Detective Kubu 01; A Carrion Death

by Michael Stanley

  On the other hand, Pleasant quite enjoyed Bongani’s discomfort and found herself charmed by it. Most men she knew were flip with their praise and compliments, but she rarely felt that they meant what they said. A compliment from Bongani, however, would be meaningful. Actually, a word—any word—from Bongani would be meaningful. With Joy’s not-so-discreet urging, Pleasant set herself the goal of making Bongani laugh once during the evening.

  After pouring his Scotch, Ian walked over to Bongani, who was standing against the wall, eating olives with his fingers.

  “Mind if I join you, laddie?” he asked. “I think we’re the odd ones out here. We should stick together. I’m Ian. I cut up all the dead bodies the police bring me and try to work out how they died.”

  Bongani pointed to his mouth to indicate he couldn’t respond right away. “Pleased to meet you,” he replied when he had swallowed. Ian seemed interested, so Bongani told him about his ecological research and satellite work.

  Ian shook his head in admiration. “I’m pleased someone understands all that stuff. I certainly don’t.”

  “It’s not that hard,” Bongani said. “It just takes some time and effort.”

  Ian was pleased to see Bongani relaxing. “Kubu told me something of your experiences with a witchdoctor. I’d be very interested to hear about them. We Scots are very superstitious lot and have a long history with the occult and witches and the like. We were a very tolerant lot until Mary, Queen of Scots, and her son, James, started burning them at the stake, for all the wrong reasons. It has always interested me how much influence witchdoctors have in Africa, even amongst people with a Western outlook and often a Western education. What actually happened to you?”

  “I found myself getting caught up emotionally in all the illusions. I got really scared of how much influence he had over me. My rational mind kept telling me that the man was a fraud, but it seemed quite different, and very real at the time.”

  Bongani paused and continued with greater energy. “I can rationalise most of it, and the errect on me. But how did he know so much about what was going on, the stolen identity, the murders, the frozen arm, Dianna’s mimicry? Witchdoctors are masters at using words and phrases that seem clear, but actually lend themselves to each person’s own interpretation. But this was the other way around. The words were opaque; the meaning only became clear in retrospect.”

  Bongani paused, taken back by his own soliloquy. “I’m sorry if I am boring you with this nonsense,” he said. “As you can see, it had quite an impact on me.” He paused, then continued: “It’s very different from the witches. The witches were burnt for religious or political reasons. Nobody wants to burn the witchdoctors. Most educated people dismiss them as rogues, in it for their own enrichment. But we’re all scared of them: the spells they may cast on us, their knowledge of the unknowable. Things like this challenge our rational view of the world. My rational side is weakening, beginning to accept that there may be ‘spirits’ or things that we can’t see or understand, but which still are real in some way.”

  “Isn’t that just the basis of religion—belief in a spirit or god that we don’t understand?” Ian took a sip of his Scotch, swirled it around his mouth, and swallowed it with pleasure.

  “But we don’t worship witchdoctors the way people worship a god. We call on their powers and influence to help us, and they keep showing us that they are powerful and influential. There is no rationale behind ritual murders, for example, except to keep alive the myth that witchdoctors have supernatural powers.”

  “It’s like a powerful superstition, isn’t it?” Ian said. “I touch wood and throw salt over my shoulder. And I am a scientist, like you. We do it, I think, because of a deep-rooted fear of the unknown. Sort of hedging one’s bets.”

  “I also touch wood.” Bongani grinned. “We really are confused, aren’t we?”

  At that moment, Pleasant joined the group, offering a plate of cold, thinly sliced steak, marinated in a combination of soy and sesame oils. “Confused about what?” she asked, smiling at Bongani.

  Bongani stammered a response: “Nothing really. Just talking.”

  “Nonsense!” Ian interjected. “Bongani is too modest. We were talking about how strange it is for educated people in Africa to still believe in the power of the witchdoctor. Bongani says that half of him believes in their powers; the other half doesn’t. What do you think about them, Pleasant?”

  She shuddered. “They scare me. They seem to make people behave in ways they normally wouldn’t. I don’t think I’d be affected if a witchdoctor put a spell on me, as long as I didn’t know it. But if someone told me about the spell, it would affect me—it’s all in the mind, I think. Have you had a run-in with a witchdoctor, Bongani?”

  Bongani looked at Ian, who nodded almost imperceptibly. “I take it Kubu hasn’t told you anything about our recent spate of murders?” he asked.

  “Nothing much. You did have a run-in with a witchdoctor! Tell us about it.”

  Bongani hesitated and then gave a quick synopsis of his three meetings. When he finished, Pleasant said, “You must’ve been scared out of your mind, especially when he came to your house and pretended to be your father. How did he do that?”

  By this stage, Bongani had forgotten his shyness and Pleasant’s teasing. “He drugged me or hypnotised me, or both. He didn’t pretend to be my father. He sort of suggested it, and I did the rest. He didn’t look like my father or talk like my father. He just behaved like a father, and my mind took over.”

  “I would’ve been terrified,” Pleasant said. “I’m impressed that you are taking it all so calmly.”

  “Well, it hasn’t been easy. I’ve had sleepless nights thinking about it. But at the funeral, he said goodbye to me. I think it is all over. I won’t see him again.”

  Pleasant put the plate of beef on a table and said, “I see your glass is empty. I know where Kubu hides his good wine. Let’s go and get some. Another Scotch, Ian?”

  Perceptive as ever, Ian declined. “No thanks. I’m going to prowl around and see who I can latch on to. I’ll help myself later. Kubu showed me where he keeps his stash.”

  Pleasant and Bongani went to the kitchen, chatting, and Ian walked out on to the veranda, where Mabaku and Kubu were enjoying the unusually cool evening temperature.

  “Hello, Ian,” Kubu said. “I noticed you talking to Bongani. What’s he got to say for himself?”

  “Och, I was interested in how he felt about his encounters with the witchdoctor. Must be very hard for a scientist whose traditional culture keeps intruding into his rational mind. I’m not sure he’s worked it all out at the moment, but I think he’s discovered there’s more than simply a brain in these bodies of ours.”

  Some time later, Joy called over to Pleasant with a smile. “Pleasant. Sorry to interrupt! Please ask everyone to sit down. The soup’s ready.”

  Pleasant showed Bongani the dining room and went to gather the men from the veranda. It only took a few minutes for everyone to be seated around the table, which had been extended with a side table to seat seven.

  “Be careful,” Joy said as she brought in a tray of cold squash soup. “There’s a ledge where the tables meet. If you put a glass there, it’ll fall over.”

  Kubu said grace, and the group fell silent for a few minutes as they enjoyed the soup. Joy was the last to finish. As she put down her spoon, Mabaku stood up.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention.” He tapped the side of his glass with a knife. “May I have your attention, please.” Kubu groaned inwardly. Why did Mabaku always want to take centre stage?

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Mabaku continued. “The main reason we are here tonight is the resolution of the murders that have blighted our country over the past few months. We have all been involved in the cases, even our spouses, who had to put up with our unusually long hours, nights alone, and frayed tempers. So, my first toast is to my darling wife, Marie, and to Joy. Thank you for your patience and underst
anding.” The group raised their glasses and toasted the ladies. He always surprises me, Kubu thought. That is a very nice thing to do. I should have thought of it.

  “I also have to thank another person, who made a number of valuable contributions to our work, not because it was his job, but rather because he felt a responsibility. I am referring, of course, to Bongani, who is trying to slide under the table. Sit up, Bongani, so everyone can see you.” Bongani waved sheepishly, the wine supplying Dutch courage.

  “Kubu tells me that you have a detective’s mind,” Mabaku continued. He paused for effect. “Poor man!” Polite laughter rippled around the table.

  “Seriously, Bongani, we were all very impressed with your satellite wizardry. I’m very sceptical about such things, but you even convinced me.” The group clapped heartily and threw out words of encouragement. Bongani stood up and made an ironic bow.

  “I am not sure whether to thank you for your stories from the other side—your encounters with the witchdoctor. They were very perplexing and disturbing for all of us. Even as a reasonably rational species—at least that is what I think we are meant to be—humans hover close to the edge of the occult, of witchcraft and the world of spirits. Your experiences brought us to that edge.” Mabaku paused to let everyone reflect on his profundity.

  Then he continued: “Ladies and gentlemen, a toast to Bongani, with thanks for his help.”

  A chorus of ‘Bongani’ ran around the table. Everyone took another sip of wine or Scotch—no one was drinking soft drinks at this stage.

  “However, Bongani, in case you get the wrong impression of the police, I must tell you that the next time you conceal evidence in a murder, we will have to arrest you and throw you in jail!” There was more laughter, but this time it was tentative—nobody was quite sure that Mabaku was joking.

  “This was a very difficult case—very embarrassing for everyone concerned, not to mention the country. And to be frank, we didn’t exactly cover ourselves in glory. Dianna Hofmeyr is dead, a victim of her own creature—the red-bearded monster. We have the Angola police scouring their country for him, Interpol has distributed his picture and fingerprints worldwide, and if he sets foot in Botswana, we’ll have him at once! But right now there is no sign of him. He’s hiding out in the bush somewhere or sneaking through Africa’s porous borders. But we’ll get him sooner or later.

  “Anyway, everyone pulled together and worked hard. I appreciate that, so drink a toast to Kubu and Ian!” If this goes on much longer, Kubu thought as the others raised their glasses once again, everyone will be plastered before the main course.

  “Finally,” Mabaku said, “I can’t let this moment go without a toast to our hosts. Joy and Kubu, thanks very much for your hospitality; and to Pleasant, for all the help I know she provided.” Once again, everyone made the appropriate noises and sipped their drink. Kubu stood up in case his boss decided not to finish and headed into the kitchen to get a bottle of wine. Joy followed with the soup plates.

  “He scares me when he stands up like that,” Kubu murmured to Joy. “You never know what he’s going to say. He could just as easily have ripped us all apart for not solving the case before all the suspects turned into dead bodies!”

  “I think he likes to put on a mean face sometimes. Underneath he is a softie,” Joy replied.

  Kubu grunted. You don’t know him as well as I do, he thought, and walked back into the dining room with a bottle of wine in each hand.

  The main course was roast kid, and everyone was impressed by this local delicacy. Joy had surpassed herself, keeping it moist and flavourful, and surrounded each helping with generous servings of vegetables. Nobody said much until the plates were clean, and the men had worked on seconds. Then, inevitably, the dinner conversation returned to the case they had been working on. Ian started the ball rolling.

  “Kubu, when I spoke to you early on in the case, you told me how Angus had used his new control of the Hofmeyr Trust to push the board into appointing his sister as head of BCMC. You told me how surprised you were. I confirmed that the first body you found was Angus, which was found before the board meeting. I understand these board meetings are rather dull and formal, but even so I would have expected them to notice that Angus was actually dead!”

  Kubu laughed. “When I first spoke to you, Ian, I didn’t mention that Angus did not attend in person, but via telephone conference call. We now know that someone was impersonating him, mimicking his voice almost perfectly. Also, a speech he made was probably pre-recorded. The South African police found a tape recorder at the Hofmeyr house in South Africa. Jason Ferraz checked into the rehab place near George, pretending to be Angus, and the call to the board meeting came from there.

  “At first I thought that Ferraz was doing the mimicry too. But that was Dianna! It turns out that she had a natural talent for it; she used to imitate her brothers as a child. Cecil Hofmeyr’s PA told me that during the board meeting, Dianna left, ostensibly to take a call from her mother. Our colleagues in South Africa later confirmed that the call actually came from Ferraz at the rehab. Dianna was patched into the board meeting via that call. Some of what were thought to be Angus’s contributions were recordings, and some were actually Dianna imitating his voice live. Probably she also made the recordings.

  “She was really good at it. She would answer Angus’s mobile phone too, and she fooled her mother, as well as several other people, including me.”

  Mabaku joined the discussion. “Kubu’s real breakthrough was understanding the connection between Dianna and the mysterious Angolan causing the mayhem. Dianna Hofmeyr repeatedly called out the name Daniel after she’d been hit by the car. We thought that Daniel may have been the name, or pseudonym, of the red-bearded creature. But Cecil Hofmeyr told me that the Angolan had accused him of being Daniel and of trying to renege on the payment for killing Angus. So Red Beard couldn’t be Daniel.”

  Kubu took over again. “The breakthrough in my thinking came at Dianna’s funeral. Next to Roland Hofmeyr’s gravestone was a smaller one—for Daniel Hofmeyr. That jogged my memory. Daniel was the youngest of the Hofmeyr children. He was killed by a leopard when he was nine, but in strange circumstances. I’m sure now that Dianna used him as another persona to interact with Red Beard—like a Chinese wall. Daniel and Dianna were one and the same person all along.”

  “Good God,” exclaimed Ian. “But why did she do all this? She had plenty of money of her own.”

  “That’s a puzzle,” Kubu said. “I wish I knew whether she was just a calculating psychopath, or whether there was more to it than that.”

  Mabaku harrumphed. “I don’t put too much stock in the insanity defence. Too many times it’s the only way out. I assume that everyone is sane unless very compelling evidence is produced to the contrary. I haven’t heard a shred of evidence from her past behaviour that she was crazy. What do you think, Ian?”

  “Lady Macbeth is my yardstick!” He nodded at Mabaku. “Just look at how Dianna planned everything—Angus’s murder, the recording at the board meeting, the mythical Daniel—it was premeditated. She really stuck it to Cecil, who’d built up the empire for Angus and her. Such ingratitude! She must’ve hated him. For motive, it’s always power, money or sex. It must’ve been the first, since she had plenty of the others! Insane? Not on your nellie!”

  “How can a sane person be so ruthless?” Joy said. “Especially a woman. To murder her brother and deliberately cause all that violence means she was sick in her head. No normal person could do that! I wonder what made her that way.”

  “My dear Joy,” Ian said with feigned sympathy in his voice, “just remember that the only normal people are those you don’t know well!” The group burst out laughing. “Not original, unfortunately. I read it somewhere. True, though.”

  “I didn’t know her very well when I was at school,” Kubu interjected. “But I remember that she and Angus had a strained relationship. She seemed to resent all his successes, particularly because they were so laude
d by their father. She complained that anything she did well was ignored. Angus told me on several occasions that she also despised her mother for not standing up to her father. She thought a woman should be equal to a man. And as strong.”

  “And as ruthless,” chimed in Pleasant. “I wonder if she actually knew what she was doing. Isn’t it possible, Ian, for a person to have several personalities who don’t know what the others are doing? I mean, she must have been more or less normal most of the time to have been as successful as she was—in her studies and so on.”

  “I don’t cut up people’s minds, Pleasant. Just their brains. There is nothing left in the brains when I get to them. No thoughts, no ideas, no emotions. Nothing. Just dead meat.”

  “Oh, Ian!” Joy interjected. “Not at dinner, please.”

  Mabaku shifted his chair a little and said, “You are thinking of classical schizophrenia, Pleasant? Multiple personalities and all that? Dianna one minute, Daniel the next? The thing is, those different persona are always in conflict with each other. That’s the whole point. They don’t cooperate to carry out a plan.”

  He paused, and then continued, “I’m really sorry we didn’t have the chance to interrogate her. I’m not sure we’d have won a court battle, especially with the legal talent she could have hired. But we might have learnt why all these people died.”

  Strangely, it was the retiring Bongani who had the last word.

  “The witchdoctor said there were three, and then there was one. Almost as though the three Hofmeyrs were absorbed into something else completely. Something evil. Or something insane.”