“I’ll come with you,” he said to Kubu.
JUBJUB WAS SITTING AT the dining room table. She had eye shadow smeared over her face, and her eyes were red and moist; she no longer looked the young consort of an aspiring politician. A half-full cup of tea cooled on the table in front of her.
She ignored the arrival of the two men, so Kubu walked around the table, sat down directly opposite her, and pulled out his notebook. “Mma Oteng, I’m very sorry to meet you again under these awful circumstances. This is Director Mabaku, the head of the CID.” Mabaku expressed his sympathies and sat to one side, out of the direct line of the questioning. “Finding Rra Marumo’s killer is the CID’s top priority now,” Kubu continued. “We need you to help us by answering some questions.”
She glanced up from the table. “What about the dog’s head? You didn’t find who did that.”
“I know, but we had nothing to go on. This’ll be different.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Just tell us exactly what you saw and heard.”
“I told the other policeman. I heard nothing. I came in here to set the table for supper. Billy was late, but he’s often held up at meetings and so on. No one seems able to do anything without him. Anyway, I glanced out the window here and saw his car in the driveway.”
“What time was that?” Kubu interrupted.
She thought for a moment. “It must’ve been around seven. The news program had just started on the TV.”
Kubu made a note and nodded for her to continue.
“I thought he’d just arrived and would be in in a minute, so I went back to the cooking—I was making roast chicken and vegetables for him. He likes that. But he didn’t come in, so I went outside to see what the matter was. And I saw him slumped against the wall. I thought he’d fallen or had a heart attack or something, so I ran up to him. But then I saw all that blood . . .” Her voice trailed off, and Kubu waited while she got control of herself. “I just started screaming and screaming, and Dr. Pilane came from next door. He called the police.”
“Did you see or hear anything before you found Rra Marumo? A shout, scream, anything?”
She shook her head. “I told you I had the TV on in the kitchen. I wanted to see the news because I was sure Billy would be on after the big win. You know. But none of it matters now, does it?” She covered her face with her hands and started to cry.
Again Kubu waited a few moments. “I asked you this before, but please think about it hard again. Can you think of anyone who would want to kill Rra Marumo? Someone who would hate him enough to kill him like this?”
“Billy had lots of political enemies. After the election, the government was really scared of him. He was showing them up for the bunch of self-important fat cats they are. I think they’re behind it.”
Kubu grunted. Jubjub had been calm and uninterested when he’d interviewed her the day of the dog incident. She’d added nothing to what Marumo had already said, confirming all the details he’d given almost word for word. But now she was deeply shaken.
“Mma Oteng, I’m sorry to raise this issue again, but it could be very important in finding Rra Marumo’s killer. Are you sure there’s nothing more you can tell me about that incident with the dog’s head? Anything you heard or saw when you found it? Please think about it very carefully.”
Kubu kept his eyes on Jubjub’s face, and eventually she looked down. “Actually I didn’t find it,” she said softly. “Billy found it. He went outside, and a few minutes later I heard him shout. He didn’t want me to look, but I did. It was sickening. When I calmed down he said I should say I found it.”
“Why was that?”
“He said it was aimed at him, but we’d get a more sympathetic reaction that way. He thought it would help the election campaign.” Her voice was expressionless.
Kubu started to ask another question, but Mabaku interrupted. “Never mind who found it.” He sighed. “Mma Oteng, does Rra Marumo have parents, brothers, sisters? We need to let them know what’s happened.”
She wiped her eyes with a tissue and nodded. “I’ll give you their details,” she said.
MABAKU TOOK ON THE job of breaking the news to Marumo’s parents, but he had parting words for Kubu. “Get on with it, Kubu. Let’s get this wrapped up as quickly as we can. It’s obviously an amateur job; we should be able to catch the killer easily. And why pursue the dog head issue? Someone is running around out there with human blood all over himself.”
“Well, it established that Jubjub lied to us before, so she may do it again. We can’t rely on what she told us tonight. Actually, I think Marumo planted the head himself. That means that the two events are probably unrelated. I want to check his car for animal blood.”
“There’s no point, Kubu. If Marumo did it himself, then it’s no longer an issue. And if someone else did it, we haven’t been able to trace him. Drop it. Focus on the murder.” He turned to leave, but he had a final comment. “Get this business sorted out, Kubu. Otherwise we’re both going to have a hard time.”
Kubu sighed. At least it had become “we” now rather than “you.” He went back into the driveway and found the sergeant who was coordinating the house-to-house questioning.
“Anything turn up?”
The sergeant shook his head. “No one’s reported back yet.”
“Where’s the neighbor?”
“He’s in the house with Mma Oteng.”
“Well, he’s not with her now,” said Kubu testily. His indigestion was getting worse.
“I told him to wait. Maybe he’s in another room. Maybe he thought Mma Oteng was better left alone.”
Kubu pouted. Was he supposed to search the damn house now? He grunted, walked back into the house, and almost collided with a man coming out. He was of middle height, fit looking, and wearing a gray tracksuit. The pant legs were stained at the knees with mud and something else that looked like dry blood.
“Dr. Pilane?”
“That’s right. And who are you?”
“I’m Assistant Superintendent Bengu of the CID. I was looking for you.”
“Oh. Yes. The sergeant said someone else would want to talk to me.”
Kubu didn’t want to go back to the dining room; he wanted Pilane on his own. Off the entrance hall there was a side room, a study, the desk cluttered with papers and newspapers. He herded the doctor there, shut the door, and took the chair behind the desk, leaving Pilane to sit on a leather couch along a side wall.
“Please tell me what happened. Everything you can recall in the order it happened.”
The doctor hesitated, collecting his thoughts. “Well, I was just back from a run. That’s why I’m dressed like this. So I was catching my breath outside my house on the back veranda, where it was nice and cool. Then I heard screaming coming from here. So I ran over to see what was happening.”
“Brave of you.”
The doctor shrugged. “I didn’t think about it. A woman was screaming.”
“Do you recall what time that was?”
The doctor thought for a moment. “After examining Bill, I checked my watch to establish the legal time of death. It was seven-twenty-one. I must’ve heard Jubjub screaming about five minutes before that.”
“Did you hear or see anything before you heard her scream?”
Pilane shook his head. “I’d run farther than I meant to. It was late, and there weren’t many people about.”
“Go on.”
“When I got here the electric gate was closed, and Jubjub was standing in the driveway screaming her head off. I got her to calm down and go inside and open the gate. Then I came in and examined Bill.” He sighed. “He was stabbed all over his upper body. No pulse, no breathing. Pointless to try CPR.”
Kubu thought that Ian might have underestimated this general practitioner. He seemed to know what he was doing.
“Is that how you got the stains on your clothes?”
The doctor glanced at his soiled pants. “Yes. I’d
like to get changed and showered as soon as we’re finished here.”
“We’ll want the clothes. I’ll send someone with you to collect them when you change.”
Pilane frowned. “Is that necessary?”
“We’ll be looking for traces of the killer on Marumo’s body. Forensics will find particles of material from your clothes. We’ll want to eliminate those. Also we’ll need your fingerprints—again for elimination purposes.” Kubu didn’t add that although the doctor’s story sounded reasonable, there could be other explanations. A murderer would want to have a believable excuse if traces of blood were subsequently found in his house.
The doctor looked somber and nodded.
Kubu prompted him. “What happened next?”
“I took Jubjub inside and phoned the police. Then I went back to my house, washed my hands, and got her some tranquilizers. She was in a pretty bad way. The police arrived just after I got back. You know what happened after that.”
Kubu nodded. “Thank you, doctor. I may need to talk to you again later, but for now let’s get your fingerprints and get you cleaned up.”
The doctor looked relieved. “Good,” he said. “And I could use a strong drink after that.”
KUBU LEFT THE DOCTOR with one of the forensics people and went to check if Ian MacGregor had any news or if the sergeant had heard from his door-to-door team. He found the forensics team going about their business and Ian packing up his tools. Kubu looked at him inquiringly.
“Rigor mortis hasn’t set in. Maybe a trace in the eyelids.” He shrugged. “And his temperature has only dropped about two degrees. There’s some lividity developing, though.”
“And that means?”
“I’d say he died sometime after half past six. Certainly not before six.”
Kubu thanked him and walked to the gate to look for the sergeant. From there he could see that a noisy crowd had gathered at the police roadblock. He felt another twinge of indigestion. The press had arrived. He tried to reach Mabaku on his cell phone, but there was no reply. He turned away. He wasn’t going to face this music on his own.
SIXTEEN
WHEN WITNESS EVENTUALLY WOKE up on Sunday morning, he was curled in a ball clutching the bedclothes, eyes tight shut. One pillow was near his feet, the other on the floor. He felt totally drained, despite sleeping for more than twelve hours.
The previous night was a blur. He remembered standing in the garden, the darkness broken by slivers of light from the house windows and streetlamps, and looking at Marumo’s body motionless on the ground. He remembered thinking that somebody must have killed Marumo, because there were dark stains on his shirt, a slash across his face, and a black stripe down his neck. Or had he killed him? He had a vague recollection of trying to stop Marumo from making a noise.
Witness pulled himself into a tighter ball. He lay still for some time, flitting in and out of sleep. Eventually he uncurled himself and opened his eyes for the first time that morning. The sun was already high, judging by the shadows of the windowpanes. He glanced at his wristwatch. It was noon. He looked again and caught his breath, shocked. His hand was covered with a dark brown stain. So was his arm. He looked down. He was still wearing his clothes, and his shirt and trousers were covered in brown stains, too. He was still wearing his shoes!
He couldn’t remember getting into bed.
He couldn’t remember what had happened.
WITNESS LAY THERE FOR another hour trying to bring the previous night into focus. He decided he must have killed Marumo and felt some satisfaction about revenging Tombi’s death. The man was a murderer! But had he meant to kill him? A confession would have been enough, so he could take him to the police. Had he changed his mind? Slowly it came back to him. Marumo had pushed him and shouted for help even though he’d promised not to harm him if he kept quiet. He’d had no choice then.
IT WAS NEARLY THREE in the afternoon, and Witness was still in bed. He was no longer curled up but was lying on his back, hands behind his head, his brain now clear. Behind his closed eyes, he recalled Marumo’s terror. He was not Mr. Smiley Face when he had a knife against his throat. Oh no! He was like anyone else in that situation—terrified. Witness smiled. The man deserved to die. Tombi’s spirit would be happy.
But now he had to think about what to do, and for the next hour he pondered his options. He eventually decided that nobody could possibly know that he’d killed the smiling Marumo. Nobody had seen him; of that he was sure. He had no police record, so no one would suspect him. All he needed to do was wash his clothes and polish his shoes to make sure there was no blood on them. Just in case. Then he’d take a shower and clean himself. Finally, after dark, he would wash the seat in his car in case any blood had come off his clothes.
And if someone asked him where he was on Saturday evening, he’d say he had driven over to the Broadhurst Mall and walked around. He knew it well. He would be convincing.
He had a plan! He couldn’t see how it could go wrong.
Suddenly his reverie was shattered by a loud banging on the door.
“Witness! Witness! Are you there?” It was Big Mama. Witness didn’t move.
“Witness! Open up! I’ve got to talk to you.”
Witness curled up and pulled the blanket over his head.
“Witness. It’s Big Mama. Let me in.”
Witness lay still. A few moments later, he heard footsteps crunching on the sand outside his window. Fortunately the window was closed; otherwise Big Mama would have been able to pull the curtain aside and peer in. Then the footsteps continued around the other side of the house. Finally, he heard a car start and drive off.
Did she know? he wondered. Had she guessed it was him?
IT WAS NEARLY EVENING before Witness dragged himself from his bed. He stripped and put his clothes in the sink full of hot water. He added soap and kneaded the pile for about five minutes. Leaving the clothes to soak, he took his shoes and wiped them carefully with old newspaper. He’d burn that later. Then he took shoe polish and gave the shoes a good coat, followed by a brisk brushing. When he’d finished, he returned to the sink and rinsed his clothes a couple of times. He wrung as much water from them as he could and hung them from various places in the bathroom. They would dry by morning in the arid Botswana air.
Finally he showered, needing extra time to scrub the brown stains from the back of his hands. Looking in the mirror, he noticed that one side of his face was also stained. He washed that vigorously, too. When darkness fell, he would take care of the car.
SEVENTEEN
MABAKU LOOKED AROUND THE meeting room and checked his watch. Five to eight. Eleven people were already present, most with a hot drink, several chatting quietly. Ian MacGregor, the pathologist, was sipping coffee with a grumpy expression; clearly he wasn’t an early riser, especially on a Sunday. Zanele Dlamini, the head of the forensics team, looked fresh and attractive as usual, despite having been up most of the night. The others were detectives. He’d asked his assistant, Miriam, to phone around and call in every available CID detective. Even Samantha Khama was there. He didn’t really expect much from her, but it was important that she wasn’t excluded, and she’d learn from being involved in a murder investigation. She was sitting next to Zanele and chatting, obviously delighted to find a female colleague, and a senior one at that.
Mabaku had a bad feeling about this case. A pessimist by nature, his fear was that there was more behind the murder than a lone madman. And if it led back to the BDP, there was going to be trouble. He sighed. He didn’t believe the government was responsible. For all his bravado, Marumo hadn’t really been a danger, at least not yet. He was probably more of a threat as a martyr. And assassination simply wasn’t the way things were done in conservative Botswana. But it could be the work of a hotheaded BDP supporter and, if that came out, the situation would deteriorate rapidly.
Eight o’clock. Where was Kubu? He sighed again. Having breakfast, of course. He was relying on Kubu, whose flashes of intuition illu
minated his carefully pieced together cases. But he had his blind spots. And he never missed a meal. As if on cue, Kubu hurried in, carrying a mug of tea and two cookies, and squeezed himself into a chair between Ian and Samantha. Mabaku spotted crumbs on his shirt.
So here was his team: ten detectives led by Kubu, Zanele for forensics, and MacGregor, the pathologist. Thirteen counting himself. Not a lucky number.
He cleared his throat, and at once everyone was quiet.
“You all know why we’re here. You’ve heard the news. I want it clear that this is top priority. I spoke to the press already this morning, and so far they’re supportive. But I indicated that we expect to make an arrest soon. Probably this week. If we don’t get them something quickly, they’ll turn critical, start raking up the dog head thing and so on.” He gave Kubu a dirty look.
“Jacob Pitso has declared himself leader of the Freedom Party and is calling for a massive demonstration on Parliament Drive this afternoon to protest what he calls the assassination of Marumo and to demand the government’s resignation.” Detective Thibelo grinned. Mabaku glared at him. “I’m glad you think it’s funny, Thibelo. These sorts of demonstrations can get out of hand very quickly and lead to all sorts of trouble.” Thibelo became serious at once. “At least that’s not our problem. I just hope the demonstration is handled sensibly and doesn’t turn nasty.
“Let’s get on with it. Kubu is in charge of this case, and he gets anything he wants. Is that clear?” Without waiting for a response, he continued: “Let’s start with Ian and Zanele, and then I’ll hand it over to Kubu.”
Ian put down his cup and examined the notes he’d brought with him. “Time of death between six-thirty and seven-fifteen,” he said in his soft Scottish accent. “I haven’t done the autopsy yet, but I cut his clothes off when we got the body to the mortuary. Fifteen wounds, all in the chest and abdomen except the face slash and the stab in the throat. All from the front. From the angle of entry, it looks like a right-handed assailant and, from the look of the wounds, I’d guess it was a one-sided blade. Maybe a pointed kitchen knife or the like. I’m pretty sure one of the stabs went into the heart.” He shrugged. “That’s about it. I’ll get to the autopsy right away, but I’ll be surprised if it turns up anything dramatic.” He paused, but no one had any questions.
Deadly Harvest: A Detective Kubu Mystery Page 10
