A Death in the Family (20 page)

Kubu introduced Samantha, and they all ordered coffees with hot milk. Kubu selected a slice of the carrot cake. True to his word, he let Samantha ask the questions while he took the occasional mouthful. But Julius wasn't fazed. “Yes,” he told them, “that's right. I went around the shebeens on Friday afternoon trying to calm the young guys down. My father was out of touch with the young people, Detective. I told them to make their points, demonstrate even, but that
no one should be hurt
. I was afraid things might get out of hand. You can see I was dead right.” He nodded firmly.

He's lying, Kubu thought. Will Samantha see that?

Indeed, Samantha probed, asked for details, quoted what people had told her. Julius had an answer for all of it. At last Samantha snapped her notebook shut.

“Is that all?” Julius asked, and finished his coffee. “I should be getting back to my mother.”

Samantha glanced at Kubu, then turned back to Julius. “Just one other thing. What sort of car do you have and where was it yesterday?”

“My car? What's that got to do with anything? Actually, it was at the
kgotla
. I drove my father there before the meeting. So what?”

“What sort of car is it and what color?” Kubu chipped in.

“It's a silver Toyota Avensis. This is stupid! Why do you care where the damn car was?”

Samatha had the scent. She knew that Kubu had set her up, and she wasn't pleased, but she also suspected that Julius wasn't the nice guy he pretended to be. And she assumed that Kubu had more information about the Toyota than its color.

“Where were you on Monday, January twenty-seventh?” she asked, opening her notebook again.

“That's three weeks ago! Look, what's this about? You're wasting my time here.”

“I don't think we are, rra,” Kubu said quietly. “I don't think we're wasting anyone's time here.” His hands were tightly clenched.

Julius looked at him and said nothing for quite a while. At last he said, “Your name's Bengu. Are you related to Wilmon Bengu? That's where I was that day. I was in Mochudi visiting Rra Bengu.”

There was silence again for several moments, and then Kubu said: “Yes, he was my father. And he was murdered the Saturday after you saw him.”

“Terrible. I'm sorry. But what's it got to do with me?”

Kubu leaned back in his chair and looked at the half-eaten slice of cake. He's a liar, he thought. But he's a good liar. Maybe that's what he does best. But Samantha was angry and burst out, “Why didn't you come forward with this information? We've been looking for the person who visited Rra Bengu for weeks!”

Julius shrugged. “I didn't know that.”

“It was in all the papers, and on the radio and TV!” Kubu exclaimed.

“Look, I've been busy here. You can see what we've been dealing with! You think I've got time for newspapers and TV?”

“So what did you talk to him about?” Kubu growled.

“It was about the mine, of course. Chief Koma thought he should be consulted. He told me to do it.”

“Why? What had my father to do with the damn mine?”

“The chief thought your father was from Tobela. He thought he had land and family there. That he'd been an important person here in the past. He was wrong.”

“What was the fight about?” Samantha asked.

“Fight? What fight?”

“The bartender said Rra Bengu shouted at you. He called you a fraud!”

“Oh, that. Yes, well, we thought he had relatives here, and that's how we set up the meeting. It was all a mistake. Once I explained to Rra Bengu, he calmed down and everything was fine.”

“And what did he mean when he said, ‘It's for my son. It will stay in the family'?” Kubu felt his blood pressure rising. “
I'm
his son!”

“I don't remember him saying that.”

“Others heard him. It was as Rra Bengu was leaving,” Samantha said.

“I didn't hear it. I was told later that Rra Bengu was not altogether with it anymore. He often made strange remarks or didn't recognize his friends.” He shrugged and looked at Kubu. “Do
you
know what he was talking about?”

Before Kubu could respond, Samantha asked, “How did you set up the arrangement to see him?”

“I found his cell number and called him. My phone was causing trouble so I used a pay phone. There's one near the
kgotla
. Is there anything else? It's getting late.”

Kubu started to ask another question, but Samantha interrupted. “No, rra, that's all. Thank you for your help this morning.”

Julius nodded. “It's okay. Will you get the coffees? I'm late.” With that, he walked out, waving to the cashier on his way out.

“Can't you see he's lying?” said Kubu, furious.

“Of course he's lying!” Samantha responded, equally angry. “But we're way out of line here. It was going to blow up in our faces! You set me up, Kubu.”

Kubu calmed down. “Yes, you're right. I'm sorry. There wasn't any other way.”

“Of course there was! You could've told me about the car and not let the whole thing be a big surprise.”

“If I'd done that, you would've wanted to bring Mabaku into the story, and I would be sidelined again!”

“Yes, that's exactly right! Now we've alerted a possible suspect and important witness. How did you know it was his car in Mochudi anyway?”

“I didn't,” Kubu admitted. “It was a hunch. It seemed to fit.”

Samantha shook her head, speechless.

“Well,” Kubu began, “now we know, the next thing we need to do is—”

But Samantha interrupted. “I don't care what you do next. The next thing I'm going to do is report this mess to the director. I want to keep my job, even if you don't care about yours!”

*   *   *

MABAKU HEARD THEM
out without interruption. He asked a few questions calmly, then turned to Samantha, shaking his head. “I'm used to Kubu ignoring my orders, but I thought you at least might take some notice.”

Before Samantha could respond, Kubu interjected. “It had nothing to do with her, Director. I didn't tell her about the car until we were into the interview.”

Mabaku nodded, unsurprised. “All right, Samantha, you can go. I'll talk to you later.” He waited until she left before he turned to Kubu, who was bracing himself for a Mabaku tirade. Instead Mabaku glared at him for several moments, and when he spoke, it was at normal volume.

“I can't tell you how disappointed I am in you, Kubu. I told you this morning how crucial it was to get to the bottom of the violence here. Did you listen? No. Instead you go off and compromise your father's case and this one also.” Kubu waited for the outburst, but it still didn't come. “You gave me your word, Kubu. You promised that if you were in the loop, you'd keep out of the investigation. You've let me down, and I'm not going to forget that.”

Kubu squirmed. He couldn't argue. It was true, and Mabaku's coldness hurt worse than being shouted at.

“I saw the commissioner this morning,” Mabaku continued. “I can't go to the Interpol meeting this week. Not with the president breathing down my neck. The commissioner said the meeting was important and suggested you go, but I told him I needed you on the case here in Shoshong. But I was wrong. I need you
off
the case here.” He shook his head. “Hand over everything you've got to Samantha. Call Miriam at the office and get her to arrange a flight for you to New York—I've already canceled mine. Then get back to Gaborone, pick up my speech from Miriam, and get packed.”

“But Director, the Julius issue is a big breakthrough. We have to get to the bottom of—”

Mabaku chopped his hand through the air as if cutting the sound. “Get out of Shoshong
now,
Kubu! Or you're suspended. I mean it.”

Kubu climbed to his feet. He knew that this time he'd gone too far. This time there was no arguing with Mabaku. “Yes, Director,” he said, and went to find Samantha. He couldn't imagine anything that he'd rather do less than sit on planes for two days to deliver a paper he didn't care about in New York. Especially when he felt he finally had a real lead to whatever had culminated in his father's death.

 

CHAPTER 35

As Kubu drove back to Mahalapye from Shoshong, he brooded about the meeting with Mabaku. Had he been wrong all along? Instead of believing that he was the only one who could find the murderer, should he have trusted the team and left the investigation to them? He feared that his relationship with Mabaku was permanently damaged. And he didn't have much to show for his clandestine efforts. His gut told him that Julius was involved somehow, but he had no real evidence and no way of taking the investigation further. He was getting farther away from Julius with every moment.

When he reached the hotel, it was too late to cancel his room for that night, so Mabaku was committed to another day's cost. Too bad, Kubu thought. He intended to sleep in his own bed that night. But he didn't leave right away; there was someone he wanted to see before he left Mahalapye, and Kubu knew where he was to be found once evening came. He phoned Joy and told her what had happened, then called Miriam to make the travel arrangements to New York. After that, he spent the afternoon relaxing in the air-conditioned lounge. Finally, he checked out, put his bag in the trunk, and went in search of the Kalahari Oasis Bar. A weird name for a shebeen miles from the Kalahari, he thought. Still, the oasis part of the name was probably more to the point. Apart from its name, the shebeen had another interesting feature: it was only a few blocks away from the pay phone that had been used twice to contact his father the week before he died.

When he eventually found it, he wasn't encouraged. It was in a rough part of town, and the bar was at least as shabby as the neighborhood. Kubu parked his car, wondering if it would still be there when he came back. For a few minutes he sat there and considered whether he should write off the meeting. The chances were that he'd learn nothing, and even if he did find something useful, he'd only have more angst with Mabaku. He decided that this time he'd follow the rules. He started the car, then realized he hadn't really come to get information. He actually wanted to see the man who might be the only remaining family member of his father's generation.

He turned off the engine, took his service pistol, and headed into the bar.

*   *   *

INSIDE IT WAS
dingy and stiflingly hot. Plastic chairs, several broken, crowded around plastic tables decorated with empty cans. People were smoking—totally illegally—but no one seemed to notice or care. Kubu made his way to the bartender and asked for a St. Louis beer. The man shoved a lukewarm can toward him and demanded the money.

“I'm looking for Mzilikaze Bengu,” Kubu said. The bartender pointed to one of the tables, where three elderly men were chatting with empty cartons of Shake Shake beer in front of them. They looked like street people, with ill-fitting clothes that could have done with a wash, but they seemed to have money for beer. Kubu doubted that the bartender gave drinks on credit.

Kubu was a boy when he'd last seen his half uncle, but he recognized him easily. A web of nasty scars twisted the left side of his face, the legacy of an attack with a broken bottle in a bar brawl.

“Hello, Uncle Mzi,” he said.

The man looked Kubu up and down, but it was clear he recognized him. “You've grown, David. In all directions,” he said with a smirk. For the benefit of the men with him, he added, “This is my half brother Wilmon's boy. A police detective.” He didn't make it sound like a compliment, and neither of the other men offered a greeting. After a few moments, Mzi said, “You can join us if you're buying.”

Kubu made no move to do so. “Can we talk in private?”

“Go ahead, Mzi,” said one of the others. “I'm particular who I drink with anyway.”

Mzi climbed to his feet and moved to a vacant table. “You can get me a brandy and coke. A double. Get yourself one too. Or are you going to drink that piss?” Kubu didn't answer but went to buy the brandy.

When Mzi had tested the drink, he turned his attention to Kubu. “Why?” he asked.

“Why what?”

“Why look me up after all these years? Why track me down.”

“It wasn't hard to find you.”

Mzi nodded. “Maybe not. So why?”

It was too complicated for Kubu to explain, so he said, “I thought you might know something. Something that would help us catch your brother's murderer.”

Mzi smiled sourly at that. “Oh
, my brother
, is it? No one was keen to talk about
brothers
when your grandfather—my father—and your grandmother were doting on dear little Wilmon, and your grandfather had an affair and I came along.”

“Look,” Kubu said. “I don't know what happened in the past. I was young when my grandfather died, and my grandmother never spoke of that time. My father never did either.”

Mzi shrugged. “They didn't care. Why should they? My mother found someone else, and they brought me up. After a fashion. They never got a thebe from my father.”

Kubu felt the unfairness of that but put it aside and tried to change the subject. “Do I have any cousins?”

Mzi shrugged. “Probably.” That seemed the end of that discussion.

Kubu sighed and got back to the point. “Can you think of anything that might have led someone to kill my father? Anything from the past, even long ago?”

Mzi seemed to consider it, then shrugged again. “I never knew him that well.”

Kubu sighed again but felt obliged to push on, so he told Mzi about the visitor supposedly from Tobela. As Kubu told the story, the old man looked uncomfortable. He looked down at the table and focused on his empty glass. “I need another brandy,” he said, shoving the glass toward Kubu. Without argument, Kubu bought him another.