“Director Mabaku’s going to be fine,” he said.
Chapter 70
Kubu thought about the money. It had to be a lot of money. They’d needed a briefcase. This wasn’t a payoff in a fat envelope from someone’s inside jacket pocket. And almost certainly the money was in an international currency, not rand or pula. If it was in U.S. dollars, it could be half a million dollars in one hundred dollar notes, even if the briefcase was not full. And if it was in euros, it could be almost ten times that because euros come in notes up to 500. But apart from issues of size and weight, the briefcase had led to at least four murders. It had to be a lot of money.
“What about the heroin or whatever it was?” asked Tatwa.
Kubu shook his head. “We don’t know what it was. Drugs? Maybe they didn’t even keep those. Too dangerous and impossible to sell quietly unless you have the contacts. Diamonds? We’ll never find them. No, we concentrate on the money. We know it existed, and they must’ve kept it.” Kubu scratched his head. “Tatwa, what sort of search did your people do when they came out the day of the murders?”
“We were looking for evidence connected with the murders. We weren’t looking for money. We didn’t know about the money, then. But the guys checked all the luggage, all Goodluck and Langa’s stuff, of course, and looked over the island. We did a cursory check of the vehicles, the other tents, the kitchen area. If you’re asking if we could’ve missed a stash of hidden money, the answer must be yes.”
“Okay, that means that they had time to move the money to a better hiding place after we all left and before Madrid turned up. For that matter, Dupie could’ve hidden it anywhere along the road to the airstrip. We know he went there because he dumped Zondo’s stuff near it. They could even have taken the money to Kasane—you may as well check with the banks. See if they deposited it or accessed a deposit box. Just because something is incredibly stupid, it doesn’t mean they wouldn’t have done it. But I think the money’s nearby. I don’t think they would want that money out of their control. Especially not with three people in the know. I’ll bet the money’s within walking distance of right here.” He heaved himself to his feet. “Let’s go and find it.”
A different type of search took place around Jackalberry Camp. Two of the constables walked the island, looking up into the trees for anything unusual that might indicate a package. Kubu scanned the messy bird nests in the dead trees near the water’s edge with binoculars. Tatwa took on the kitchen area, opening boxes of provisions in front of a scandalized Moremi and irritated Kweh. The third constable, accompanied by Salome, went through each tent, quickly checking the vacant ones, and carefully going through the staff accommodation.
Kubu finished first and returned to the reception area. He found Dupie there drinking tea and looking smug. “You’re howling up the wrong tree, Superintendent. You’re not going to find anything because there’s nothing to find. What’s next? Dig up the island for buried treasure? Dredge the lagoon?” He laughed.
In fact, Kubu had thought about the money being buried or hidden in the lagoon and had rejected it. The crime was opportunistic in the sense that they’d planned it when they found the money. He did not think that a suitably strong or waterproof container would have been available. But it was a concern. If he were wrong, there were hundreds of places the money might be. They might never find it.
“I want to look at the stuff on the mainland. The vehicles and that shed you have there. Any objection?”
Dupie shrugged. “Help yourself. But everything is locked. Has to be, with the village just down the river. I better come with you. I’ll get the keys.” He swallowed the rest of his tea, climbed to his feet, and headed to his office tent. At the same time, Tatwa appeared from the kitchen wiping his head with a tea towel. He had been through everything, concluding with Kweh’s perch-cupboard. Kweh had been so outraged that he had broken his strict housetraining. Kubu could not help smiling as he detected a note of triumph in the raucous “go-away, go-away” that followed Tatwa’s departure.
“Nothing,” Tatwa announced, dumping the wet towel. “They’re low on provisions, too. Either they’re not expecting to be in business much longer, or they’ve delayed stocking up because of the Madrid story. And Moremi’s in as bad a mood as Kweh now. Don’t expect a gourmet dinner.”
Kubu pouted because Tatwa expected that. But actually he was keen to get home, touch base with Mabaku, and most of all to see Joy. Perhaps he would have to take her to Dr. Diklekeng himself. And he felt the urgency again. Something was going to happen. Perhaps they would break the case given enough time, but instinctively he felt that time was exactly what they didn’t have.
“I want to check the boat and the vehicles and look around at the landing on the mainland. Dupie will come with us. He’s gone to fetch the keys.”
The boat had a sealed fiberglass hull and a few storage compartments that were damp and stuffed with life jackets and fishing gear. Nevertheless, they were unpacked and the compartments checked with a flashlight. It was soon obvious to Kubu that there was nowhere on the boat that you could hide anything, let alone the amount of money he thought was involved.
They took the police launch to the mainland. There they carefully checked the vehicles, looking for extra tanks or compartments. Both vehicles had second tanks for long distance driving, both contained fuel. They checked under the seats, inside the seats themselves, and in the small camping fridges whose contents kept guests cheerful on game drives. The open Land Rover had long since lost the sealed dashboard area, but there was closed space behind the Toyota Double Cab’s façade. It was large enough. Kubu asked Dupie to disassemble it.
“Hell, that’s a big job. I don’t want my vehicle messed up because you’re on a wild goose chase.”
“Then we’ll have to impound the vehicle and take it apart in Kasane.”
“Like hell you will! Shit! Okay, I’ll get some tools from the shed.”
“I’ll come with you. I want to look at the shed anyway.”
Dupie battled briefly with the rusted padlock on the door of the small storeroom and then creaked open the door. There was no window, but enough light came in through the door to be able to see. The place was as messy as Dupie’s office. You can judge a workman by his tools, thought Kubu. Someone had told him that; he was not much of a workman himself. There was a scatter of wrenches, screwdrivers, and other tools on a rickety wooden workbench. They had to step over a drip pan for oil changes—still containing oil—to reach it. A couple of spare tires leaned against one wall next to a hopelessly distorted wheel rim and some tire irons and clamps. Clearly Dupie did—or tried to do—much of his own maintenance for the boat and the two vehicles.
Dupie cursed.
“Your bloody people took half my tools! When am I going to get them back, hey? How long does it take to check if they were involved in whacking Langa?”
Kubu treated the question as rhetorical. There were some greasy boxes under the workbench. He pointed to them. “Spare parts?”
Dupie glowered. “Yes. You want to check? Help yourself while I waste my time pulling the vehicle apart.” Carrying a selection of screwdrivers, wrenches, and a pair of pliers, he headed off. Kubu was tempted to let it go. But it could be a bluff. So he started on the boxes.
Ten minutes later he emerged into the sunshine, blinking, and with nothing to show for his efforts but greasy hands. He tried to clean them with a rag from the boat. By the time he felt he could survive until soap was accessible, Dupie had the dashboard off, and Tatwa was shining the flashlight and poking around inside. He shook his head when Kubu approached.
“You satisfied?” asked Dupie. “Can I put it back together now?” Tatwa was checking depths from the engine side to be sure there was no hidden compartment. He nodded. It was another blank.
“Thanks. Much appreciated,” said Dupie, sarcastically. Kubu was looking at the inside of the vehicle doors. “Do the windows open?” he asked.
“Of course the windows
open,” said Dupie with irritation. Then he guessed where Kubu was heading. “Oh shit. You want me to take the door panels off too? Well, why the hell not?” He started viciously levering them off with a screwdriver. A lot of dust and rusty mechanism was exposed, but not a single dollar bill.
Kubu took another look under the vehicle. Like many bakkies, the spare wheel was held under the vehicle with a protective plate. It kept the tire out of harm’s way. It also meant that the wheel’s center cavity was hidden. That could hold a lot of money.
A stream of invective was coming from the front of the vehicle, where Tatwa was trying to help Dupie replace the dashboard. The screwdriver had slipped and gouged Dupie’s hand. Kubu decided to wait a while before raising the issue of lowering the spare wheel. He noticed that the front driver’s tire was a bit flat. Maybe Dupie would want to change it. He left Dupie and Tatwa to their struggles and wandered over to the Land Rover. It had two spare wheels, one on the hood and one fixed to the tailgate. Neither rim had any significant space for hiding money. He scanned the river bird nests again with his binoculars, checked around the shed, and got back to the Toyota Double Cab in time for Dupie’s satisfied grunt as he tightened the last screw.
“Your front tire’s a bit flat,” Kubu offered.
Dupie took a look at it and tried a kick. “Well, I’m not going anywhere, am I? I’ll pump it up when I am.”
“I’d like you to take down the spare.”
Dupie did not even argue. Without a word he rummaged in the vehicle and appeared with a tire spanner and jack handle. Then he said to Tatwa, “You’d better do it. Neither of us will fit under there.” Suddenly in a better mood, he offered Kubu a wink. So it was Tatwa who emerged five minutes later, covered in dust. He had lowered the wheel far enough to check there was nothing hidden, and then cranked it back into place. By that time Dupie had locked the shed. He accepted the vehicle’s tools from Tatwa and packed them away, locked the doors, and rubbed his hands on his shorts.
“Tell you what, you owe me a beer. On you this time, Superintendent.”
In spite of himself, Kubu smiled. But why was Dupie suddenly in a good mood? Was the beer something of a celebration? Had they, after all, missed something? If they had, Kubu could not think where. He sighed and relaxed.
“Okay. I’ll buy you a beer.”
Chapter 71
Despite Dupie’s sudden bonhomie, it was a somber evening. Dupie drank his beer and took himself off, leaving Kubu and Tatwa to ponder the disappointments of the day. Kubu tried to phone Mabaku, but the call went straight to voice mail. Kubu smiled. Marie must be in full control.
Next he tried Joy. She answered, but sounded tired and distracted, and again asked when he would be back. The stress is starting to tell, he thought. He told her they would be leaving tomorrow. The thought had become a decision. He had to get back and, anyway, his investigation was stalled. Tatwa, pretending not to listen, was relieved. He, too, could see no point in hanging around the camp.
They walked up to the lookout to watch the sunset. It was as spectacular as the sunrise, but this time brought no inspiration. Then they wandered back to the bar and, in Dupie’s absence, Kubu opened a bottle of cold sauvignon blanc. Dupie arrived shortly afterward, changed and showered. Dupie was friendly, but thoughtful and restrained. There was no sign of Salome or Enoch until dinnertime.
As Tatwa had predicted, dinner was not gourmet fare. Moremi produced cold meats, bread and cheeses, salad, and fruit. He had little to say to anyone and retired early with Kweh. Solomon and Enoch followed soon after. Dupie brewed a pot of coffee while Salome sat in hostile silence with the detectives. The three constables had set up camp near the landing. The pretense of an attack from Madrid had been abandoned. It was clear to everyone now that the policemen were there as guards not protectors.
When Dupie arrived with the coffee and the bottle of port he and Kubu had opened the previous night, Salome broke her silence.
“What’s going to happen now, Superintendent? Are you still trying to prove that we’re all bloodthirsty murderers?”
Kubu took his time before replying. “I think some people here are responsible for the deaths of four men. They did it for money, and they did it for revenge. I’m not sure who they are, but I have five suspects. I intend to make a decision soon as to how to proceed. I’m afraid it’s going to be very unpleasant for everyone. It would be very helpful if at least the innocent parties started telling me the truth.”
“Would you recognize the truth if you heard it? Can you distinguish innocence from guilt, Superintendent? I don’t think so. You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?” Salome left her coffee and got to her feet. “I’m going to my tent. Goodnight, Dupie.”
Kubu sat impassively, but smarting from her words. Was he victimizing this woman? Was he biased by her past and by the soft spot he had developed for a man he would never meet but felt he now knew? He decided he was tired and was about to call it a day, but suddenly Dupie became sociable. He poured the three of them a port, and when Tatwa politely refused, pushed the second glass toward Kubu.
“Salome’s under a lot of strain, Superintendent. Has been since all this started. No, from long before that. Maybe thirty years before. She’s had a hard life. But we’re all grateful to her. All of us would do anything for her.”
“Are you trying to tell us something, Dupie?” Kubu was instantly alert.
“I’m asking you to understand her and to understand us.”
Kubu nodded, waiting. There would be more. Tatwa knew this exchange was between Kubu and Dupie; he sat quietly, withdrawn, unobtrusive despite his height.
“I’m going to do what you asked. I’m going to tell you some things I omitted before. But it’s going to hurt me, Superintendent. I’m not doing this for you. I don’t care about your damn case. I’m doing this for her. I want you off her back.” He swallowed the port in one gulp and helped himself to another.
“There’s something else I want you to know. Enoch and I go back a long way.” He hesitated, and Kubu interjected, “To the Rhodesian war? Yes I know.”
“Much further back. To when men walked outside their caves at night in fear of predators. Tigers. Saber-tooth tigers. And you had to rely on another man to back you up, whatever happened. Whatever happened. It was like that in the Scouts. Our strength was in backing each other up. No matter what happened. No matter what was done to us. No matter what we did. You know what I’m talking about?”
He shook his head. “You’ve no idea, have you? It’s like the Watching Eye.” He turned to Tatwa. “You’d better give that back. It’s mine, and it’s important. You understand?” Neither policeman reacted, so Dupie shrugged in disgust. He worked on the port for a while.
“Enoch and I were like that. Did we save each other’s lives? Sure we did. That wasn’t a big deal. That was a byproduct of what I’m talking about. The Eyes…” He struggled, trying to explain. “They’re symbols. You know?”
Kubu did not know at all. But Kubu did not want to hear about Dupie and Enoch, nor about the Rhodesian war. He wanted to hear about a Sunday night three weeks before. Dupie finished another port. Suddenly he was matter-of-fact. The sober, practical man, not the slightly tipsy philosopher.
“Okay, I’d better tell you some things that happened. That I didn’t tell you before. Some of the things you said are true, after all. It’s just your deductions that don’t work. Not quite Sherlock Holmes after all, perhaps.” Kubu did not react. He took a contemplative sip of port. He didn’t need to push. He knew Dupie would say what he had to say. Tatwa was so quiet and still that Kubu had to check his eyes to see that he was still awake.
“Well, you were right about that day with the trailer. Enoch asked me to help him set up an alibi. He was going to head out a way—not far—push the trailer into the bushes at a place we know and leave it there. When he called, all I had to do was go out there, hang around for an hour or so, and then head back with the trailer. And tell the story about
the wheel bearing.”
“And what was Enoch doing while this was happening?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say. He just said he had something he needed to sort out. That he’d be back the next day after he’d done the shopping in Kasane. I don’t know where he went.”
“You didn’t ask?” It was Tatwa’s incredulous interjection.
Dupie looked at him and shook his head. “No, I didn’t ask. He said it was important, and he needed my help. It was like in the war. We didn’t ask. We just did what was necessary. Like the Eyes. Like that. I didn’t even think about asking.”
Kubu nodded. “What else?”
“What do you mean, what else?”
“When Enoch left you, he drove to Maun and killed William Boardman. Why?”
“I don’t know that he did that! I know he did something, that’s all.” He looked at Tatwa as though he might understand.
“Was it a return favor?” asked Kubu. “For your asking Enoch to pretend to be Zondo on the boat?”
“That was Zondo! I swear it. Everything I’ve told you about Zondo is true. And we don’t tally favors.”
“So you still stick to the story that Zondo was behind all the murders?”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Ah. No longer think?”
Dupie seemed very uncomfortable and refilled his glass before he replied. “Shit! I might as well tell you now. Salome did ask me about Goodluck. I thought it was her ghosts, but I promised I’d check. But I needed to keep Goodluck chatting after I lifted his keys. So it was Enoch who searched his luggage. The briefcase too, I guess.”
“And what did he find?”
“He said he found nothing. Nothing. I told Salome. I don’t think she believed we’d even looked. She was sure about Goodluck. God knows how she could be after all these years. But she was right about him, wasn’t she? I guess there are some faces you never forget.”
A Carrion Death & The 2nd Death of Goodluck Tinubu Page 77
