It was nearly noon before he reached Gaborone and found a minibus to the right part of town. The other passengers objected when he asked to be dropped off at a specific address rather than somewhere nearby, as was the custom. However, an extra ten pula to the driver settled the matter.
A shabbily dressed man answered the door. He was clearly pleased to have a white potential buyer for his bakkie and would increase the price accordingly. Red Beard disliked him immediately. Without any pleasantries they went to look at the ageing white Toyota four-by-four. Many dents and scratches testified to a hard life. The upholstery was faded and torn in places, and chicken feathers covered the passenger seat. Still, the engine looked well maintained.
“Need new tyres,” said Red Beard giving one a vicious kick. The owner shrugged. “I take for drive.” The man nodded and settled himself among the chicken feathers without complaint. Red Beard drove the bakkie around the block a few times and tried the low range. The engine and transmission seemed sound. He was satisfied.
When they got back, the seller invited Red Beard into his house and seated him at the kitchen table. Red Beard waved aside the offer of tea.
“How much do you want?” he asked. The man named a figure, higher even than the one listed in the newspaper. Red Beard snorted and named a much lower figure. “Cash, right now,” he added. “You sign papers, I take truck. I do transfer and roadworthy.”
The man bit his lower lip and thought. Cash was nice. And right now was even nicer. But he wanted to hold out for a better price. He shook his head. Red Beard opened his briefcase, pulled out the newspaper and the envelope, and showed the seller the money. “I need to buy truck today. Start building job tomorrow. You take cash or I go to next place.”
The seller folded. Red Beard asked for the vehicle’s papers and examined them carefully. In his experience there were a disgusting number of dishonest people about. But everything seemed to be in order. For his part, the seller surreptitiously examined the banknotes. He didn’t mind if they were stolen—which he thought likely—as long as they were neither stained with dye nor forgeries. At last, both parties satisfied, Red Beard took the keys and left. Soon he was heading back to Lobatse in his new purchase.
Back at the hotel, his mobile phone rang. He recognised the stilted English voice.
“Good you call. Owe me lot of money. Good you don’t make me come after it.”
“The whole thing was a complete bloody disaster!” Daniel shouted. “The police know that the man you dumped in the desert was Angus Hofmeyr. They nearly arrested his sister this afternoon. Once they start checking on the people who were supposed to have seen him, they’ll realise what happened. After that, they’ll get the sister, and after that they’ll get you. If I were you, I would be more worried about my skin than the money I didn’t earn.”
“Funny. Not worried,” Red Beard growled. “Like to finish things properly. No loose ends. Money is a loose end.”
“Forget the money. We have to get the Hofmeyr girl out of the country. She’s scared half to death, I shouldn’t wonder. And she has plenty of money. I think she’ll be very grateful.”
Red Beard was pleased to hear the panic in Daniel’s voice. “You owe me money. I want all of it.”
“Where do you think the money comes from, anyway? I told you before that she is the kingpin, didn’t I? We need to get her out of the country. She’ll pay up. Perhaps a nice bonus if this goes as planned, for once.”
Red Beard was enjoying himself. He much preferred the role of cat to that of mouse. “Don’t know. Very difficult. Does she still have passport?”
“No.”
“Very expensive for new one. And credit lousy, not so?”
“I’ll have her bring money with her. I don’t know how long it’ll be before the police arrest her. After that, it’s over for all of us.”
“Tell her be ready tonight. I phone her at hotel with details where to meet. Somewhere out of the way. Midnight. Hundred thousand dollar in cash.”
“Where the hell am I going to get that? It’s already four in the afternoon!”
“You don’t get it. She gets it. Just tell her. More important for her than us, hey, Mr Daniel? She in Gaborone with no passport. She stay here, she has rope around her neck and nothing under her feet. She get the money. Oh yes, she get it!”
Red Beard broke the connection. He started to laugh. Deep in the chest at first, it developed into a sound reminiscent of hyenas.
∨ A Carrion Death ∧
CHAPTER 66
If leaving for Lobatse Mabaku had breezed out of the office like a zephyr, he returned to the CID like an electric storm. He did not even summon Kubu, but thundered into the detective’s office.
“Bengu! What the hell has been going on here since I left? I’m away for a couple of hours, and you create an international incident!”
“I suppose Dianna Hofmeyr’s lawyer phoned you?”
“No. Her lawyer did not phone me. The commissioner did not phone me. The minister phoned me!”
“I did try to reach you,” said Kubu weakly.
“The message was that you were interviewing a witness. There was nothing about arresting the new chairman of Botswana’s most important company!”
“I didn’t arrest her.”
“Not for want of trying, from what I heard!” Mabaku shouted. His face was flushed.
I’ve never seen a black man with a red face before, Kubu noted. That effect was usually reserved for whites who sat in the Kalahari sun for too long or lost their tempers because the drinks were delayed. At this rate, Mabaku might have a seizure in the middle of my office.
“Director, please sit down and listen to my side of the story. I’m sure you’ll agree with me. Sit down, please.”
Mabaku collapsed into a chair in front of Kubu’s desk and took several deep breaths. He unclenched his jaw and said in a controlled voice, “Bengu, you better hope I do. Because if not, you’ll be busted down to constable, and you won’t give a parking ticket without a superior present.” He smiled in a friendly way to show he meant it.
Kubu told him the whole story, starting with his hunch, persuading Ian to do the DNA test, and concluding with the shocking DNA match. Despite himself Mabaku was absorbed. His colour and breathing returned to almost normal. “But why pull in Dianna Hofmeyr?” he asked. If he hadn’t been so upset, it would have been obvious.
“She told the South African police that she spent a day with Angus before the fatal swim. How could that be true if he was in the morgue here at the time? That means she must have been involved in a cover-up at the very least.”
Mabaku digested that for a few seconds. Then he counted on his fingers. “One. Are we absolutely sure about the DNA match? It sounds like a bit of a back-door job to me. Two. Are we sure that it’s Angus Hofmeyr involved here? Could the beach body parts have been planted for some other purpose? Obviously they would have been taken from the body here and must have been frozen. Have we done the histology check? Three. What do the South African police think about all this?” He waited for Kubu to finesse these questions.
Kubu answered with a confidence he did not really feel. “I don’t think the DNA match is in doubt. Of course we’ll do additional tests to confirm, follow up with the histology on the tissue from the beach, and try to get samples from something that points directly to Angus. It will be easy to prove that Dianna is lying. All we have to do is check the people Angus is supposed to have seen here and in South Africa.”
“Couldn’t you have waited to discuss all this with me?”
“Director, there wasn’t any time. I only arrived at the airport a few minutes before the Hofmeyrs did. What choice did I have?”
Mabaku didn’t answer that. “Did you have her followed?”
“Yes, the lawyers drove her straight to the Grand Palm Hotel. I think she’ll hole up there while they decide what to do next.”
Mabaku shook his head. “If you are right, and you’d better be, or we’ll b
oth be giving out parking tickets, she must know that her story is going to fall apart. I think you’d better keep a close watch on what she’s up to. Discreetly for a change. Very discreetly.”
“I already have a man at the exit gate checking comings and goings,” Kubu answered. “I’ll send another to the lobby immediately.”
Mabaku stood up. “I’m going to try to smooth things over with our bosses, Kubu. Keep a low profile.” He eyed Kubu’s bulk. “Not that that’s really possible,” he added nastily. Then he headed back to his own office. Kubu winced as the door slammed.
Edison had been keeping out of the way, awaiting the end of this exchange. He had more news for Kubu.
“Interpol has found Ferraz,” he said. “That’s the good news.”
“Where did they find him?” Kubu asked with elation. Then, with less enthusiasm, “What’s the bad news?”
“Well, he was in Portugal after all. Near Lisbon. Just as he was supposed to be. He was renting a holiday flat, it seems. The bad news is that he’s dead. His throat was neatly cut.” Edison offered Kubu a fax.
Collapsing into his desk chair with a grunt, Kubu asked, “Did they find plane tickets, passport, money?”
Edison looked glum. “None of the above. It’s all in that fax. It seems he arrived three days ago and rented the flat for a week, paid cash in advance. The cleaning lady found him yesterday and called the police. They recognised him from the photographs we sent out and called Interpol.”
“So we have another murder and another dead end.” Kubu banged the fax on to his desk. He could read the details later. He had to find the red-bearded Angolan. Just about his last hope of making this case stick.
∨ A Carrion Death ∧
CHAPTER 67
When Dianna explained that she was being pestered by reporters about Angus’s death, the manager of the Grand Palm, helpful as always, showed her where to catch the service lift from the executive apartments on the fifth floor and how to get out of the hotel past the kitchens. He ensured that the security staff knew she was entitled to use it. Dianna thanked him and rewarded him with a grateful smile. She returned with him to reception.
Having cleared out her safe deposit box, she went to her room and packed her valuables and money into her computer case. Some clothes and other essentials went into a carry-on bag. The rest she left in the room. As long as one has access to money, everything is replaceable. Red Beard would have to be satisfied with the cash she had with her now. Once she was safe, she could plan a new future.
She and her mother decided to have dinner in Dianna’s suite. Pamela ordered smoked salmon followed by lobster thermidor. Dianna warned her that it would be frozen crayfish tail from South Africa, but as usual, Pamela ignored her advice. Dianna chose shrimps in pastry and then gemsbok fillet. There is a last time for everything, she thought. She opened a bottle of Dom Perignon for an aperitif, remembering the time she drank it with Jason. She felt her pulse quicken with sexual arousal at the recollection of her climax with him that night, the taste of his blood on her lips mixed with the champagne. He would be dead by now. The sexual feeling intensified.
She tried to concentrate on her mother. Where’s her mind? Here, opposite me on the zebra-skin couch? Somewhere in England with her new lover? Like Angus, she had no shortage of those. Like son, like mother. Somewhere in the British Raj—the governor’s wife? I’ll never see her again after tonight. Do I even care?
“Did you sort out the issue with the police?” Pamela asked matter-of-factly.
“Yes. They had some weird theories. They were trying to link Angus, a body in the desert and a geologist from one of Cecil’s mines. All nonsense, of course.”
Pamela accepted this. She had little interest in goings-on in Botswana. “What will you do?”
“Mother, I need to get things sorted out in my life. I don’t want to run BCMC. That was Angus’s idea, you know. He thought that you and Dad would have wanted it. He pushed me into it. But I think I want to build my own business. From the bottom up. Somewhere quite new.”
Pamela thought about this. She had no interest in the company. It was a source of income, that was all. She knew that Roland had felt differently, had wanted Angus to take over the reins. There had never been any suggestion of Dianna’s involvement. Dianna was Daddy’s little girl. Nothing more. Nothing less. “Whatever you want is fine, my dear. Cecil can run the company. He seems quite good at that. He’s quite sensible when he keeps his pants on,” she concluded nastily.
Dianna nodded. “I thought you’d feel that way.” She wanted this evening to be different. To mean something. To resolve something. To get beyond politeness and formality. She looked down at the floor. “Do you miss him?” she asked.
“Your father? I did at first. He was a very powerful man. His attraction was in that power, confidence, control. I found that irresistible. I sound like a schoolgirl, don’t I? We were good together, but I hated Africa. I always wanted to go home. But he was a superman here. In England he was just another rich man without the connections or breeding. England was full of kryptonite for him.”
“I meant Angus.”
Pamela turned her head away. Tears started to squeeze from her eyes. “My mascara will run,” she said, her voice unsteady.
The starters arrived, and they settled around one corner of the dining table for six. They ate in silence and then waited for the main course to arrive. Why is pain the only point of contact? Dianna wondered. It’s always been that way.
“He’s here, Mummy. Angus is here. We’re all here. I could show you.” But she did not. Her mother wouldn’t understand. She never had.
Pamela looked at her blankly. Not knowing this person with whom she was dining. “I don’t understand,” she confirmed.
Dianna shook her head. “It doesn’t matter any more,” she said sadly.
The main courses came. Dianna had ordered the most expensive chardonnay for her mother and the most expensive shiraz for herself. “You can’t get decent wine in this country,” Pamela complained. She took a mouthful of the thermidor. “The sauce is all right, but the lobster was frozen.”
Dianna was enjoying the gemsbok. She had asked for it rare, and the blood leaked into the mushroom sauce. She thought of Jason with a moment of regret. There will be lots more men, Angus had told her. Anyone you want. She smiled. “It’ll be all right, Mummy. You’ll see.”
“No,” said Pamela. “The flesh is quite soggy.”
Pamela went to her own suite at about ten thirty p.m., claiming tiredness. Dianna kissed her mother good night and gave her an unusual hug, long and clinging. She didn’t expect to see her again after that night. In her room, Dianna booked a taxi, explaining to the dispatcher exactly where to meet her, and then watched television. She was calm. She had gambled and lost, but she was young, smart, beautiful and rich. And she had Angus and Daniel! Plenty of opportunities lay ahead.
At last she picked up the two bags, used the service lift, and left through the delivery entrance. She gave the security guard twenty pula, and he let her out. He would tell the police the next morning that it was around half past eleven. He had recently checked the time because he was going off duty at midnight. He watched her get into a taxi and drive off.
When his passenger told him where she wanted to go, the driver was concerned. It was a poor area on the outskirts of Gaborone, and the street she wanted was an access road to the area. It wasn’t the sort of location that a smartly dressed white woman would frequent in the middle of the night. But she said she was meeting someone there.
They arrived at a bus stop in a dip on the ill-lit dirt road just before midnight. It was deserted. The driver insisted on staying until his passenger’s friend appeared, and she relented to the extent of making a call on her mobile phone. “He’s a few minutes away,” she told the driver. “Thank you, I’ll be fine. Please go now.” She paid, adding a large tip. With a doubtful shrug, the driver headed back to the city.
A vehicle came over the
rise in the other direction. As Red Beard had told her, it was a white pickup truck. It roared down the road fast, trailing a cloud of dust. That must be him, she thought. But her next thought was that it couldn’t be. Because the vehicle was not slowing down.
∨ A Carrion Death ∧
CHAPTER 68
Bongani is tired. He reads a draft of a student’s honours project. While there is nothing really wrong with it, it seems pedestrian and poorly thought out. Much of it is quoted from textbooks, with little evidence of original thought. He isn’t enjoying it. He puts it aside and turns his attention to the television, which has the sound turned low. The late news is on. Some minister is opening a new school, his speech reported in painful detail. Bongani leans his head on the back of the couch and tries to relax.
A banging on the front door jerks him out of his reverie. It’s after eleven o’clock at night! What could this be about? He pulls open the door and glares at the intruder.
“What is it?” he says too loudly. He looks down on an old wizened man, neatly dressed. He is holding a walking stick in his left hand, while his right draws patterns in front of his face, so that Bongani cannot see him clearly. The man’s eyes are unblinking and intense. Suddenly Bongani feels completely confused. He feels he should know this man, should know him well, yet also that he should fear him. But then, just as suddenly, his confusion clears.
“Father! How wonderful of you to visit me. Come in. Come in and sit down. I’ll make us some tea. The way you like it.”
The old man nods, smiles, and sits down at the dining table, while Bongani busies himself in the kitchen. He returns soon with two mugs of strong tea and an opened can of sweetened condensed milk, which he spoons liberally into each cup. He remembers that when he was a boy, his father would come to him at bedtime with hot milk or perhaps hot chocolate for a special treat. Then he would tell a story of the birds or the animals of Botswana. How Mokoe becomes Man’s friend and warns him of danger. How Morokaapula takes over other birds’ nests and cheats them into rearing its young. How Morubise is bewitched and brings bad luck in the night.
Detective Kubu 01; A Carrion Death Page 35
