Dianna shrugged. She had expected this. “Angus didn’t have malaria, Uncle. He went for rehab. There was no choice.”
“That was more important than appearing at the key board meeting?”
“Would you have preferred him to be there drunk or spaced out? Just the message to send to our investors, not so?” Now she sounded angry.
“Perhaps not,” Cecil retreated. “Your mother seems fine, anyway. I spoke to her after the meeting. She couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about.”
Dianna hadn’t expected that. Cecil and her mother couldn’t stand one another. Her mother hated Botswana and despised her brother-in-law with the disapproval of a conventional married woman for a good-looking man whose sexual appetites lay elsewhere. They had had little to do with each other apart from business issues after the family had gone to live in London.
“Mother’s quite private about these kinds of issues,” she said smoothly.
“Evidently,” Cecil agreed, unsatisfied.
She changed the subject. “I want to use the company Learjet.” She knew Cecil regarded the jet as his personal plane, but it wasn’t. It belonged to the company. “I want to meet Angus tomorrow when he leaves the clinic and would like to avoid all the delays and formalities with the airlines. He shouldn’t be left on his own right now. We’ll come back next week. We won’t need the plane in the interim.”
Cecil didn’t like it, but he couldn’t see any grounds to refuse. “I’m not sure the pilot is available.”
“He is. I checked.”
“Very well, then. Is there anything else?”
At last Dianna did jab at him with her horns. “Just this. I have what I want. I’m happy to leave you with what you want. The diamond mine at Maboane, for example. Just don’t get in my way.” She got up and walked to the door. “I’ll be back in a week, perhaps ten days. Keep the plane on standby.” She closed the door behind her.
Cecil thought about the conversation and her reactions. She had warned him off, but why was she so tense? She obviously knew something was up at the Maboane mine. But she had decided to use it as a stick rather than to pursue it. And the carrot? Despite the unpleasant discussion, Cecil felt that after all he held some decent cards. Unfortunately, he had no idea what they were.
Chapter 51
Kubu arrived at work on Monday morning full of hope that a breakthrough was near at hand. That was not to be. They made no progress at all for two full days. The Angolan embassy knew nothing of Sculo nor his bearded Portuguese friend, and no information had come through on the DNA tests. They had traced the yellow Land Rover found at the farmhouse. It had, indeed, belonged to BCMC, but they had sold it five years ago, and it had changed hands a few times since then. Now it was registered in a false name at a false address in Gaborone. The secondhand car salesman who last sold it thought the buyer looked like Ferraz, but he was really only interested in proving that he had the correct paperwork.
By Wednesday, Kubu was despondent again. He sat at his desk doodling on a pad—beetles, birds, meaningless scribbles. He even tried some lateral-thinking techniques he had learned in a course. Nothing sparked an insight.
At noon, Kubu’s phone interrupted his reverie. It was Afrika Modise, head of the CID Diamond Branch.
“Kubu,” he said in his usual gruff and to-the-point way, “I have the report on the Maboane diamond mine here.”
“What’s in it?”
“Well, I think you’d better see it for yourself. And there’s someone with me I want you to meet.”
Kubu looked at his watch. “What about lunch?” he asked hopefully.
“Oh, grab a sandwich later. Come over.”
Kubu groaned. Why was he the only person in the building who thought that eating regular meals was important?
When he arrived at Afrika’s office, he found him with a stout, bleached-looking man with a heavy tan beard and a long handlebar mustache. A scientist from Debswana, Kubu thought. Another one of de Beards from De Beers! Kubu smiled to himself at his unoriginal humor. In his self-amusement he missed the man’s name—something Polish sounding—but he was indeed a scientist with Debswana. He wore small, frameless glasses, and when he focused over the top of them to shake Kubu’s hand, his bushy eyebrows rose, making him look like a surprised walrus.
“Pleased to meet you, Superintendent,” said the Walrus. He turned to Afrika. “Do you think they could organize something for us to eat? I’ve been here for ages, and it’s past lunchtime.” Kubu warmed to him at once.
After Afrika had ordered sandwiches and cold drinks, the three settled around his small conference table.
“Well, Kubu,” Afrika began, “we’re sure no one’s stealing diamonds from the mine. Nothing’s impossible, of course, but just about everyone at the mine would have to be in on it. Doesn’t make sense.”
“Is that what you called me over to tell me?”
Afrika held up one hand. “There’s a lot more. Dr. Waskowski, perhaps you should fill in Superintendent Bengu.”
The Walrus made a grunting sound by way of clearing his throat. “Aron Frankental was a scientific colleague, Superintendent. He regarded me as a mentor. He was dubious about Ferraz—understandably—and knew I’d worked on the Maboane joint venture project. So he could bounce ideas off me. Speak to a real scientist rather than an entrepreneur.” It was clear that he didn’t think much of Jason Ferraz.
“Ah, so you knew Aron well?” Kubu’s interest picked up.
“Not really well. As I said, we were colleagues. We’d speak on the telephone or meet occasionally if he came down to Gabs.”
“And Ferraz?”
The Walrus waggled his sideburns. “Only a few professional meetings. I didn’t like dealing with him. He’s a showman. Before this he managed a small mine in Angola and left there under a bit of a cloud, from what I’ve heard. I told Aron to watch out for him.”
“So what did you make of Aron’s story about diamonds being stolen?”
The Walrus shrugged. “Not much. Never made a lot of sense to me. But that wasn’t Aron’s first idea, you know.” Kubu raised an eyebrow. “Oh, no, he had a lot of other theories. He thought there might be a second kimberlite that had intruded into the first, bringing the better stones.”
“Is that possible?”
“Anything’s possible, but it’s very unlikely. And it would be obvious, when you found the interface. Aron never did. I asked him to look at the kimberlite around the richer diamonds. You know what was remarkable?” The Walrus paused for effect and puffed his cheeks, obviously not expecting an answer. “Aron never found any of the rich stones in situ. He was always chasing the latest area where they were supposed to have been found, but never found gemstones there. Of course, now we know why.” He grunted again and said nothing more.
“Have you heard of fingerprinting?” Afrika asked Kubu, who looked incredulous. Afrika laughed. “Diamond fingerprinting, that is. It’s a technique originally developed for the gold mines in South Africa. The smelted gold contains a variety of trace elements. These vary in type and concentration from mine to mine. If you take a sample of the processed gold, analyze it, and check the results against the database, you’ve a good statistical probability of matching it to its original mine. It can be helpful in tracing stolen gold if you know where it originated. We have a different, but similar, technique for diamonds.”
Kubu would have been interested in how that worked, but the two men made it clear that the process was secret. “So what does that tell you about the Maboane mine situation?”
The Walrus pulled on his sideburns and grunted again. “The smaller, industrial-quality diamonds come from that mine. No doubt. It seems likely that the gemstones come from somewhere else. But not from one of the established Botswana mines or, indeed, any De Beers mine. There’s no match to our database. They might be from some other country.”
“Angola?” Kubu asked quietly.
The Walrus’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes, quite likely. We’ve got little d
ata from that part of the world. There are a lot of unregistered diamonds there too.”
“You mean blood diamonds?”
The Walrus was displeased. “We prefer to call them unregistered. Some of them are perfectly legitimate—we’ve even bought some in the past. Not all finance wars and such. The whole conflict-diamond thing is rather overcooked, in my opinion.” He harrumphed and then subsided.
Kubu had little interest in the diamond industry’s sensitivities. “So are you suggesting that it was all a scam? That the mine was being salted?”
Afrika was about to reply, but was interrupted by the arrival of lunch. He could get no attention from either Kubu or the Walrus while they attacked the sandwiches. At last, feeling he might be heard above the chewing, he reminded Kubu of his question.
“Do we think the mine was being salted? Well, yes and no. It is a commercial producing mine. It does make money, even though the majority of its diamonds aren’t gem quality. It also has a large exploration lease area, and they have identified several additional potential kimberlites. No one would be excited about a joint venture over that area on the basis of the sort of output they’re getting from the mine. But if you add these high-quality gems to the mix, it’s a different story.”
He looked inquiringly at the Walrus, who nodded and said, “The point is, you are not talking about a few stones scattered around to fool some novice junior exploration company. Over the last year, a substantial portion of the mine’s income came from these stones. And it all started after we’d pulled out of the JV—the joint venture, that is.”
Kubu digested this. “Did Aron know any of this? Did you suggest he send some diamonds for fingerprinting?”
The Walrus looked shocked. “That would have been most improper. Different now that it’s a police matter, of course.” Not a lot of comfort to Aron, Kubu thought. He turned instead to the most useful question in any investigation. “Who would gain from all this?”
Afrika shrugged. “Basically everyone. Whoever has the diamonds in the first place gets to sell them. The smuggler gets his money. Ferraz gets more money from the mine and a higher profile for his exploration areas. The workers on a marginal mine get to keep their jobs. Even the Botswana government gets extra taxes! No one will be in a hurry to rat on this one. Somehow Aron got in the way.”
Kubu helped himself to another sandwich. They were tasty, and he wanted to think, not talk, for a moment. “It’s Ferraz and the smuggler from Angola,” he said at last. “It’s small potatoes for BCMC, and it couldn’t have been happening under Ferraz’s nose without him knowing about it. But how did he get the money back to the smuggler? Afrika, did you check their books?”
Afrika nodded. “Nothing obvious. They’re spending a fortune on exploration—more than their profits. We haven’t had time to check exactly who’s been paid and why, but we will. I think we’ll find that a lot of that money is finding its way to paying for the blood diamonds, and probably back to Ferraz also. Not to any of his local accounts, though. He’s not that stupid. We’ve already checked. By the way, it’s not a BCMC company at all. The partners are Ferraz, Cecil Hofmeyr, and the Roland Hofmeyr Trust.”
Kubu digested this unexpected information.
“The mine’s a front,” he said quietly. “It’s used to launder the diamonds and build a high profile for those exploration areas. Cash in hand by laundering the diamonds, or a rich sale to a major mining company. Probably BCMC, since Debswana wouldn’t fall for it. Fifty thebe each way—win or place! Gentlemen, thank you very much. I think I’m starting to understand this case at last.”
Chapter 52
It was after 5:30 p.m. before Mabaku could see Kubu. Although it was late, and he would displease Joy once again, Kubu was happy with an evening meeting. He needed the time to organize his thoughts.
“Come in, Kubu. Sit down. I hope that this won’t take too long. I’ve had a hell of a day, what with that spate of robberies here and in Lobatse. We aren’t making any progress, but I think it may be a South African gang. They’re most probably across the border, enjoying their pickings.”
“If they have to cross the border each time,” Kubu said, “they’ll make a mistake somewhere. Tell the wrong person what they are up to; get a bit cocky after a few successes; spend too much money; something like that. I bet you’ll have them under lock and key within a week or two. Do you have any undercover contacts in Zeerust or Mafikeng?”
“No,” replied Mabaku. “But we’re working with the South African police. They’re interested too because of similar robberies on their side of the border. Of course, they think it is a Botswanan gang!”
Kubu snorted, and then got down to business. “I learned some very interesting information today.”
Mabaku nodded for Kubu to tell his story.
“I was briefed by Afrika Modise of the Diamond Division and by a Dr. Waskowski from Debswana. Apparently De Beers has developed a technique for fingerprinting diamonds, meaning that they’re able to tell quite reliably where a diamond comes from by analyzing the trace elements in it. More to the point, they can tell where it does not come from.”
Kubu stood up, walked to the window. The sun was spreading reds and purples into the clouds as it sank. Today is the equinox, Kubu thought. Winter’s on its way.
“Anyway,” he continued, “the first revelation was that the big diamonds they’ve been finding at Maboane are not from Maboane at all. Most probably from Angola. So the theory that they were stealing diamonds from the mine is wrong. Just the opposite. They were salting the mine with valuable stones. Everyone benefited. Some diamond grubber in Angola had a buyer, albeit at a price far lower than the legal market. The person smuggling them in was making a nice profit. And the owners of the mine stood to benefit, not just from the sale of these illicit stones, but ultimately from the sale of an apparently profitable mine with big prospects.”
Mabaku grunted. “Never heard of a scam quite like that. I can’t believe BCMC would be involved with it. Is Afrika sure of his facts?”
“Just what I thought,” replied Kubu. “Yes, Afrika is certain he’s right. Anyway, BCMC has nothing to do with the mine.”
“Nothing to do with it?” Mabaku asked with surprise. “Cecil Hofmeyr told me that BCMC was the owner.”
“I also thought that, Director, because that’s what I understood from Ferraz. However, it’s not true. The mine’s owned by Ferraz, Cecil Hofmeyr, and the Roland Hofmeyr Trust. It only looks like BCMC owns it because Cecil Hofmeyr is involved, but BCMC has no interest at all.”
Mabaku was silent. He was looking straight at Kubu, his eyes unwavering. Kubu tried to match the gaze, but eventually looked out of the window instead.
“What makes no sense now is why Cecil Hofmeyr went to such great lengths to keep that letter secret—the one Kobedi had when he was killed. Aron was wrong about diamonds being stolen from the mine, and his criticisms of Jason were hardly dynamite. Cecil said that he didn’t tell us about it because it was so sensitive for BCMC. But BCMC is not involved. Why would he lie to us? The letter is innocuous. I can’t figure it out.”
Mabaku stood up and joined Kubu at the window. “All along I’ve been convinced that Cecil Hofmeyr couldn’t be involved in any of these goings-on. I know him quite well. But now I’m not so sure. From what you say, he stood to gain a lot from this blood-diamond scheme.” He grimaced as though the idea of Cecil’s involvement in such a scam was physically painful.
“We still have no proof he knew what was going on,” Kubu said. “It’s possible Ferraz was playing him along. Getting his money for exploration and so on. Window-dressing the mine for a sale—perhaps to BCMC itself. Cecil would profit enormously from that, as would the trust. So would Ferraz, of course. Maybe safer all round if Cecil was kept in the dark.”
For a moment, Kubu thought Mabaku would grasp at this straw to save his friend, but he was wrong. “Cecil must have known something, if not everything. He’s too smart to be fooled by the figures Ferraz mus
t have shown him.” Mabaku paused and gazed out at Kgale Hill. “So how’s this connected to the murders?” he asked. “They must be linked.”
“Here’s my current theory,” Kubu said, crossing the room. He eased his frame into one of the chairs. Mabaku remained standing.
“When De Beers pulled out of the mine at Maboane, Ferraz saw a chance of making a lot of money. People thought De Beers had been in it with BCMC, but they were wrong. Cecil had put trust money into the initial venture. I’m not sure why. It’s not the sort of thing trusts usually get involved with. Maybe he used the trust’s money to finance his own interest. Anyway, De Beers thought the mine would be unprofitable and backed out. This happens more often than not, I believe. Few prospects survive the scrutiny of a joint venture with a major player. Ferraz had been involved in the joint venture and might have thought the mine could still be profitable. But pretty soon he saw how a remote diamond mine like Maboane could be used for other purposes.” Kubu paused, then continued.
“Ferraz had worked at diamond mines in Angola before coming to Botswana. By the way, his previous employers there were quite dubious about him. When De Beers pulled out, he contacted old friends in Angola and set up a beautiful scam. He bought, or stole, gem-quality diamonds from Angola—blood diamonds—that couldn’t be sold anywhere in the world because they had no pedigree papers. Because they were essentially impossible to sell, he’d get them very cheaply. A plane would bring them close to the mine once every few weeks, literally under the radar. That was the plane that the Bushmen heard from time to time.”
Mabaku didn’t say a word, but sat down behind his desk.
“Ferraz then salted the mine with the quality diamonds from Angola,” Kubu continued, “making it look as though De Beers had made a mistake. They issued Kimberley Process certificates for them, claiming they were legitimately mined in Botswana, even paid the taxes, and sold them at a tidy profit. So overall the mine looked appealing. Ferraz must have persuaded Cecil that it was worth a bigger investment.” Kubu stopped to gather his thoughts. “It was beautiful. Everyone benefited, and no one got hurt—”
A Carrion Death & The 2nd Death of Goodluck Tinubu Page 28
