but instead of coming to her, he sat waiting. Now Pat could see clearly what had been in his mouth. It was part of a human forearm with the hand still attached, greyed and swollen by the sea. The gulls must have been pecking it, and perhaps fish had already nibbled it. But some of the wounds looked deeper. Perhaps other dogs. Suddenly overcome by nausea, she ran to the bushes at the edge of the beach and threw up. Feeling better, she rinsed her mouth in the sea, biting the salt. After a few deep breaths, she rummaged in the pouch on her belt for her mobile phone.

  Pat wrapped her towel around her shoulders against her sudden chill. She sat with her back against a dune and waited for the police. Marcel barked when they came to take away his prize.

  Bakkies hoisted himself out of his chair to greet the Hofmeyrs.

  “Ms Hofmeyr. Thank you for being here. I know this must be very unpleasant for you.”

  Dianna nodded. “Inspector Swanepoel, this is my mother, Pamela Hofmeyr. She flew in from London last night. I asked her to come with me.”

  “Of course. That is most helpful. Are you all right, Mrs Hofmeyr? This must be a terrible shock for you.” Pamela Hofmeyr looked in her late fifties, but she was tall and still beautiful. In her youth she must have been breathtaking. She had a dancer’s figure and the features of classic sculpture. She took the policeman’s hand briefly, but ignored his concern as beneath her.

  “Will you show us the…” Dianna hesitated. “Angus’s hand?”

  “No, I don’t think that will be necessary. There were two rings on the fingers of the hand. I would like you both to look at them. Your brother didn’t have any special marks on his left forearm, did he?” Both women shook their heads. “No tattoos or anything like that?” Dianna shook her head again, but Pamela Hofmeyr spoke for the first time. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. Her voice was melodious, but the tone was derisory. Swanepoel just nodded.

  He opened the top drawer of his desk and took out the rings. Both were of twelve-carat gold. One was masculine, big and chunky, and had the initials ‘RAH’ engraved on it. The other was more elegant with a wavy frosted pattern.

  Pamela spoke first. “That’s my husband’s ring. ‘RAH’ were his initials. It’s still a bit dulled from the fire after the plane crash. But Angus wanted it.”

  Then Dianna said, “I gave him the other one for his twenty-first birthday. He used to wear it on the ring finger of his left hand. He joked that it sometimes attracted girls if they thought he was married.”

  “We’ll have to keep them for a while until this is all sorted out. Then, of course, we’ll return them to you,” Bakkies said. After a moment’s hesitation he added, “Would you be willing to let us take a saliva sample from each of you? I think it’s hardly necessary now, but a DNA test could establish the relationship, you see. Of course, we may find more of the body, but so far it’s just the arm.” He let the sentence fade away. Both agreed to the test, and Swanepoel made a phone call. While they waited, he asked, “Did your brother wear a watch on his left hand, Ms Hofmeyr?”

  Dianna seemed nonplussed by the question, and it was her mother who answered. “One of those big chunky diving things. He always wore it. Did you find anything like that?”

  Bakkies shook his head. “Did you see it in his room?” he asked Dianna. She shook her head and seemed about to say something, but the arrival of the nurse interrupted her. It took only a minute to collect the samples.

  After Bakkies had finished taking some more particulars, they got up to leave. Pamela, surprisingly, took Bakkies’ hand. “My son is, was, a very strong swimmer, Inspector. He excelled at all sports, but he was a first-rate swimmer. He loved the sea—even the grey English sea. I don’t believe he got out of his depth and drowned.”

  “Well, we think that he was attacked by a great white shark, Mrs Hofmeyr. No human can escape one of those if it comes for you. We have several attacks every year along this coast. It’s just very bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Do you believe that, Inspector?” Her voice was still melodious and calm. She might have been discussing the dinner settings with the butler.

  “I think it’s the most likely explanation, madam,” he replied.

  “Well, good day to you, Inspector.”

  Outside the building, Pamela’s control slipped, and she bit hard on tears. But all she said was, “Angus always wore his father’s ring on his right hand.” Then she turned away and took the passenger seat of Dianna’s rental car.

  Dr Sizwe Nomvete was writing his report when Swanepoel came in. “How’s it going, Bakkies? Did she identify the rings?”

  “Ja. I don’t think there’s any doubt about it. She brought her mother along too. The initials that puzzled us were her husband’s. It’s the second time it’s been taken off a violently dead body, it seems. But I asked them to give us saliva samples just to be sure. We’ll get the DNA tests done in due course.”

  Sizwe scrabbled among the papers on his desk and selected a photograph of the disembodied arm. It didn’t look real. He tossed the photo over and switched to Afrikaans to make Bakkies more comfortable. “Where’s the rest of the body, Bakkies?” he asked.

  Bakkies snorted. “The guess is that it’s inside a satisfied great white.”

  “If it was a great white, it doesn’t make sense to me that the lower part of an arm survived the attack. It’s a tasty morsel. It would’ve been eaten. There’s a far greater chance that parts of the torso would be left.”

  “Maybe the shark was eating the torso and couldn’t be bothered by such a small piece. Maybe the torso sank.”

  Sizwe shrugged. “It’s possible.” He paused, and after a moment repeated, “It’s possible.”

  “But you don’t believe it?”

  Sizwe shook his head. “I’m just the pathologist. You’re the damn detective! Get out there and find some more pieces, and I’ll put the puzzle together for you.”

  But the days passed, and no more pieces appeared. Bakkies felt uncomfortable with that too. Few sharks consumed an entire body. But the magistrate would be satisfied with what they presented at the inquest. He would have to be.

  ∨ A Carrion Death ∧

  CHAPTER 55

  Luiz took a week to get the mobile phone number. He had friends from the old days, friends who owed him favours. But this time it took all his contacts to get the information. After this he expected Red Beard to owe him a favour, a big favour.

  Luiz respected Kubu and had received favours from him too. The big detective had got him off a drug conviction, albeit to help convict a drug dealer. But there was quid pro quo. Luiz was frightened of Kubu, but he was much more scared of Red Beard. The bartender had seen him talking to Kubu and had talked to Kubu himself. He would know they had been talking about the Angolan gangster. And the bartender was Portuguese too. Somehow, sometime, that information would get to Red Beard. But Luiz was going to pre-empt that.

  He dialled the number and recognised Red Beards gruff “Sin?” Luiz rapidly explained who he was and what he had learnt from Kubu, overstating how close the police were on the trail. He very much wanted Red Beard as far away as possible as quickly as possible. Red Beard listened intently; he had played the Botswana police for fools, but it looked as though the jest might be on him. Once he was sure Luiz had told him as much as he knew, he told him to keep his eyes and ears open. He’d see Luiz right.

  Red Beard headed down to the hotel bar fo
r a beer to help him think. This was a tight spot. He couldn’t afford to be a suspect. Of course, the police might be after someone else, but he wasn’t going to wait to find out. It was time to cover tracks and disappear.

  He worried about the loose ends. Just two people could link him to the murders. Jason Ferraz was one. He was in it as deep as quicksand and would soon be meeting some of Red Beard’s business acquaintances in Lisbon. That loose end was nearly tied off. But the mysterious Daniel was another kettle of fish. It seemed that nothing happened without him knowing. How did he know? Where did he get his information? Surely not from Jason, whom Daniel had casually thrown to the wolves? How could he persuade Daniel to reveal himself? He ground his teeth through the warming beer.

  He ran over his conversations with the Friend in his head. A snatch came to him. Hofmeyr’s the key to all this. We mustn’t touch. He smiled. Here was bait. He swallowed the beer.

  Why was Daniel so concerned about the Hofmeyrs? Was there a relationship, perhaps? And who had gained from all these moves? Certainly not Jason. Only two people. Dianna Hofmeyr and Cecil Hofmeyr! Hofmeyr’s the key to all this. But which one? The more he thought it through, the more convinced he became of the answer.

  ∨ A Carrion Death ∧

  CHAPTER 56

  On some Sundays, Kubu and Joy joined his parents at their local church, still presided over by Father Theophilus Thekiso—who had been Kubu’s benefactor. Often, after the service, they drove to Gaborone for lunch, where Pleasant joined them. The women gathered in the kitchen and made a wonderful meal that reflected their different personalities. Everyone enjoyed a mug of steelworks—now a family favourite after its introduction by Kubu. Kubu would have liked a glass or two of red wine as well, but his father would be scandalised by such a thing on the Sabbath, and Kubu wanted nothing to disturb the family harmony.