“Yes, Commissioner.”
“Well, then have a good evening, Mabaku. It’s very encouraging to know I have your full support. Goodnight.”
Mabaku put down the phone and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He was sweating, although it wasn’t really hot. Must be the operation, he thought. Marie was right as usual, I should’ve stayed at home for a few more days.
Kubu fidgeted while waiting for the director. Joy would be home by now and probably had news she wanted to share with him. Hopefully not bad news. When Mabaku called them back, he hoped the matter would be resolved quickly, and he was not disappointed.
Mabaku leaned back and folded his arms. “I fully apprised the commissioner. He says we don’t have enough evidence to take the matter further.”
Kubu was not surprised. “Yes, I thought he might say that. Don’t rock the boat.” The phrase made him think of poor Tatwa in the river. “Just give us a few more hours with Beardy and authorize a deal for him. We’ll get a full confession in exchange for a light sentence.” He looked at the director’s resolute expression. “A few hours tomorrow, that is,” he added, remembering Joy.
Mabaku shook his head. “The commissioner’s instructions in this matter are absolutely clear. I’m to follow up with Beardy personally.” He held up his hand as Kubu started to protest. “I’ll pursue your idea. Don’t worry, I’ll get to the bottom of it. Tomorrow if I can. You’re to keep out of it, though. Is that clear?”
Kubu nodded, having no option but to accept.
“Now,” said Mabaku more kindly. “You need to get home to Joy. Good evening, Kubu, Edison.”
Edison, who had been fairly confused all along, smiled, nodded, and left. Kubu wanted to suggest how to approach Beardy, how to follow up. But he realized the issue was completely out of his hands now. So be it.
“Good evening, Director Mabaku,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Chapter 75
Enoch bashed through the buffalo grass, his boots sinking into the mud of the Linyanti marsh. His backpack was comfortable now with the newspaper and rocks jettisoned. It contained only minimal clothes, an old sleeping bag, food, a water bottle, a waterproof wallet stuffed with various currencies, and some equipment. Midges buzzed around him as he walked, biting when they could. He ignored them. He was used to these conditions and, despite the discomfort, he was happy. He felt free. Perhaps for the first time in thirty years.
His intention had been to head much farther into the flood plain and land on the Botswana side. There were people there who knew him, people he could trust, but there were far more who did not know him and who were thus even more trustworthy. But when the boat ran out of fuel, he was too close to the areas that the Defense Force patrolled. So he had chosen the other shore. In any case, Namibia would lose interest in finding him long before Botswana did. He smiled, recalling the tall, thin detective churning up the water and screaming his head off, while the big one freaked on land, too fat to do anything useful.
But they’d had the last laugh. He was positive the boat had been fueled up; someone had deliberately emptied the tank. The spotter plane had come much sooner than he had expected, too; he had been forced to spend the day huddled in a thicket like a lion cub secreted from hyenas. And the night had been spent uncomfortably in a tree, out of reach of predators. A helicopter had been active during this morning, but had taken itself off after a few hours, probably to scan the Botswana side. Now he needed the perfect camouflage, a small village out of contact with the world. Somewhere safe to rest and plan his next move.
He checked his cell phone; he wanted to be out of range. A village with reception would have a communal phone and thus contact with the outside world. At first there was no signal, but suddenly it strengthened and a Namibian network offered its services. He cursed, and headed on.
An hour later he saw smoke spiraling above the tall grass. It was some way off and back toward the watercourse. It might indicate a fishing village. He had little option now, the day was getting old, and soon he would have to find a place to spend the night. Building a fire was out of the question, so his best bet was to head for the smoke. Even if it turned out to be poachers, he could join them for the night. He had money to pay his way. And he had Dupie’s revolver, only one shot fired, as a last resort.
He had to detour as he came to waterlogged areas where the flood had spread into the marsh. He was beginning to fear he would not make it before dark, when he came to a ridge running parallel to the game track he had been following. It was worth the short climb to get a view of where he was.
From the top he could see that the land fell away steeply to the flood plain, which was now reclaimed by the Linyanti. A group of temporary huts formed a horseshoe around a small bay. There were mokoros and drying nets. And in the valley there would be no cell phone reception. It was perfect. But there was a problem. A large group of elephants had taken the middle ground between him and the village. They were decimating the foliage of the trees scattered on the lower hillside above the waterlogged plains. It was a breeding herd with females and calves. The villagers were making a big fuss and the damp grass fire causing all the smoke was probably to keep the elephants at bay. Enoch sighed. He was tired and hungry, and he wanted a place to sleep where he did not have to worry about hyenas and lions. If he tried to outflank the herd, it would be a long way around, and it might even leave him stranded in the dark. He put his hand to his breast feeling for the Watching Eye that had hung around his neck, the Eye that matched Dupie’s. But Dupie’s Eye was in a thousand pieces, and he had thrown his own into the Linyanti. That time was past. He slung his pack over his shoulders and headed down the hill toward the village.
At first it seemed that the elephants would ignore him. He had to pass through the herd, but he kept as far as possible from any individual, and particularly from the females with young. He made no effort to be quiet, feeling it was better not to behave as a stalker. One or two lifted their trunks to smell the air, flapped their ears threateningly, and pawed the ground, but he passed by, and they let him go. He thought he was through the herd, home free.
Suddenly he came upon a young female with a younger calf, who had lagged behind the herd to enjoy the green papyrus and the sweet river water. They saw each other at almost the same moment, and the cow panicked. She gave a shrill, high-pitched trumpet and charged, determined to eliminate this threat to her youngster. The baby trumpeted too, impressed by the noise he had created but unsure what the fuss was about. Luckily, Enoch was on a fairly steep part of the ridge, and there was a huge baobab to his left. He had time to duck behind it before the female thundered over the spot he had been occupying seconds before. She turned to find him, knowing exactly where he was, but her calf, still producing shrill imitations of his mother, was right behind her. The threat was no longer between them and the herd. She trumpeted again, turned surprisingly quickly, and started up the hill at a pace so fast that her baby could barely keep up. In seconds they were gone.
Enoch waited a few minutes while his heart rate returned to normal and his muscles relaxed. He had been set to leap into the baobab, one tree in which he would be safe from the most determined elephant, but only if he had made the first branch ten feet above his head. It seemed that Eye or no Eye, his luck had held.
Calm now, he made his way down the hill to the village. They were not Batswana, but understood Setswana. He told them he was surveying for a mining company and showed them his GPS. He asked if he could use his cell phone. At first they did not understand, but when he showed it to them, they laughed loudly and shook their heads. They wanted to know how he had managed to get around the elephants. He told them he had walked through the herd. It was all in a day’s work. He became an instant celebrity.
Two women were cooking fresh fish, wrapped in aromatic leaves, over open coals from the fire, while another stirred a pot of the ubiquitous mielie meal for pappa. The men invited him to join them, and he accepted graciously, but
insisted that he pay his way. He had pula, not Namibian dollars, but that was fine.
“The white men have lots of cash,” he explained, and they nodded in sage acceptance. They had calabashes of beer and enjoyed his company the better for the money. The evening was fine, and Enoch relaxed for the first time in days, maybe in years. When the meal was over and all the beer was gone, he shared a hut with a single man in the group and slept the sleep of the exhausted.
But one of the older men, toothless and early to bed, religiously listened to the news on a portable shortwave radio every night at 9:00 p.m. Usually, there was little he understood and less of interest. But this was a special night. This night was different. Enoch’s luck had just run out.
Chapter 76
It was nearly 6:00 p.m. when Kubu got home, and he approached the gate in an ambivalent mood. Should he have called? But he did not want to be physically separated from Joy if the news was bad. He had meant to be home early, but the issue with Beardy had made him late. Wasted time, he thought bitterly. They weren’t taking the Zimbabwe plot idea seriously. Anyway, he had done his best.
As usual, Ilia was at the gate making a huge fuss of her returning master. There was nothing for it but to put her in the car so that Kubu could drive in without worrying about where she was. It calmed her down, too. He parked the car and went up to the house. It was still light, but Joy was not on the veranda. Kubu swallowed hard and opened the front door.
“My darling! I’m here!”
“I’m in the lounge, Kubu.”
Joy was relaxing in an armchair, reading a magazine. She was wearing one of his favorite dresses, one she had bought for a fancy reception to which they had been invited the previous year. It traced and hugged every curve, and with subtle makeup, Joy had been the most beautiful woman there. For a moment Kubu wondered if he had forgotten that they were going out, but then he saw the dining table set for two. The special dinner service was in use, and two tall candles waited to be lit. A delicious aroma of oxtail stew wafted from the kitchen. I’ve forgotten some special anniversary again, Kubu thought, worried. He stood gaping at Joy, still holding his briefcase.
“Do you want a steelworks, or will you open some wine?” Joy asked, putting down the magazine. Kubu played for time. “A steelworks will be wonderful to start. You look ravishing. My favorite dress! I’m very spoiled.” He dropped the briefcase, lifted her in his arms, and gave her a long kiss, which left them both a little breathless.
“I love this dress. I thought I’d wear it for you tonight. I may not be able to wear it for a while.”
Kubu just nodded. “What did Dr. Diklekeng say?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you in a minute. Let me get the steelworks first.” She was already busy with it. “Why don’t you choose a wine? We’re having the oxtail stew you like so much.”
“We need something heavy with that. What do you feel like? A shiraz or a Bordeaux blend?”
“Whatever you prefer. I’ll just have a sip to taste.”
Ah ha, Kubu thought. He busied himself opening a rich shiraz from Stellenbosch, which could breathe while they had the soft drinks.
“So,” he said complacently when they were settled. “We are going to have a baby!”
Joy’s jaw dropped. “Yes, that’s what Dr. Diklekeng told me. I was shocked! But how on earth did you know? You didn’t phone him, did you?” There was an edge to the last question.
Kubu laughed. He swallowed the steelworks, jumped to his feet, and lifted Joy into the air, against token protest. “My darling, you are the most wonderful woman in the whole world—and that’s counting all the ones in China, too—and I love you desperately. You’ve made me happy since the day we met. Now you give me this wonderful gift we no longer dared hope for. I love you forever!”
“Kubu, put me down! You’re making me dizzy. Now, how did you know?” Kubu put her down, but squeezed into the armchair with her. This forced her onto his lap, which was fine with both of them. He put his arm around her shoulder.
“My darling, you must remember that I’m one of Botswana’s ace detectives. It’s my business to sift clues, always be alert, integrate data. Even today I discovered a dastardly plot against a head of state. Now let me explain to you how a great detective deduces the truth from a few scattered clues.” Joy rolled her eyes in mock despair.
“First, I know you went to the doctor today. Clearly the news was good, but not being seriously ill isn’t cause for major celebration. The best dining service, your husband’s favorite meal, candles, a dress which even now, despite the wonderful aromas wafting from the stove, may force dinner to be delayed.” He kissed her deeply again. “So clearly something’s up. But what? A forgotten anniversary? A hippo never forgets! It must be the news from the doctor. And the ace detective picks up little clues. Why only a sip of wine? You usually have a glass or two. Why would you not wear this dress for a while? Could it be that your figure will change? Even though we were told that it was very unlikely indeed that we’d have children, the ace detective deduces the correct conclusion!”
Joy, who had gazed appreciatively into his eyes during the first part of this recitation, was no longer looking at him. She had spotted the magazine that she had been reading lying on the floor.
“Kubu! You saw my magazine, didn’t you?”
Kubu nodded, gravely. “That, too. Another clue!” The magazine had a smiling cherub on the cover and My Baby in block letters across the top. Joy picked it up and gave Kubu a playful clout with it. “You pig!” she said. “How could you pretend? Ace detective indeed.” But she was laughing so much she could hardly get the words out. Kubu used the moment to start caressing her. The stove had to be switched off, lest the stew burn.
Half an hour later, the stew was even better. Kubu wolfed it with lashings of vegetables and copious glasses of shiraz. Joy ate little and drank less. There was a dreaminess about her.
“Kubu, you are really happy about this, aren’t you? Our lives will change, you know.”
“My darling, I’m happy beyond my wildest dreams. How can you doubt it? But how come you didn’t know? I thought women always knew these things.” He sounded a touch embarrassed.
“But Kubu, you know I’m very irregular anyway, and I’d given up hope after those visits to the specialist and everything. But Dr. Diklekeng said it was all your doing. Trust a man to say that!” She laughed. Kubu was so happy that he almost turned down a third helping. But it was a special occasion so he indulged himself. “I wonder if he’ll be interested in cricket?” he mused, as he helped himself.
“Kubu, it may not be a boy, you know. You won’t mind if it’s a girl, will you?”
Kubu laughed. “A girl will be excellent. Think of all the wine we can buy when we get the lobola!”
“Oh, Kubu, you’re quite impossible! You’ll be a terrible father, getting your children involved with ridiculous sports that no one else understands, and pretending to be ace detectives, and encouraging underage drinking, and I’ve no idea what else, but I’m sure I’ll find out. But I am so glad that you are you.”
Kubu winked. “Is there any dessert?” he asked.
Chapter 77
Kubu and Joy couldn’t wait to tell his parents. It took restraint not to phone them first thing on Sunday morning, but they decided to wait until they got to Mochudi. Kubu wanted to celebrate at the best restaurant in Gaborone, but Joy cautioned him that his parents would be uncomfortable with both the surroundings and the extravagance. If anything, Wilmon would say, they should cut back on their spending to prepare for the arrival of his first grandchild.
After much discussion, Kubu and Joy decided to do what they often did—take lunch and eat it on the veranda of his parents’ house. That would be more in keeping with the way his parents thought. The only deviation from the norm was that Kubu stopped at a supermarket on the way out of Gaborone to buy a bottle of sparkling grape juice, nonalcoholic of course. Kubu loved celebrations and couldn’t resist something different, alb
eit not what he would have offered wine-loving friends. For them it would have been real champagne, and had Wilmon known the cost, he would have been scandalized.
The trip north seemed interminable. Even Ilia sensed something was different. She kept trying to climb over the back of Joy’s seat into her lap. Even when pushed back, she would put her paws on the back of the seat and lick Joy’s ears. Neither Kubu nor Joy had the heart to stop her.
When they opened the car doors in front of Kubu’s parents’ house, Ilia streaked up the steps into Wilmon’s waiting arms. It’s sad, Kubu thought, that the old man is able to display more emotion to the dog than to his wife. It’s a generational thing, he thought. People didn’t express feelings openly in the old days.
After ritual greetings, Amantle brought out a tray of tea, adorned with a gift of mixed biscuits from Joy, rather than the usual Marie biscuits. The time had finally arrived to break the news. Joy glanced at Kubu and nodded.
“Mother, Father,” Kubu said with a straight face, “I’ve told you that Joy hasn’t been feeling well since they tried to kidnap her. She’s a stubborn woman, so it was only yesterday that she went to the doctor…”
Amantle put one hand anxiously to her mouth. Wilmon’s impassive face showed the trace of a frown.
“Well,” Kubu continued, “the doctor told Joy that she wouldn’t be well for several months and ordered her to change her diet. He also ordered her to stop drinking alcohol.”
Wilmon nodded in agreement. He would certainly give similar advice.
“What is wrong with her?” Amantle asked. “It is nothing serious, is it, Joy?”
Playing along with Kubu’s game, Joy hung her head. “Kubu must tell you,” she said demurely.
“Kubu, tell us. You know we will do what we can to help.” Amantle was becoming impatient.
A Carrion Death & The 2nd Death of Goodluck Tinubu Page 81
