A Death in the Family (7 page)

Kubu hesitated. Part of him wanted to protect his small piece of information—the only thing he knew that Samantha and the others didn't. Eventually, he realized he had to tell her.

“As far as she knows, the only thing missing is my father's will.”

“His will?” Kubu could hear Samantha's surprise. “Is she sure that he had one—that's a very strange thing to steal. There's usually a copy somewhere, at the lawyer, whatever.”

“She's sure. She didn't know what was in it. Apparently, my father had it drawn up when I turned twenty-one—that's a long time ago. My mother says he consulted an elder, not a lawyer. Would you like me to try and find out who it was?”

“I'll have to speak to the director about that. I'm sorry, Kubu, but you know how it is.”

There was another silence. At last Kubu asked, “Have you made any progress?”

It took a few seconds for Samantha to answer. “I know how hard it is for you, Kubu. But I have to do my job. I can't say anything. Good-bye.” The line went dead.

Kubu wanted to crush his phone, he was so angry.

For the next ten minutes or so, he just sat at the table and tried to calm himself down.

Eventually, he paid his bill and drove back to the church, where he found his mother and the priest wrapping up the arrangements. Kubu greeted the priest and took him aside.

“I know you are in charge of the burial, Father. I expect there will be quite a number of people who want to say a few words at the graveside. I want to be last.”

Before the priest could say anything, Kubu followed up. “I know it's traditional for me to be the first to speak after your service, but given the circumstances of my father's death, it's important for me to have the last word.”

The priest looked at Kubu, puzzled, but agreed.

Kubu turned to his mother and said, “Come on, Mother. We have shopping to do.”

*   *   *

THE SHOPPING TOOK
much longer than expected, partly because that's the nature of things and partly because Amantle kept remembering things she'd forgotten to put on her list. So it was early afternoon by the time they had finished. As they pushed the carts to his Land Rover, he was shocked both by the sheer quantity of what they'd bought and, of course, by the cost. He'd probably have to take out a bank loan.

On the way home, they stopped at the church hall and filled the refrigerator with as much of the meat and marrow bones as would fit. The rest would have to be split between Amantle's fridge and Mma Ngombe's. Kubu hoped that his mother knew what she was doing. He'd been told that cooking for three hundred to four hundred people was much more than multiplying the recipe for four by a hundred.

It didn't take long for Kubu to decide that he could be most helpful by keeping out of everyone's way. So he retired to the veranda, where he collapsed on a chair, exhausted by the comings and goings. A quick power nap will do me good, he thought, and closed his eyes. It only took a few moments before he drifted off.

*   *   *

“KUBU, WAKE UP!
Wake up!”

It took a few moments for him to return from his dream, where the boy Kubu and his father were climbing the rough trail on Kgale Hill. “You can see all of Botswana from the top,” his father had said.

When he opened his eyes, Rra Ngombe was standing over him.

“Ah, Kubu, my friend,” Ngombe said. “You have a fine set of lungs! I could hear you from my house.”

Kubu shook his head and rubbed his eyes.

“Once again, please accept my sympathies for the loss of your father—a great man, so well liked and so humble. I still can't believe that he died in such a terrible way.”

Kubu didn't have the energy to stand, so he gestured to Ngombe to sit down.

“Do the police have any idea who did it?” Ngombe asked after he'd made himself comfortable.

Kubu shook his head. “I don't know,” he muttered. “My boss is keeping me out of the loop. Forbidden me to get involved in any way.”

“Why's that?”

“He thinks if I'm involved, it will give the defense a chance to claim prejudice or whatever, if it ever gets to trial.”

“Is there anything
I
can do?” Ngombe asked.

Kubu perked up. He realized that Ngombe had provided a perfect way to subvert Mabaku's ban on getting him involved.

“Actually, there is. I want to invite Father's friends to the shebeen tomorrow night to have a drink or two—to remember Father and celebrate his life. His murder will certainly come up. I'm not allowed to ask questions, but you can. I'd appreciate it if you could ask if anyone has seen anything unusual over the past few months. You never know in these cases. Sometimes even the smallest thing can be the key.”

“That should be easy enough. I'll go and see who I can find. I'm sure they'll all want to come.” He stood up.

“What time should we say?”

“Six would be good.”

“Excellent. See who you can find, then come back for a beer before supper.”

Ngombe shook his head. “Aaii! I would like to do that, but I have to see a detective, a woman. I don't know why she wants to see me. I already told her I don't know anything when she phoned me.”

“They'll talk to everyone,” Kubu said sourly. “Well, go ahead then. Don't be late.”

Ngombe nodded. “Okay. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Kubu nodded, disappointed. He needed some male company, and the reminder that Samantha was doing the job he should be doing had soured his already bad mood.

 

CHAPTER 14

Samantha had asked Ngombe to meet her at the church, where she'd already arranged to see Wilmon's priest. She was having a cup of tea with him when Ngombe arrived. The priest hurried off to fetch another cup and give them privacy.

“Rra Ngombe,” Samantha began, “we're trying to find out if Rra Bengu said or did anything out of the ordinary over the past month or two. His wife says his behavior recently was a little strange, so I wonder if you noticed anything.”

“He seemed a little more impatient lately. He couldn't sit still, even when we were at the shebeen. He would stand up and walk around a bit, then sit down again. But he never said anything. We all thought it was his Alzheimer's getting worse.”

“Have any of your friends mentioned anything? Maybe about something Rra Bengu said to them or something that he did that was unusual?”

Ngombe thought for a few moments. “Alfred—that's Alfred Vilikazi—Alfred told me a couple of weeks ago that Wilmon said he was meeting some long-lost relative from Tobela at the shebeen one afternoon. When Alfred asked about it later, Wilmon said it'd been a mistake, and the man wasn't a relative at all. He never said anything to me though.”

“Tobela? Where's that? I've never heard of it.”

“Apparently, it is west of Mahalapye, close to Shoshong.”

Samantha didn't show her surprise at hearing of Shoshong again. “I'm seeing Rra Vilikazi in half an hour,” she said, “so I can ask him directly about that. Anything else you can think of?”

Ngombe shook his head. “No. I'm sorry I can't be of more help.”

“Which shebeen was Rra Bengu going to, to meet his relative?”

“It's called the Welcome Bar No. 3, and it's about eight blocks from Wilmon's house on Giraffe Street.”

Samantha made a note of that. “There's one other thing, Rra Ngombe. It's very important that Kubu keeps completely out of this investigation. Any involvement could jeopardize the case against the man who killed his father. You are not to discuss any of this with him.”

Ngombe shifted uncomfortably in his chair, thinking of the arrangement he'd just made with Kubu.

Samantha noticed his hesitation. “This isn't my idea, rra. This is an order from my boss. And he's Kubu's boss too.”

Ngombe nodded. “All right,” he said.

Samantha stood up. “If there's nothing else, Rra Ngombe, I have to go. I've got a number of meetings this afternoon. Thank you for your time, and please remember, you are not to say anything to Kubu.”

Ngombe nodded. “I hope you find the bastard that did it.”

*   *   *

SAMANTHA LEARNED NOTHING
more from Wilmon's other four friends. Even Alfred Vilikazi couldn't add to what Ngombe had told her about Wilmon's supposed relative. “It's very strange,” she said to him. “It's as though he had something else in his life that no one knew about—not even his wife. Kubu not knowing, I can understand, but his wife?” She shook her head. “Well, my last stop is the shebeen. Maybe someone there heard something or saw something, but I'm not optimistic.”

After thanking Vilikazi, she set off for the Welcome Bar No. 3.

 

CHAPTER 15

Wednesday was a frustrating day for Kubu. He had to be polite to all the visitors his mother received, accepting their well-meaning sympathies; he had to contain his anger that he hadn't heard anything from Mabaku and was nervous about calling Samantha for information; and he had to be patient as the clock crawled toward six o'clock and his meeting at the shebeen.

To pass the time, he walked around the neighborhood but didn't bump into anyone he knew. Eventually, he decided to visit the museum situated at the top of the hills behind Mochudi.

It was a steep climb up rough-cut steps from the parking lot, and more than once, he paused to rest under the guise of admiring the view. Once at the top, he clambered over the granite rocks to the edge of the plateau, where all of Mochudi spread out below him. He paused under a rock fig tree, which grasped a boulder with roots like prehensile fingers. On a clear day, I'd be able to see Gaborone's tall buildings twenty miles south, he thought. This spot has the best view in the country. I just wish I could relax and enjoy it.

But he couldn't.

Why was his father murdered? What had he been up to? Who was he meeting? What could he have done to incite such violence?

Kubu shook his head. Nothing made sense.

Can I see his house from here? he wondered. He squeezed between the boulders to look in the right direction, but he couldn't pick out the house. It was too far away.

He thought about going into the museum, but he'd been there before, explaining the ancient artifacts and displays to the wide-eyed Nono and Tumi. He wasn't in the mood; his mind was elsewhere. So after fifteen minutes, he headed back to his mother's house to sit on the veranda and enjoy a large steelworks.

*   *   *

KUBU HAD HIS
eyes closed and was remembering some of the good times he'd enjoyed with his father when his phone rang. He had to heave himself to his feet so he could pull his cell phone from his trouser pocket. It was damned Samantha again.

“Yes?”

“Kubu. It's Samantha.”

“I know.”

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“How do you think?”

“I'm sorry to disturb you again, but I need some information. Apparently, a few weeks before he died, your father met someone from a village called Tobela. They apparently didn't agree on whatever they were talking about, and your father lost his temper. He was overheard saying to the man, ‘It's for my son. It will stay in the family.' Do you have any idea what he was referring to?”

“I have no idea what he meant. Where did they meet?”

“In Mochudi.”

“Yes, of course, but where in Mochudi?”

“Kubu, you know I can't give you any details.”

Kubu gritted his teeth.

“Did your father know anyone from Tobela?”

“Not that I know of,” he replied. “Where is it? Or can't you tell me that either?”

“It's a small place between Mahalapye and Shoshong.”

There was a silence. “Kubu, I have to go,” Samantha said. “I hope you realize that I dislike this situation just as much as you. Look after yourself. Good-bye.”

Kubu breathed deeply for a few moments, then went to find his mother. When he asked her about what Samantha had just told him, she replied, “I told her that I did not know what he was talking about. I told her she should talk to you.”

“When did she speak to you?” he asked, puzzled.

“Oh, this morning, when you were out. I told her to call you because you always have your phone with you.”

“Why didn't you tell me, Mother?”

“She said I should not say anything to you.”

“Goddammit!”

“There is no need to swear, David.”

Kubu took a deep breath, then continued, “Mother, did Father know someone from Tobela?”

Amantle frowned. “The lady detective asked me the same thing this morning. I do not think so. Not that I can remember. You know your father was born in Mahalapye, but his ancestors came from Tobela. But they moved away many years ago. More than a hundred, I think. Your father said that one of his ancestors was an elder at the
kgotla
of Kgosi Khama the Third.”

Kubu decided not to pursue the matter but started wondering whether he needed a short vacation—in Tobela, for example.

“Thank you, Mother,” he said, and walked back to the veranda.

*   *   *

AT HALF PAST
five, Ngombe arrived, and the two of them walked to the shebeen. Along the way Kubu turned to him and asked what had happened at the meeting with Samantha.

“Nothing,” Ngombe said. “As I told you, I don't know anything.” But he didn't meet Kubu's eye.

“What did she ask you about?”

“Just who Wilmon's friends were. She wanted to talk to them too.”

“That's all?” Kubu knew there had to be more. Samantha would do better than that.

Ngombe hesitated. “Look, Kubu, I don't know anything important. And she said not to talk about it anyway.”

Kubu frowned, feeling frustration build. But he let the matter drop. He was sure Ngombe didn't know anything useful, or he would have said something long before Samantha shut him up. Let's see what they let out after a few beers, he thought.