A Carrion Death & The 2nd Death of Goodluck Tinubu

by Michael Stanley

  “Really? Gomwe had traces of heroin in his luggage. You had twenty pounds in your car. And you’re telling me these things are not connected. Not likely!”

  “I’d never seen him before Elephant Valley Lodge. We were attracted. We had a good time. That’s it.”

  “Ms. Levine, you’re going to spend the night here. The first of many, I think. Unfortunately our accommodation isn’t as comfortable as Elephant Valley Lodge. But you should start getting used to it.” Kubu paused, staring at her. “We’ve got you cold, but what I really want to know is who the others are. Who are your principals in Johannesburg? Who do you buy from? Who are the thugs who’ve been threatening me and my family? Everyone! I know you are a small fry. But sleep on this. Why should you do life, when the rest are still free? You help me get the others; I’ll help you at this end.”

  “I want a lawyer. I won’t take any more of this crap.”

  “A lawyer is your right, Ms. Levine. Make sure he’s here at eight tomorrow morning, because that’s when we meet again.”

  “Find out who she calls,” Kubu said to Constable Morake when he returned from ensuring Allison was in the cells for the night. “I doubt if she knows anyone here in Francistown. Maybe she can lead us to her principals.” In reality, Kubu thought this was a long shot. Allison was a bright woman, and he would be very surprised if she made an elementary mistake.

  Kubu found an empty office and called Director Mabaku.

  “Yes?” Mabaku grunted.

  He’s got such a welcoming telephone manner, Kubu thought. “Bengu here, Director. I’m in Francistown.”

  “Have you spoken to the woman yet?”

  “Yes, but now she wants a lawyer. She denies knowing about the drugs. She’s lying, of course. I decided not to mention Gomwe’s murder at the moment. I want to keep that for later.”

  “Good idea.”

  “I think she’s a small fry, but I’ve an idea she could help us find the big fish.”

  “Go ahead,” said Mabaku.

  “My guess is that she isn’t going to give us any useful information tomorrow. Same as today, especially if she has a lawyer present. However, she may have a different view of the world if we add a murder charge, or at least accessory to murder. I think she’s in over her head, so if we offer her a reduced sentence or a reduced charge, she may give us her contacts.” Kubu hesitated, “Do I have your okay to go ahead?”

  Mabaku answered slowly. “Yes. I think it might work. I’ll speak to the Director of Public Prosecutions, but I’m sure he’ll agree. If you’re sure she isn’t a big fish, make her an offer.”

  “Thank you, Director,” Kubu said. “Tatwa’s doing a great job at Kasane. I think we’ll be able to lay both drug and murder charges tomorrow. It shouldn’t take long to add the kidnapping charges as well. All in all, very satisfactory.”

  After a few more comments, Kubu hung up and set out for his brother-in-law’s house where, he hoped, good food and wine were awaiting.

  Indeed, Joy and Pleasant had cooked, much to both Sampson’s and Kubu’s delight. Kubu had brought a couple of bottles of acceptable wine—not too expensive because it would have been wasted on Sampson—but good enough to enjoy. It was a convivial evening, but for Kubu it had been a long day, and he and Joy went to bed early, leaving Sampson and Pleasant to argue politics. Also, Joy was keen to hear more about Kubu’s visit to Zimbabwe.

  Kubu described to her the strange state of the country, and how he had found Paulus Mbedi. He told her Mbedi’s story, and put it in the context of Endima Shlongwane’s letter. She listened intently, and then asked Kubu the question he had asked himself. “Who killed him then? I mean the first time. Who shot him? If it was the Rhodesians, where were the other bodies when he was found by the road? And why would anyone else shoot him in the back?”

  Kubu shrugged. “Maybe he managed to drag himself away from the scene of the attack. Or maybe there were other bodies in the bushes, but Msimang didn’t see them in the dark.”

  Digging in his overnight bag for sleeping shorts, Kubu found the jar Paulus had given to him. “These are the bullets they dug out of him.” He passed it to Joy. She looked at the horridly distorted metal lumps. “Can’t you tell what gun they came from? Solve it that way?”

  Kubu shook his head. “If I had a gun that I thought was used to shoot those, we could do a ballistics test. But this all happened thirty years ago.”

  “But what about the type of gun?” Joy persisted. Kubu thought about it. “Well, we could do that. The type of gun used would indicate one group or another. Not evidence, of course, but better than nothing. It’s a good idea, my darling.”

  Joy preened, then went to the bathroom to shower and get ready for bed. Kubu had finished unpacking, so he scanned the two files Superintendent Pede had given him. As he expected, there was little new information. George Tinubu had been arrested for refusing to follow instructions from a police officer, inciting a disturbance, and resisting arrest. He had never been tried for anything and had been released eventually. Eighteen months later he was supposedly killed in a skirmish with the security forces. There was no doubt about the fingerprints’ match, and there was a copy of the identity card taken from the wallet. The Rhodesian soldier who reported the matter claimed that the wallet was taken from the dead body of a terrorist shot after the farm raid. There was a description of the raid on the McGlashan farm too. Kubu skimmed it and frowned. Could Goodluck really have been involved in something as brutal as that? Whatever the cause?

  He turned to the Zondo file. It was a summary. Zondo had certainly been heavily involved right through the war, but nothing in the file directly linked him to Goodluck. Had they trained together? Been in the same commando unit? Their friendship at the teachers college suggested it was likely.

  At this point Joy returned from the bathroom in her dressing gown. As soon as the door was closed, she let the gown drop to the floor. A burgundy-colored satin bra just held her full breasts; matching panties set off her silky-smooth chocolate thighs. Burgundy and dark chocolate. Kubu lost interest in the reports immediately.

  Chapter 58

  “Good morning, Ms. Levine,” Kubu said as he and Constable Morake entered the interviewing room the next day. “I trust you had a very uncomfortable night.”

  “It’s disgusting! Smells like piss!”

  “Welcome to prison, my dear. If you think this is bad, wait until you’re in a high-security facility.” Kubu looked around. “Where’s your attorney?”

  “I’ve been trying to find one here in Francistown, but haven’t got hold of one yet.”

  “Well, you have the right to remain silent unless you have a lawyer present. But the longer it takes, the longer you will enjoy the hospitality of our prison system.” Kubu stared at Allison. “I have to go back to Gaborone tomorrow, so the earliest I’ll be able to get back here is next Wednesday,” he improvised.

  “But that’s four days away!”

  “And four nights,” Kubu said quietly. He turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Allison said. “I don’t need a lawyer, because there’s nothing more to tell.”

  Kubu looked at her, noticing her sunken eyes. She may need something to pick her up, he thought. The longer I drag this out, the more desperate she’s going to be.

  “In which case,” he said, “I am formally arresting you for possession and trafficking of drugs. In addition, I am going to charge you with being an accessory to the murder of Boy Gomwe. We have evidence now that you lured Gomwe to his death. He didn’t jog into the bush and get killed by a rogue elephant. You led him to some of your colleagues, who drove a truck over him to make it look as though he’d been killed by an elephant.” Kubu looked at the shocked woman. “We may up that charge to murder at a later stage.” Kubu turned to Constable Morake. “Constable, please take Ms. Levine back to the cells.”

  “Wait! Wait! Maybe I do know something. Can we make a deal?”

  “What sort of deal, Ms. Levine? You’ve got noth
ing to offer. You just told me so.”

  “If I tell you what I know, will you help me?”

  “If you admit to the drug charges and give me the names of people involved in this drug ring, I’ll do what I can to help you on the murder charges.”

  Kubu sat down, reached over to the tape recorder, and switched it on.

  “It is eight fifteen on the morning of Saturday, the nineteenth of April. I’m Assistant Superintendent David Bengu. With me is Constable Morake. We are interviewing Allison Levine, a South African citizen.

  “Ms. Levine, do you agree to be interviewed without the presence of a lawyer representing you?”

  “Yes,” she answered quietly.

  “Ms. Levine, do you admit to knowingly transporting about twenty pounds of heroin from Elephant Valley Lodge near Kasane to an unknown destination, most likely South Africa?”

  There was a long pause. She’s wondering whether she’s doing the right thing, Kubu thought. He waited patiently, letting the silence work on her mind. Eventually she said, “Yes.”

  “We know you’ve been in and out of Botswana eight times in the last thirteen months, each time to Elephant Valley Lodge. Did you transport drugs each time?” Another pause.

  “Yes.”

  Kubu could barely hear the response. “Louder please, for the recorder.”

  “Yes,” she said more firmly.

  “Do you bring money from South Africa to pay for the drugs?”

  “Yes.” Allison’s head drooped as she realized there was no way back now.

  “How much money?” Silence. “How much money, Ms. Levine?” Kubu asked sharply.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” Kubu was incredulous. “You don’t know?”

  “I never open the briefcase,” Allison mumbled. “I can’t. It’s always locked. I just hand it over and take the packet.”

  “Twenty pounds of heroin can be worth millions on the street. That means the briefcase must have had at least several million pula. Actually it probably had dollars—American dollars. Could have been several hundred thousand dollars or more. And you tell me you didn’t know how much?”

  “I told you, the briefcase is locked. The pick-up has a key. Not me. They don’t trust anybody.”

  “Who is the pick-up at Elephant Valley Lodge?”

  Allison stared at Kubu, gathering her thoughts. “I give the briefcase to the ranger, Douglas. He comes to my room, takes the money, and gives me the heroin in return. He always has a small backpack with him. No one suspects anything.”

  Kubu stood up and paced. “And then what happens? Where does the money go?”

  “The ranger gives it to someone, who takes it across the border into Zimbabwe.”

  “Who is this someone?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never heard a name or seen anyone. It’s easy for the ranger. He’s expected to be out in the bush.”

  “And on the other side? In South Africa?”

  “When I get back to Johannesburg, I call a number. A few minutes later, I get a text message with an address. When I get there, I get another text message with another address. I’m sure they’re watching me to see I’m not being followed.”

  “What’s that phone number?”

  “They’ll kill me if they find out I gave it to you.”

  “They won’t find out. What’s the number?”

  “It’s on my cell phone under the name ‘Baby.’”

  “Then what happens?”

  “The last drop-off is always at a busy shopping mall, like Sandton or Fourways. I leave the car and go into the mall. I return to the car after an hour and drive home. I suppose they take the car while I’m in the mall and remove the drugs.”

  “And how do you get paid for all these risks?”

  “A few days later I find an envelope with cash in it pushed through the slot in the front door of my apartment. It’s a lot of money.”

  “How much money?”

  “About thirty thousand rand.”

  “And where do you live?”

  “There are some new apartments on Kent Avenue in Randburg, just north of Johannesburg.”

  “Please write down the full address, as well as your landline phone number and your cell number. Sign it at the bottom.”

  “I don’t have a landline, just my cell.”

  “So your contacts are expecting you in Johannesburg this afternoon?”

  “Yes. If I don’t show up, they’ll kill me when they find me.”

  “You must have a way of alerting them that you’ve been delayed. You could have had a breakdown or an accident, not so?”

  “If I’m going to be late, I leave a message at the same number with an estimate of when I’ll be there.”

  Kubu leaned back in his chair. “Thank you, Ms. Levine. That’s been very helpful.” He leaned back in his chair and stared at her. She’s becoming quite twitchy, he thought. Tapping her foot. Cracking her knuckles. Twisting her fingers. Another hour or so she’s going to be desperate.

  “Needing a fix, Ms. Levine?” Kubu murmured. “Better get used to it. You’re not going to find any in jail. You’ve been very foolish, my dear.”

  He ended the session and turned off the tape recorder. “Constable Morake here will get you a cup of tea,” he said. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  Kubu found the office he had used earlier, shut the door, and went to work.

  First, he located Mabaku, who was shopping with his wife Marie in the Game City mall. He seemed only too pleased to get a call from Kubu on this Saturday morning. Quickly Kubu recounted the pertinent details of Allison’s confession.

  “The South African police will want to use Levine to get her principals,” Mabaku said.

  “She’s expected in Johannesburg later today,” Kubu said. “I doubt if they can set it up that quickly. Anyway, we can’t let her go. We may never get her back if she leaves the country.”

  “I’ll give Van der Walle all the information,” Mabaku said. “He may want to try to do something anyway.”

  “I can get photos of Levine to Van der Walle,” Kubu said, “if he wants to use someone who looks like her. I can also arrange for her cell phone to be taken to the border so that the messages will register as coming from South Africa. Someone can pick it up and use it to set up a rendezvous. They can easily get a car that looks like hers. I’ll send them the number plates too. I suspect the drug traders won’t fall for it, but it may be worth a try.”

  “Good, fax all the information to me. I’ll send it to Van der Walle.”

  “She’s suffering from withdrawal,” Kubu said. “I may be able to get a lot more out of her later. She’s beginning to look desperate.”

  “Don’t let her do anything stupid. Keep an eye on her. Better get a doctor to look at her, too. Meanwhile, give Tatwa a call and fill him in.” He paused. “I’ll have to leave Marie here to finish shopping and go across to the office.” He did not sound unhappy about that at all. Before Kubu could add anything, the phone went dead.

  Kubu checked with Morake about the shoes. It looked likely that there was a match between one of Allison’s shoes and the faxed footprints they had found. Kubu nodded, pleased.

  Next Kubu phoned Tatwa who was delighted to have a reason to bring the ranger in for questioning. He was pretty sure they could now at least charge Allison with being an accessory to murder. He asked Kubu to send the shoes to him as soon as possible.

  For the next hour, Kubu filled out the necessary paperwork for charging Allison for the possession and trafficking of drugs. He also drafted a confession relating to the drug charges for Allison to sign. Finally, he briefed one of the Francistown detectives on all aspects of the arrest, as well as what was happening in Kasane.

  Kubu was feeling quite satisfied. A drug charge that would stick; a potential murder charge; and the possibility of finding some high-up dealers in Johannesburg. Now it was time to pressure Allison to get the information he really cared about—the relationship b
etween the drug smugglers and the murders at Jackalberry Camp.

  Kubu sat down opposite Allison and completed the necessary preliminaries.

  He paged through his notebook, stopped, and then looked at Allison who was now even more on edge.

  “Just a few more questions, Ms. Levine.” Kubu stood up and paced.

  “How did you know where to take Gomwe on the morning he was murdered? It was quite far from the camp and not easily found.” He waited, but Allison did not answer. He decided to gamble.

  “Come on, Ms. Levine, we know you took Gomwe to the clearing where he was murdered. We’ve identified your footprints with Gomwe’s going from the camp to the clearing. You lied, Ms. Levine. You said Gomwe went jogging. That’s not true, is it? We checked with his friends. They laughed when we suggested that he got killed while jogging. They said if he jogged, he most probably died of a heart attack, not from an attack by a rogue elephant. He wasn’t into that sort of exercise at all.” He waited for a response, but Allison did not say a word.

  “Anyway, our trackers said that the two sets of footprints—yours and Gomwe’s—were walking not jogging. You’re lying, Ms. Levine. You knew what you were doing. You deliberately led Boy Gomwe to his death.” Allison was looking down, not meeting his eyes, silent.

  “Who told you to take Gomwe to the clearing, Ms. Levine? If you don’t tell us, then I will charge you with the murder of Boy Gomwe. But you know, I don’t think you murdered him. I think you were used. Why would you die for those scum? You know that Botswana has the death penalty for murder, don’t you? We aren’t soft like South Africa. You kill someone here, you die for it.” Kubu knew this was an exaggeration, but then it was not a lie either.

  Allison looked as though she could barely keep herself on the chair. All resistance had drained from her. Kubu was surprised to see that she was crying.

  “I just did this for the money,” she whispered. “I needed the money.” To keep up appearances, Kubu thought. To be able to play the field. To pay for her fixes. He waited.