A Death in the Family (11 page)

He started catching up with e-mail and paperwork, a job he usually hated, but one he found almost relaxing now. He was glad to be left alone, and it was nearly lunchtime before he was disturbed. There was a knock on the door, and he looked up warily. It was a relief to see Ian MacGregor.

“How are you doing, Kubu?”

Kubu shrugged.

“Yes, well, it's going to take time, my friend, a lot of time. There isn't anything else that helps.”

The words were clichéd enough, but the way he said them sounded as though he'd been there himself. Kubu realized that he'd never asked Ian about his family. The Scotsman seemed happy enough living alone in Botswana, being the state pathologist and indulging his passion for painting watercolor scenes of the Kalahari. But what history lay behind that?

“I've got a story for you, Kubu. I've just been to see Mabaku, and he sent me to you. He's busy himself with…” Ian's voice trailed off. Kubu just nodded. He knew what Mabaku was busy with.

“Anyway,” Ian continued after a moment, “it's that suicide. Kunene. A high-up in the Department of Mines.”

Kubu looked puzzled. He had no idea what Ian was talking about.

“It's been all over the news,” Ian added.

“I haven't been following the news much lately.”

“I suppose not. Well, I'm talking about Goodman Kunene. He is, or rather was, the assistant director of the Department of Mines. On Friday, he was found dead, gassed in his car. It was down a quiet road near the yacht club. It seems he connected a hose to his exhaust, fed it into the driver's window, sealed it with duct tape, and ran the engine. When he was found, the car had run out of fuel, but Kunene had run out of breath long before that. I did the autopsy this morning.”

Kubu wondered why Mabaku had sent Ian to him. He wasn't really interested in suicides.

“Was there a note?”

Ian shook his head.

“Problems at home? At work?”

Ian shrugged. “I don't know any of that stuff. You'll have to ask the investigating officer. The point is that I have doubts about it.”

“That he was killed by the car fumes?” Kubu wished Ian would be less obscure.

“No. No question about that. The fingernails and lips had the characteristic reddish hue of death from carbon monoxide poisoning, and I confirmed it with blood tests from a sample we took when the body was brought in. The blood alcohol level was also quite high. He'd had a wee bit too much to drink—about seven or eight drinks, I would estimate. I was surprised that he was sober enough to set up the whole suicide scenario after that.”

Kubu thought about it. “Maybe something depressed him, and he went on a binge. That would just make him feel worse. Maybe he couldn't see any way out.” But it seemed wrong. This had been planned down to the hose and the duct tape.

Ian seemed to share the thought. “That's not really consistent with a suicide like this.”

“Could someone have got him drunk and then put him in the car?”

“I doubt he was drunk enough to pass out, and it would've been very risky. Suppose he came around and escaped? But I've sent off some samples to the lab. Maybe the drinks were mixed with something else.”

Kubu digested that and then asked, “Any signs of a struggle? Bruises or blood on him?”

Ian shook his head. “There was blood on his jacket, but that came from the man who found him. He cut his hand breaking the window.”

Kubu felt a stirring of interest. “I'd better go and chat to the director about this.”

*   *   *

MABAKU SAW HIM
at once. He waved Kubu to a chair and looked him over critically.

“You look tired.”

Kubu forced a smile. “I'm not sleeping too well. Don't worry. I'm fine.”

“Kubu, you can take some more time off if you like. We can cope for another week.”

Kubu shook his head. “Better to get back to work. I'm interested in this Kunene story.”

“Ian spoke to you?”

Kubu nodded.

“It's a bit of a mess, Kubu. Goodman Kunene was a senior civil servant. It's a big deal. A man who lives in the area found him. He thought Kunene might still be alive, so he broke into the car to get him out. And the policemen who came to the scene didn't do a great job. To be fair, they naturally thought it was a straightforward suicide. So they got an ambulance to take him to the morgue and had the car towed to the police vehicle lot. Not exactly a perfect crime scene, if that's what it is.”

“Who is working on the case?”

“Edison.”

Kubu sighed. Edison would follow procedure. He was a good enough detective, but he lacked flair.

“I'll talk to him. And I'll ask Zanele to have her people check out the car and the place it was parked.”

“Look, Kubu, this could blow up in our faces. It's very high profile, and we can't afford to go crashing around. That's why I want you to take over from Edison. Suicide is one thing, but murder…”

“I'll be careful, Director.”

Mabaku nodded and waited for him to leave, but Kubu wasn't going anywhere just yet.

“Jacob, what have you got on my father's case? It's been over a week. And what about the break-in at the house? We should have something by now.”

It was Mabaku's turn to sigh. “Nothing much yet. You know it takes time. I realize this is hard for you, Kubu, but we'll get to the bottom of it. The whole department is working on it.”

“The whole department, except me.” Kubu hesitated. “Did you get any leads on the man who upset my father so badly at the shebeen?”

“Samantha got a decent description, but the man was apparently from out of town. She hasn't been able to find anyone who recognized him, but she's circulated the description to other police stations. If the man's a criminal, they may recognize him. Also she's trying to trace the silver Toyota, but there're plenty of those. No luck so far, but she's working on it.”

Kubu thought that was a long shot, but he didn't have any better ideas. Still, he might get some if he had all the information.

“Look, Jacob, I want to be in the loop on the case. Sit in on the meetings, offer suggestions.” He held up both hands as Mabaku frowned and started to interrupt. “I won't do anything. I'll leave everything to you and Samantha. But at least that way, I can follow what's happening and feel that I'm helping.”

Mabaku thought about it. Kubu was back in the office, and everyone talked about the case; CID meetings focused on it. And, in fact, he could do with Kubu's insights.

“All right, Kubu. If I have your word that you'll do
nothing
. No more talks to neighbors. No more chats to bartenders. Nothing!”

Kubu promised and rose to leave. He was relieved and pleased. Mabaku had been fair, and now he could get a detailed report from Samantha about what was going on. He was sure he'd be able to persuade her to follow up on any ideas he had. It was almost as good as being on the case himself.

*   *   *

KUBU WASTED NO
time contacting Samantha, who immediately called Mabaku to check that she could answer Kubu's questions.

“You don't trust what I say?” Kubu asked after she hung up.

Samantha didn't answer, but she pulled out her notebook. “From what the director tells me, I don't have much to report that you don't already know,” she said. “We are still looking at silver Toyotas, but that's going to take us a while yet. There are lots of them, especially because it probably came from somewhere other than Mochudi.”

“How are you going about it?” Kubu growled.

“We're trying to speak to the owners of all silver Toyotas in the Mochudi, Mahalapye, and Gaborone areas to see where they were on Monday, the twenty-seventh of January. We also cross-checked this with our Known Criminals database. It's very tedious, and several people are working on it.”

Samantha hesitated. “I went up to Mahalapye to check out the public phones where the calls to your father were made, and I spoke to your uncle, Mzi. I must say he wasn't very helpful, but he was at his favorite shebeen—Kalahari Oasis—the whole night when your father was attacked. I also stopped at Tobela, but I didn't discover anything.” She looked at Kubu. “That's all I have. I'm sorry.”

Kubu stood up. “Thank you, Samantha. Please let me know when you learn something.”

He returned to his office frustrated by the lack of progress, but he acknowledged a little sheepishly, at least to himself, that Samantha was doing a good job.

 

CHAPTER 22

Kubu realized he had to talk to Kunene's wife. For the first time in his life, he felt that he really understood what she was going through, and he was reluctant to trespass on that grief. But there was no option, so he found her address and headed to the house.

Tasela Kunene was drinking tea with a neighbor. She was a stout woman, dressed formally in black. Her eyes were red, but what struck Kubu at once was that one eye looked swollen, and she had a crepe bandage on her left forearm.

Kubu introduced himself, and the neighbor retired to fuss in the kitchen and allow them some privacy. Feeling strangely embarrassed, Kubu offered his condolences. She nodded and offered him a chair opposite her. He wasn't sure where to begin.

“Mma Kunene, I'm sorry to disturb you at a time like this, but the police need to investigate any death not due to natural causes. It's standard procedure.”

Tasela surprised him with her response. “I hope you don't believe that Goodman committed suicide like that other detective did.”

Kubu hesitated. “The circumstances seemed to suggest suicide, mma.”

She shook her head. “You don't know him. Goodman got a promotion about six months ago, so he was making good money. We have two fine sons and a fine house. Why would he kill himself?”

“There was no indication of depression? The two of you were happy?”

She nodded.

“Was your husband on any regular medication? Was he under the regular care of a doctor?”

She shook her head firmly.

“So what do
you
think happened, mma?” Kubu asked gently.

She shifted about in her chair, obviously uncomfortable. “Could it have been an accident?”

Kubu shook his head. Although he didn't explain, she accepted that.

“Then someone killed him!”

“Why would anyone do that? Did he have any enemies? Has anyone made threats?”

“He was a senior man in the government. Such people always have enemies. People after their jobs.”

Kubu nodded, but in his experience, politicians and senior administrators tried for each other's jobs by stabs in the back rather than by asphyxiation.

“Had anyone threatened him?”

Mma Kunene looked around the room as if she expected to find the answer written somewhere there. At last she said, “I don't know. But there was the insurance policy.”

Kubu leaned forward. This was an interesting development. He waited for her to continue.

“He took out a new life policy about six months ago. He said it was just in case something unexpected happened, but I'm sure he was worried about something. I'm sure there was more behind it, but he refused to tell me.” She looked down and fiddled with her jacket.

“How much was this policy for?”

“One million pula.”

Kubu was careful to show no reaction. A million pula was a lot of money! He spotted a possible reason for Mma Kunene's concern about the cause of death.

“And the company won't pay for suicide?”

She shook her head. “No, because the policy is so new. But that's not the point, Assistant Superintendent. I don't care about the money. Something happened to my husband, and I want to know what.”

Kubu watched her face for several seconds, but she didn't look away. Maybe it was true. Maybe the money wasn't the issue.

Kubu leaned forward. “How did you hurt your arm?”

“I fell.” Now she avoided his eyes.

“And your face?”

“The same fall.”

Kubu frowned. Obviously, she was lying. It was almost certain that it was her husband she was protecting, and it was too late for that now anyway. “Mma, you believe we're dealing with murder here, and you may well be right. Lying to the police is a very serious matter. It could even make you a suspect. Don't make me ask your boys what really happened. You all have enough to deal with at the moment.”

Tasela turned away from him, and tears ran down her face.

Feeling awful, Kubu went and asked the neighbor for more tea and a few tissues. She gave him a dirty look and bustled in, but Tasela seemed to have pulled herself together. Nevertheless, she added three spoons of sugar to the tea, stirred, and sipped it in silence until the neighbor left again. Only then did she answer Kubu's question.

“We had a fight. It was my fault, really. Goodman sometimes has to work very late, meeting people for drinks and so on. Last week, he missed dinner and came in a bit drunk. I accused him of having another woman. He denied it and said he had a special contact he had to see after work, but he wouldn't tell me who it was or anything about this person. I got angry and screamed that I didn't believe him, that he was sleeping with another woman. I … I called him bad names. It got out of hand. He was very sorry afterward. Said it would never happen again.”

“Has it happened before?”

“Only once before. Look, Assistant Superintendent, we were happy. Really. He wouldn't kill himself over a fight, would he? Everyone has them…”

“Certainly not a week later, mma. There's nothing to blame yourself for.”

“He hit me in the face, just once. I fell and cut my arm. That was all there was to it. He just lost his temper. It's not as if he beat me or something.” She looked away again.

Kubu sighed. The case was getting more complicated rather than clearer.