The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu (32 page)

Kubu left with a feeling of elation. At last he was going to do
something, take the initiative instead of just reacting. But the
director’s warning stuck in his mind. He would have to be careful.
Very careful.

∨
The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu
∧

B
oy Gomwe had a swim
in the pool and then sunned himself on the deck of the Elephant
Valley Lodge, enjoying a gin and tonic. A small group of the
valley’s namesakes were helping themselves to a drink from the
waterhole in front of the lodge with equal enthusiasm.

When he had arrived at Elephant Valley Lodge several days
earlier and checked in under the name Boy Biko, he knew he had
found the right place. It was perfect. It was accessed by a rough
dirt track from the border post near Kasane and lay poised a few
hundred yards away from the unfenced boundary road. The border
patrols between Botswana and Zimbabwe along this border were a
joke. With a little care and a few greased palms, anyone could
travel across the border and meet a contact staying at the Lodge.
The best part was that although less than thirty minutes from
Kasane by Land Rover, Elephant Valley was lonely, isolated. No one
would notice an exchange of goods for hard currency.

All he had to do was wait for Mandla’s contact. He kept
expecting someone to join him at the bar, to engage in social
chitchat before revealing himself. But nobody had approached
him.

Now it was five days later, and he still hadn’t heard anything.
He was getting anxious. Had something gone wrong? Had the exchange
been canceled or postponed? None of the other guests looked like
drug runners. He snorted. Of course they didn’t. They’d be
innocuous. His contact would be a regular guy like himself. He
toyed with his gold necklace. Relax, he said to himself. Patience.
He had to admit that he had enjoyed unwinding at this lodge.
Nothing to do but eat, drink, and be lazy. Very appealing.

He ordered another drink and sat back to enjoy the elephants at
the waterhole. Nice, he thought. Back to nature. Away from people
with all their greed and violence. Maybe I’ll buy this place when
the time is right. But very discreetly, of course.

He looked around. Female company would be nice. As though on
cue, Allison Levine, the woman he had met on the morning game
drive, strolled over and appraised his strong legs and well-built
torso. She was wearing a white one-piece swimsuit, which set off
the smooth tan of her skin. She was not pretty, but her figure was
fine.

He offered her a drink, and she settled on the beach chair next
to him. A joint would be nice, he thought. Perfect for the mood.
But Gomwe stayed squeaky clean when he traveled. So, while they
waited for the drinks, he lit a cigarette, and the girl accepted
one too.

“What brought you here?” she asked.

“I’m keen on the wildlife. Elephants are great, aren’t they?”
One had started demolishing a tree not far off. “Great location
too,” he added without thought.

“Certainly is,” she said. “I’ve been here a few times. I work in
Johannesburg.” She did not volunteer the type of work.

Gomwe signed for the drinks, and they toasted wild Africa. He
was starting to like the girl. She really had a great figure.

“Shall we have dinner tonight?” he suggested.

She laughed. “Yes, dinner is good. Let’s have it together!” He
laughed too, and she added, “We can have a nightcap after that. In
your tent if you like. You’ve got one overlooking the waterhole,
haven’t you? The floodlights are on all night. It’ll be
wonderful.”

“Sure,” said Gomwe, preening. “You can lie in bed and watch the
game. Great!” Every night, he thought. I’ll have a girl like her
every night.

♦

The next morning Gomwe would have liked to sleep in, but he’d
promised Allison they’d go for a bird walk together. She had spoken
about the local bird life with enthusiasm over dinner. He’d joked
that he didn’t care much for birds of the feathered variety. She’d
laughed and said he would when he got to know them. Anyway, she was
up before the damned birds and dragged him out of bed.

“You were involved in that Jackalberry business, weren’t you?”
she asked as they chewed rusks and drank instant coffee on the
patio while waiting for the guide.

He nodded. “How’d you know I was there? Hell of a mess. Cops
everywhere.”

“Read about it in the newspaper. Look, the guide must’ve
overslept. Let’s go by ourselves. I know the way.”

“Is that safe?”

“Oh yes. I’ve got you to protect me, haven’t I?” She winked at
him and set off without waiting for his reply.

It was a brisk walk, and they did not look at many birds.
Allison promised a great spot just ahead. Very private and
romantic, she said, with a reeded pool. Great for wading birds. But
when they got there, it was just a clearing in the bush with a
couple of bedrolls on the ground, each with a well-used backpack
next to it. A small gas burner supported a sooted kettle. There was
a beaten-up Land Cruiser parked at the edge of the clearing,
although there were no obvious vehicle tracks leading into the
clearing. Two men were sitting in the vehicle. They got out when
they saw the couple approach.

“Hello, guys,” said Allison. “Let me introduce the person Mandla
sent us.” But actually she did not make any introductions, and the
men did not look friendly. Gomwe decided the walk had been a big
mistake.

♦

No one missed Gomwe until after breakfast. Allison said she had
joined him for coffee at dawn, and then he had gone for a jog
around the camp. He had promised to stay close. She had wandered
between the tents behind the lodge itself, looking for bird life in
the trees and shrubs. She was excited about seeing a flock of
parrots and had asked Douglas, one of the guides, which type they
were.

The camp’s two guides started a search of the area, one on foot
close to the camp, while Douglas took one of the game-viewing
vehicles and headed slowly along the track from the lodge. Gomwe
had gone farther than expected, and it was a while before Douglas
radioed in. He had found Gomwe near a small clearing some way into
the bush. It seemed he’d had an unfortunate encounter with one of
the valley’s massive inhabitants.

♦

As manager of the Elephant Valley Lodge, Adam Kamwi felt a heavy
responsibility for his guests. He wanted them to return in the
future, and to tell their friends in foreign countries of their
wonderful experiences. And their safety was his highest priority.
The radioed message from Douglas could not have been worse news.
“Stay where you are,” Kamwi said after getting careful directions.
“I’ll come right away.” He took the other vehicle and headed
out.

Crunching his way over the scrub following Douglas’s vehicle
tracks, he came to the clearing. Douglas had driven his vehicle
right up to Gomwe’s body – a sensible precaution with a rogue
elephant nearby – and now was standing next to it as he watched
Kamwi’s approach. The manager stopped, turned off the engine, and
called, “Where’s the elephant?”

Douglas shook his head. “I’ve heard nothing. I think he’s moved
off.” But there were plenty of signs. Huge elliptical footprints,
scuff marks, broken shrubs. Kamwi walked over and looked down at
the remains of the man. The elephant had crushed the chest cavity,
stomping or perhaps even kneeling on him. His khaki bush shirt was
crimson-stained, but there was not a lot of blood. His head was at
a strange angle, and one cheek seemed to be crushed in also. It was
a shocking injury, perhaps a vicious blow with the trunk. Nearby
was a signature pile of dung. It was no longer steaming but still
damp, giving off its distinctive sweetly pungent smell reminiscent
of wet compost. It seemed that Gomwe’s killer had scant respect for
its victim’s earthly remains.

Douglas was walking around the body as if he needed multiple
perspectives to establish that Gomwe was dead. “There’s a tarpaulin
in the vehicle. We can lift him between us.”

“We should call the police.”

“We can’t leave him here. There are predators all over the area.
I’m not waiting here.” Douglas was adamant. He was already pulling
the canvas sheet from the vehicle. Kamwi shrugged. May as well get
it over with. As they dragged the body onto the sheet, it made
strange gurgling sounds and an awful smell enveloped them. Kamwi
was glad when they had heaved it onto the back of Douglas’s
vehicle, and he could retreat to the sanctuary of his own.

They took the body to the Kazungula police station, where there
was discussion but not much interest in Boy Biko. Then one of the
constables opened the wallet found on the body and saw that the
man’s name was Gomwe. Immediately there was consternation. This was
the man the police had been hunting for over a week. The senior
officer put through a call to Kasane at once. Soon he was speaking
to Detective Sergeant Mooka.

♦

Tatwa arrived with a white man, a Kasane doctor who did
occasional work for the police. While the doctor unwrapped the
tarpaulin and examined the body, Kamwi spoke to Tatwa in
Setswana.

“This is going to kill us! First the murders at that Linyanti
place, then the attack there last week, the murder of that tourist
in Maun, and now this. Almost worse than another murder!” He
glanced at the doctor, and his voice dropped. “It’s not the first
time, you know. The elephants around here go rogue. It’s the
poaching from the Zimbabwe side. I’ve called the parks people. I
want the bastard shot. Sooner the better.” He bit his lip. “We’re
already getting tour operators worried about safety issues up
here.”

Tatwa was dubious. Maybe the elephant could be tracked, but it
seemed unlikely they would find him unless he was still close
by.

The doctor joined them. “Broken neck, smashed rib cage. Knelt
on, I’d say. Broken neck is good. Didn’t suffer long, poor
devil.”

“Who found him?” Tatwa asked Kamwi.

“The staff missed him at breakfast, and we sent the rangers out
to look for him. When Douglas radioed in, I went out there myself.
It was nearly a mile from the camp.”

The doctor looked surprised. “What the hell was he doing out
there?”

Kamwi shook his head disgusted. “Tourists fall into two
categories. The ones who’re scared stiff half the time and won’t
walk to their tents without a guard, and the ones who think they’re
invincible. Those go around telling everyone that being in the bush
is safer than driving a car, and then go jogging there alone.” He
shook his head. “We called the police and brought the body
here.”

“Why?”

“Well, it was a violent death! We had to inform the police.”

“No, I mean why did you move the body?”

“We couldn’t leave it for the hyenas!” Kamwi grimaced. “Look,
what do you want us to do, Detective? Get the body up to the
hospital? Will you notify next of kin and so on?”

Tatwa thought about it. “Is there any possibility that he wasn’t
killed by accident? That there could be foul play involved?”

The others looked at him in surprise. The doctor shook his head.
“No man could do that sort of massive damage. You think there’s a
homicidal maniac out there with a trained elephant?”

“Look,” said Kamwi, switching to Setswana again. “We don’t want
this to get worse than it is. Let’s get the body to the morgue, try
to keep it all low key, and get on with our business. Kasane lives
on the tourists. Gomwe – if that’s his real name – decided to play
Russian roulette and lost.”

Still Tatwa hesitated. “You’ll sign the death certificate?” he
asked the doctor, who nodded. Tatwa thought back to Jackalberry
Camp. Eight guests gather for dinner on a Sunday night. The next
morning two are dead and one has vanished. Before the end of the
week the camp owners are assaulted by thugs looking for a
briefcase. A few days later another of the guests is murdered in a
supposed robbery that actually isn’t. Now another of the guests is
dead. Five out of eight! Coincidence? He shook his head.

“I’m investigating this as a suspicious death. We’ll send the
body to Gaborone for a proper autopsy, and I want a forensics team
to come with me to the place where the body was found.” Kamwi
looked as though he was going to explode, but Tatwa held up his
hand. “No need to make a big scene of it. We’ll keep it quiet. No
announcements for the moment. Doctor, go ahead with the death
certificate. I want to be very careful, but I’m probably wrong. If
I am, this’ll all be tied up quickly.” He did not say what would
happen if he were right.

He called Kasane for the forensics team and asked them to make
arrangements for the body to be driven to Gaborone. Unfortunately,
autopsies were done nowhere else in the country because of the
shortage of trained pathologists.

Tatwa followed Kamwi and Douglas back to the lodge. His first
call was Gomwe’s tent. It was a luxurious affair with a queen-size
bed, hanging space for clothes and a dresser, and a separate shower
and toilet. Judging by the way the bedclothes were tossed back on
both sides of the bed and the look of the pillows, Gomwe had
enjoyed company the night before. There was a hard-body suitcase on
the dresser, and on top of that was a briefcase. Well, Tatwa
thought, lots of travelers have briefcases, but just suppose…

He took a pen knife and checked the catches, careful not to
touch the case with his fingers. Both catches snapped back cleanly,
and he used the knife to lever the case open to avoid smudging any
prints. The lid had a notebook, business cards, a calculator, all
neatly held in pockets. The case itself held music magazines and
catalogues. But the detective was suspicious. He slid the knife
blade down the side of the case until it reached the base.
Comparing the knife against the outside of the case, he could tell
that the supposed base was much too shallow. There was something
hidden below the magazines with their screaming covers. He was
sorely tempted to find out what. But he did not want to spoil
Forensics’s game. He snapped the catches shut using the back of the
knife and lifted the briefcase using a handkerchief. It was too
risky to leave it in the unsecured tent. Then he went outside to
break the latest bad news to Kubu.