A Carrion Death & The 2nd Death of Goodluck Tinubu

by Michael Stanley

  Zanele had confirmed that Angus had been murdered at the farmhouse. The unknown fingerprints in the upstairs prison and on the coin belonged to Angus. Kubu paused, imagining his friend’s desperate and ultimately unsuccessful efforts to escape. As yet there was nothing concrete linking Ferraz and Red Beard to Aron’s death, but Kubu had no doubt there would be once they found the body. Red Beard was at the center of the web. But Red Beard was still at large. The world’s police forces had been alerted, but nothing had turned up. They could only wait.

  Mabaku seemed distracted, his mind elsewhere. To Kubu’s surprise, he called Miriam and ordered coffee and biscuits for both of them. After the coffee had been poured and a few biscuits savored, Mabaku asked, “Have you seen this morning’s paper?”

  Kubu nodded and remained quiet, waiting for Mabaku to take the lead.

  “I am sure that you realize that the two lead stories are related?” There was a hint of a question in Mabaku’s statement. Kubu nodded.

  Mabaku continued, “You know how worried I was about the potential for misuse of Kobedi’s tapes. As I am sure you surmised, one of the tapes had Cecil as costar. Somehow that was connected with the result of the board meeting. I wonder how he survived at all. And I’m sure you figured out that the current spate of resignations is also related to the tapes. Kobedi must have been a very persuasive character.”

  “He was disgusting,” Kubu responded. “He thought he had enough on everyone to keep them all quiet, not to mention guarantee a steady income. His is the one murder I don’t hold against Red Beard! Kobedi was well organized; I have to give him that. To have all those tapes made in secret without anyone ever knowing. What a racket.” He continued in his most innocent voice, “What happened to the tapes in the end?”

  Mabaku stared icily at Kubu. “This goes no farther than this room, understand?” Kubu nodded. “I’d looked at several of the tapes to see who was implicated. There were two or three really high profile people, including one starring Cecil. I decided to take the lot to the commissioner. He’s honest, and I trusted him to do the right thing. He was very shocked and told me to leave the tapes with him and to erase any copies. There was a variety of other senior people in the private and public sectors involved. I think we’ll be seeing more departures pretty soon.”

  “The commissioner told me yesterday he had destroyed all of the tapes, in the national interest. Do you think I should believe him?”

  Kubu decided this was a question he shouldn’t answer. Suddenly Mabaku stood up and went to the window overlooking Kgale Hill. “You and I, Kubu, will bide our time on this. I mean to keep my word about everyone adhering to the same standards. Keep your eyes and ears open. We will have to be patient, but I think we will prevail.”

  Chapter 80

  Business parties are a mixed bag for most people, but not for Ilia. For the fox terrier, they were wonderful. She could greet a stream of unknown people at the gate, barking loudly to show who was in charge. Then for the duration of the evening, she could pester them until they made a fuss over her and slipped her tasty morsels. What could be better?

  Pleasant was the first to arrive, about an hour before the appointed time of seven o’clock. Ilia met her at the gate with raucous delight. It was all that Pleasant could do to keep her from jumping into her arms. She fended Ilia off with a chilled bottle of South African sauvignon blanc from the Steenberg vineyard, something that the manager at the bottle store had recommended. She had also bought two bags of ice, which Kubu had forgotten.

  Pleasant was a little nervous because she knew the nice young lecturer from the university was also going to be there—the one Joy and Kubu had told her about on a few occasions.

  “Just be yourself,” Joy had admonished her. “Don’t be nervous. Get to know him. Ask him a lot of questions. Pretend to be interested.”

  Pleasant had to laugh at Joy’s efforts to find her a man. Joy must think that she sat alone at home every night. In reality, Pleasant dated frequently and knew a number of delightful young men. She just hadn’t yet met one that she wanted to marry.

  Much to Joy’s delight, Bongani arrived next. When he walked into the house, he looked a little nervous, but it was unclear whether this was from running the gauntlet of Ilia’s vociferous welcome or from the daunting reality that he was early and so had no crowd to use as cover. He too brought a bottle of wine. He had seen Château Libertas before and had tried it once. He quite liked it, and it was within his budget. He thought a French wine would be an unusual gift. He didn’t know that, despite the name, it was one of South Africa’s cheaper offerings.

  Joy welcomed Bongani at the door and introduced him to Pleasant, whose first impression was positive. Good height, lean body, and an attractive face. She did not have much more to feed her first impression, because Bongani mumbled something and clamped his mouth firmly shut.

  “Can I get you a drink?” she asked him. He nodded. “Give me a hint as to what you would like,” she teased. “Scotch, water, wine, soft drink?” He stood without answering. She waited for a few seconds, then said, “All right, then, if you can’t make up your mind, it will have to be a surprise.” She turned and walked into the kitchen. Bongani felt his face flush as he heard Joy and Pleasant burst into laughter.

  A few minutes later, Pleasant walked back, carrying a glass of white wine. “I hope you like it,” she said. “It’s a South African sauvignon blanc—comes highly recommended.” He took the glass and stammered his thanks. He was relieved to see Kubu approaching. Pleasant was about to ask him a question when the next guests, Director Mabaku and his wife, Marie, arrived to a prolonged yapping from Ilia.

  “Good evening, Joy, Kubu. Good evening, everyone.”

  Kubu shook hands and offered drinks.

  “I would like a small glass of white wine, please,” Marie said.

  Kubu turned to Mabaku. “Mr. Director. What will you have? I have some nice whisky, if you like.”

  “No, thank you, Kubu. I’ll try one of your famous wine offerings. How about a nice red with some soda water?”

  “You want the soda in the wine?” Kubu was barely able to ask the question.

  “Of course!” Mabaku said.

  Kubu managed not to shake his head as he walked to the kitchen. “There’s no way I’m going to put soda into my wine,” he said to himself. “Not even into the Château Libertas.”

  A few minutes later he handed Marie her white wine and Mabaku a glass of red wine and a glass of soda water.

  “I put the soda separately,” Kubu said. “I wasn’t sure how much you wanted.”

  Mabaku took the two glasses with an abrupt “Thank you.” Immediately he poured the soda into the wine, the mixture back into the soda glass, and then back again, leaving him with two glasses of bubbling rose-colored liquid.

  He turned to Kubu, glared, and said, “Spritzer! Wine spritzer! You’ve heard of them, haven’t you?” Kubu didn’t know what to say, so he nodded and retreated to talk to Bongani, who was still looking lost. Mabaku tried without success to suppress a smile.

  A few minutes later, Ilia raced out of the house, skidded on the veranda, and returned with Ian MacGregor. He was alone, a confirmed bachelor, although a woman or two had tried to change that. Kubu introduced him to the people he didn’t know.

  “My, my,” murmured Ian to Kubu. “The only glass of milk on a tray of hot chocolate!” Kubu burst out laughing. He took Ian by the arm and led him into the kitchen to choose his Scotch.

  Bongani wasn’t going to initiate conversation with anyone, least of all Pleasant—a vivacious young woman who took delight in teasing him. He was experiencing the familiar turmoil that surfaced at such parties. He wanted to be liked and be part of the group, but had no confidence in his ability to fit in successfully. He couldn’t understand how mature adults could talk such trite nonsense for hours on end. He was sure he couldn’t last more than a few minutes of such frivolous exchanges. He would run out of things to say. He wished he could sit down one
-on-one with someone and talk about something interesting, something serious, such as global warming or deforestation.

  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 witch doctor. I’d be very interested to hear about them. We Scots are a 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 witch doctors have in Africa, even among 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 rationalize most of it, and the effect 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? Witch doctors 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 aback 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 burned for religious or political reasons. Nobody wants to burn the witch doctors. 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 witch doctors 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 witch doctors 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 witch doctor. 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 witch doctor 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 witch doctor, 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 witch doctor! 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 hypnotized 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 good-bye 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 onto 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 witch doctor. 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.” Mabaku 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 center 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 understanding.” 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 skeptical 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 witch doctor. 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 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.