The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu (40 page)

“Why did Zondo throw away his hat?” Kubu asked. “He always wore
it. What sense did that make?”

“Threw away his hat? What are you talking about?”

Kubu filled the director in on Moremi’s discovery at
Kachikau.

Mabaku pouted. “Maybe that was part of his plan? Always wearing
the same hat, same jacket. Then abandon them both and put on
something else. A disguise by default.”

“Yes, but why didn’t he just keep the hat and wear something
else?” Kubu asked. “Why toss it into the bushes? Moremi seemed to
think it was important to him. That’s why he knew Zondo hadn’t
given it away.” This is a puzzle piece with a straight side, Kubu
thought. But it’s not an edge piece.

“I’ve been thinking about the group at the camp that night,”
Kubu continued. “We divided them into two groups. Those who were
divorced from the events – just bystanders – and those directly
involved. Who’s in the first group, who’s in the second? But they
were all involved really, you know. Let’s go through the
guests.”

He started counting on his fingers. “The Munro sisters. Nice
society journalists from a liberal English newspaper? Yes, they
are. But they were also tracking Goodluck and Salome through their
past. Then suddenly they’re all there together. Coincidence, fate,
or design?” He uncrossed his legs and stretched to get more
comfortable.

“The Boardmans. Curio traders and long-time friends of Dupie and
Salome. I think William discovered something the night of the
murders, or perhaps the next day, and thought he could use it to
advantage. Obviously it was valuable enough to make him dangerous.
Too dangerous to stay alive.”

Kubu extended a thumb to join the four fingers already raised.
“Gomwe. Definitely involved in drugs, but I’m not quite sure how.
Perhaps it was plain greed? I don’t know. Perhaps he found what he
was looking for at Jackalberry. Perhaps he had to wait until
Elephant Valley Lodge. He wasn’t an innocent either.” He lifted
three fingers on his other hand. “That leaves the three who were
directly involved. Tinubu and Zondo, who were obviously doing some
sort of exchange of goods for cash, and Langa, the South African
policeman on their trail.” He lowered his hands and rummaged in his
desk drawer for a packet of mints. He helped himself, and offered
the box to Mabaku, who took one without comment. He knew this mood.
Kubu was heading somewhere, and it would be worth following.

“Then we have the camp staff. Salome, who connects with Tinubu
through the Zimbabwe war. Dupie, and probably Enoch, linked with
them the same way. Moremi, who seems to see the relationships
between people, even though he’s never met them before. Solomon and
his wife, who appear to be bystanders, but who knows?” He popped
another mint into his mouth.

“So where does that leave us?” Mabaku prompted.

Kubu was concentrating on his mint. “Madrid and Johannes were
expecting Zondo to bring back the money. No question about that. So
they’re also looking for Zondo. Obviously with no more success than
we’re having. So where is Zondo? Where is the money? Where is
whatever it is they were exchanging for the money? All vanished.”
Suddenly he sat up, changing tack.

“What did you get from Beardy?”

“It was Madrid all right. Beardy knew that name, although he
wouldn’t admit it. And the Johannes who hired him is the same
Johannes who terrorized Salome. The fingerprints matched. As I told
you, Beardy said it was drug money, but he wasn’t really
convincing.”

Kubu shook his head, removed his feet from the desk, stood up,
and walked over to the window. He suddenly noticed he was not
wearing his shoes and vaguely looked around for them. “And what’s
Madrid’s next move?”

“Beardy doesn’t know, or he’s not saying. My bet is that he’ll
give up on this money and get on with making more. We need to keep
an eye on Joy and Pleasant, though, in case I’m wrong.”

Kubu was looking at the director, but his mind was moving the
pieces of his puzzle around. “I think we’re short of a murder,
Director.”

Mabaku looked annoyed. “I think we’ve got quite enough murders
already! It’s getting as bad as the BCMC affair. Why would we want
another?”

Kubu did not answer. He collapsed into his chair, replaced his
feet on the desk, and wriggled his toes.

“The camp, Director. Madrid must go back to the camp.” He nodded
firmly and explained why.

∨
The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu
∧

The Thing Which Was Not

Here he spoke the thing which was not.

—
RUDYARD KIPLING, ‘THREE AND AN
EXTRA’

∨
The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu
∧

W
hen Kubu finished
the story of the attacks on his family, there was silence on the
line for a few moments. When Dupie responded, it was with a single
syllable that conveyed shock, surprise, even a touch of guilt,
although the last may have been Kubu’s imagination.

“Shit!”

“Yes. That pretty much sums it up.”

“What about the one you caught? Has he told you what it’s all
about?”

“Well, the director has been handling that himself because I’d
probably tear the bastard apart. But it seems to be drugs and drug
money. The briefcase and the tote are what they’re after.”

“So why hit us? Why don’t they go after Zondo?”

“I’m sure they have. Either they’ve found him empty-handed – or
only with one hand full – or they’re still looking for him, like
the rest of us. Something you said to Madrid must’ve put them onto
me.”

“He asked me to describe the policemen who came after the
murders,” Dupie said quickly. “That’s all. I had to. They were
going to kill Salome!”

“I understand. Can you remember exactly what you said?”

“I think I said you were very large and from the CID in
Gaborone. The other detective was tall and slim from Kasane.”

“Nothing about the briefcase?” Kubu probed.

“No, I don’t think so,” Dupie lied. “I can’t exactly remember. I
was pretty shaken up.”

Kubu grunted. He was not convinced. “You were asking about
Khumalo – the man we caught guarding my sister-in-law. He’s cagey,
but from what he’s said we’re pretty clear what their next move
will be. Now they know I haven’t got the briefcase. So it’s back to
you.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means we’re sure you can expect another visit shortly. And
this time they won’t leave empty-handed.”

“But there’s nothing here!” Dupie’s voice was tense.

“You know that, and I know that, but it seems Madrid is
convinced that one of us has the money. Perhaps he did find Zondo.
I don’t know.” Kubu paused, then continued. “But the good news is
that this time he won’t have the advantage of surprise. Tatwa and I
will be heading out to you with some armed constables in the next
couple of days. We’ll be ready for him.”

“What about the guests?” Kubu noticed a hint of excitement in
Dupie’s voice. Perhaps Dupie was relishing getting even, maybe
ahead, with a bit of luck and the police on his side.

“How many have you got there?”

“Two couples. Leaving the day after tomorrow. Then a group of
six on Friday.”

“Put them off,” Kubu ordered. “It’ll be too dangerous.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Dupie spluttered. “They’re foreign
tourists. You can’t just dump them on an airstrip. And anyway we
need the money.”

“Find them another lodge. You want them in the crossfire?”

Dupie didn’t answer, but the point was taken. “When will you get
here?”

“I’ll fly to Kasane tomorrow and link up with Tatwa. We’ll come
out in a couple of vehicles the next day. The uniform guys can camp
on the mainland, keeping a low profile until Madrid makes his
move.”

“Okay. We’ll expect you on Wednesday afternoon. Meanwhile I’ll
hold the fort. This is an island, you know. Easy to defend.
Ask…”

“Yes, I know,” Kubu interrupted. “Ask Winston Churchill.”

♦

Kubu and Tatwa set out from Kasane on Wednesday morning after a
good breakfast at the Old House, and even Kubu left satisfied. From
there they drove the few blocks to the police station, picked up
three constables, their gear, and a power boat on its trailer, and
headed toward Ngoma.

After Ngoma, the road deteriorated to a badly corrugated dirt
track, and the going was tough. The policemen stopped at the
Kachikau arts and crafts store for soft drinks and rudimentary
take-out before heading on toward the Linyanti. After the town the
road was wide, but the surface consisted of loose sand with
multiple vehicle tracks crisscrossing each other to avoid sink
holes, ruts, and corrugations. It was necessary to change in and
out of low-range gears whenever they hit soft sand, and any forward
momentum they had slowed. By the time they reached the Linyanti,
Kubu was hot, irritated, and dissatisfied with packets of
artificially flavored chips.

At the end, they battled to find Jackalberry. Tatwa had done it
once by land, but the driver with him had known the area.
Eventually they found the track and came to the makeshift jetty.
When the vehicles were switched off, it was quiet, even the birds
temporarily silent. The dust churned up by the vehicles mixed with
the heat haze. Once again Kubu looked at the idyllic waterway, the
mokoros
, and the small motorboat on the far bank. The
verdant smell was a pleasant change from the dusty dryness of the
south. A lot of water had flowed down the Linyanti since he had
seen it last, even though it was only a few weeks ago. Then, he’d
had no idea what to expect. Now it was different.

“This is where the answers are, Tatwa. They were always here,
not in Gaborone or Maun, or even in Bulawayo.” He nodded in
self-agreement. “Come on, let’s attract attention, and Enoch can
take us over. The guys can set up camp here out of sight and launch
the boat. I want it ready if we need it.”

They got out of the Land Rover and walked to the water’s edge.
Someone was waving to them from the distant camp. It looked like
Moremi.

♦

Kubu was sitting in the tent Dupie called his office. The level
of mess was the same, the filing cabinet drawer still jammed open.
The Watching Eye still held pride of place in the center of the
work table, and there was still a half-finished mug of cold coffee,
the same one as before for all Kubu could tell. This time Dupie
claimed his right to the chair behind the desk.

“What’s the plan?” he asked.

“Plan?”

“To deal with Madrid and Johannes!”

“Oh, I see what you mean.” Kubu did not have one, so he
improvised. “There are three ways they could come in – by air,
overland, or by boat. We’ll be on the lookout for a boat all the
time, and a motorboat will be easy to pick up by the noise. After
dark it’ll be harder, but we’ll keep someone on guard at the camp
all night. Keep the keys to your outboard motor with you. We have
our motorboat if we need to chase them over water. By plane seems
unlikely. How will they get here from the airstrip? My bet is that
they’ll come by vehicle and try to slip across to the camp at night
in one of the
mokoros
.”

Dupie nodded. “Makes sense. Don’t worry about the camp; we’ve
had someone on guard at night anyway. The trick will be to catch
them on the shore before they get over here.”

“Yes, we’ll set up camp a little way upstream so that the area
here looks invitingly unprotected. But we’ll be on watch all the
time. As soon as they get to the clearing opposite the camp, we’ll
have them.”

“What if they smell rat-pie and make a run for it in the
vehicle?”

“Easy. We just shoot out the tires. They can’t get far. And
there’s nowhere to go anyway.”

It sounded a bit too simple to Dupie. Would Madrid fall for a
trap like that? Or would he have another card up his sleeve? “What
about a chopper? Straight onto the island? It can be done. The
Defense Force brought Sergeant Mooka that way after the last
attack, although they landed on the mainland.”

“We’ll hear it coming, same as a motorboat. We’ll be waiting for
them. I don’t think they could take you and Enoch that way, let
alone all of us.”

Dupie smiled. He liked that.

“What do we do in the meantime?”

Kubu shrugged. “We wait. Lots of police work is like that.” He
picked up the Eye, admiring its glassy indigo symmetry. Dupie
reached for it. “Careful with that. It’s valuable.”

“Oh?” said Kubu, giving it to him. “I thought you said they were
all over Turkey.”

“Yes, but this one’s special. To me. Like a totem, you
know?”

Kubu nodded without evident interest. “Who else is at the camp
at the moment?”

“Just Salome, Enoch, Moremi, and Solomon. Solomon’s been staying
overnight to help keep watch. Beauty sleeps in the village. No
guests. We took your advice about that.”

Kubu thought it stronger than advice, but let it go. “Is it
possible any of the staff are working with Madrid? Tipping him
off?”

Dupie frowned. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, seems odd he just went for you and Salome. Why not Enoch
and the others? Did he already know that they had nothing to tell
him?”

“Enoch and I go way back. He’s as loyal as they come. Solomon
and Beauty weren’t on the island. That leaves Moremi.” Dupie shook
his head. “You can’t seriously suspect him.”

“I think Madrid learned more than you told him. I think we need
to watch our steps very closely. I’ll keep my eyes open. I suggest
you do the same.” Dupie opened his mouth to argue, but then closed
it and nodded.

“I’ll need to ask Salome some more questions, too. Some pretty
odd things have come out since our last meeting, Dupie. Did you
know that the Munro sisters knew of Goodluck before they met him
here? And I think Salome had seen him before, although perhaps it’s
buried in her subconscious now.” Before Dupie had a chance to
respond, Kubu continued. “Then there’s William Boardman. He saw
something important that night. Important enough to get himself
killed.”