The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu (41 page)

“But that was Madrid!”

Kubu shook his head. “No, we don’t think so. Why would Madrid go
after him? Unless you – or someone else – told him something about
Boardman. Did you?”

“Of course not!”

“I didn’t think so.”

Kubu got up and moved to the filing cabinet where there were two
framed photographs. One was of a family with two teenage children –
a girl and a boy – standing next to a swimming pool. Behind the
family stood a smiling, dark-haired young man of about twenty
wearing a bush hat set at a jaunty angle. The second photo was of a
single-story house with face-brick walls and a tiled roof. To one
side grew a large, thirsty-looking palm and in the background a
range of hills stretched to the horizon. He picked up the family
picture, examining it to see if the athletic-looking youth could
have become the man across the desk, then glanced at Dupie, who
nodded. “It’s Salome’s family. That’s me in the background.” He
indicated the second photo. “That’s my dad’s house on the farm in
Rhodesia. Nothing left now, no house, no farm. Dad passed away. In
hospital in Bulawayo. At least he didn’t have his throat cut. They
might have saved him, but the doctors were too busy, and the nurses
couldn’t care less.”

Kubu skipped meaningless condolences. “And Salome’s family?”

“They did get their throats cut. Her mother was raped and
killed, and her brother had his genitals chopped off and stuffed
into his mouth. Salome was fourteen then. She was lucky, you could
say. They’d started gang raping her when one of the bastards
shouted that the Scouts were approaching, and they took off without
even bothering to kill her.”

“Were you with those Scouts?”

“Yes. But actually the odd thing is that we were miles away when
a terrorist gave the alarm. He jumped the gun. We didn’t get there
for another half an hour. But we caught up with the bastards.”

“What happened?”

“Took them by surprise.” Dupie pulled his finger across his
throat and made a choking noise in the back of his mouth.

Kubu put down the picture. He wasn’t looking forward to asking
Salome about her experience, but it had to be done. Strangely,
Dupie’s ambient good spirits seemed restored.

“Time for a drink,” he said. “It’s white wine for you, isn’t
it?”

∨
The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu
∧

W
hile Kubu was
talking to Dupie, Tatwa strolled to the dining area. Solomon was
setting the tables. The policemen had been invited for dinner. They
would all enjoy Moremi’s lasagna and well-grilled chops done on the
braai
, with
mielie
meal and tomato gravy. After
dinner, two of the three constables would return to their mainland
camp in the motorboat and drop off Solomon, who was no longer
needed for guard duty.

“You’ll be happy to get home tonight,” Tatwa said by way of
greeting. Solomon nodded and went on precisely aligning knives and
forks as though royalty were expected. “Beauty will be pleased,” he
commented.

“Are you happy here, Solomon? Aren’t you worried about all the
things that have happened over the last few weeks?”

“It’s my job. And Mma Salome has been good to us. Maybe now we
can help her. It’ll be all right.” He examined the tables
critically and started setting out water and wine glasses.

“That night,” Tatwa began, knowing he did not have to specify
which one. “We think Rra Boardman saw something or learned
something. Something so dangerous that it got him killed. Was there
anything you can remember that was different that night – maybe
something you thought about afterwards?”

“I wasn’t here that night. I left after I’d set the table for
dinner. I only came across the next morning with Rra Dupie. I don’t
know what Rra Boardman saw.”

Tatwa sighed. It had been a long shot. “There was nothing
different the next morning?”

“Well, just that Enoch usually fetches us early in the motorboat
unless he takes guests out in it. Then we come across by
mokoro
. I heard the boat come over earlier than usual, and
then the Land Rover driving away. Enoch didn’t come to call us, so
I thought we’d take the
mokoro
. But someone had borrowed
mine, and the others were out too, so we just waited. About an hour
later Rra Dupie came back and took us over in the boat. He told us
he’d taken Rra Zondo to the airstrip.”

Tatwa liked to plan his interviews, sketch what he needed to
explore and how to go about the discovery. But occasionally a
detective finds a question in his mind that has no clear purpose.
He had watched Kubu come up with a useful lead that way. So when a
lateral question occurred to him, Tatwa asked it without
hesitation.

“Who had taken your
mokoro?
”

Solomon looked surprised and shrugged. “We borrow each other’s.
It doesn’t matter.”

“When did you get it back?”

“It was here. At the camp.”

Tatwa felt a thrill of interest. “You’re sure it was yours?”

“Yes. They’re all different. Mine’s quite narrow and pointed,
faster!”

Tatwa smiled. A turbo
mokoro!
“You left it at the camp
the night before?”

Solomon shook his head. “No, I went to the village with it that
evening. Someone borrowed it in the morning.”

For a moment Tatwa was speechless as the field of potential
murderers broadened around him. “Solomon, this is very important.
Do you remember how many
mokoros
were at the camp when you
left on Sunday evening? And how many were here when you arrived on
Monday morning?”

Solomon looked puzzled. He shook his head. “Two, maybe
three.”

“Were there more or the same number on Monday morning?”

Solomon shrugged. “I can’t remember.”

“Please try!”

Solomon thought, then shook his head. “It was three weeks ago.
Why does it matter?”

“But, Solomon, don’t you see? Someone could have taken your
mokoro
on the Sunday night. To get across to the camp and
commit the murders!”

But Solomon pursed his lips and shook his head firmly. “Can’t
use a
mokoro
at night. Because of the hippos.”

Tatwa sighed. Something was believed to be impossible just
because it was never done. “Why didn’t you tell us this
before?”

Solomon just looked at him, and Tatwa knew the answer before he
heard it.

“You didn’t ask me,” said Solomon.

♦

At this point Kubu and Dupie joined them from the office tent.
“See any weak spots?” Dupie asked.

Tatwa was supposed to have been checking the security of the
central area. He shook his head. “I don’t think we’ll have a
problem. It’s like a castle with a moat around it. And the moat is
full of crocodiles!”

Dupie laughed. He liked that. He thumped Tatwa’s shoulder hard
enough to jog his St. Louis baseball cap. “Let’s go get a beer to
keep your cap company,” he said. “I think we could all use a
drink.”

∨
The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu
∧

D
upie made sure they
had drinks, then got to work grilling pork chops on the
braai
. The others settled around the dining table, listening
to the frogs call and hippos grunt. Kubu settled himself next to
Salome, who had taken the head of the table. Tatwa sat opposite
Kubu, with Constable Tau next to him. The other two policemen
occupied the foot of the table, leaving two seats for Dupie and
Enoch. Solomon hovered.

Kubu noted with approval that Tau was drinking guava juice with
ice. He would have the first watch after they went to bed. Tatwa
could relieve him. Kubu would take the dawn watch, in time for an
early breakfast. That meant that a glass or two now would not be
inappropriate, and Tatwa could have one more St Louis beer because
the alcohol level was so low. Kubu thought it very unlikely indeed
that Madrid would have another go at the camp. It was the residents
of the camp he wanted watched to avoid any unpleasant surprises
later on.

Dupie arrived with a plate of chops and almost collided with
Solomon who was carrying a tray of lasagna, a big cast-iron
potjie
of
mielie
meal, and a frying pan heaped with a
spicy onion and tomato sauce. “
Braaivleis!
” said Dupie with
enthusiasm. “Nothing better! Time for a red, Kubu? I’ve got some
Nederburg pinotage 2002.”

Pinotage was not Kubu’s favorite. Pinot noir – the noble grape
of Burgundy – married way below its station with the peasant
cinsaut. The wine was designed to grow in South Africa’s Cape
region, but not to grow on the palate, was Kubu’s feeling. And 2002
had been an abominable year in South Africa. But he thought it
would be snobbish to refuse. And Nederburg wines were good, in
general.

Once the main course was presented, Salome said, “Dupie, won’t
you bring in another small table there? Pull out the cloth. Then
Solomon and Moremi can join us. They’re also involved.” It was a
thoughtful gesture; Moremi and Solomon were guests for once, as
well as staff.

“We don’t know what will happen next, Superintendent,” Salome
said to Kubu by way of explanation. “All of us could wake up and
find ourselves murdered in our beds!”

Kubu suppressed a smile, at this unlikely combination of events.
“We’ll keep a strict watch,” he assured her.

“I’ll be awake, too. Backup,” said Dupie. “The 303 might come in
handy yet, with a bit of luck.” He had the rifle leaning against
the back of his chair.

“Constable Tau will take the first watch. Ten to two. Will you
go next, Tatwa? Two to six. I’ll take over from then.”

Salome hadn’t touched her food. “When is this nightmare going to
be over?”

The Batswana men were rolling the
pappa
into balls with
their fingers and dipping them into the tomato gravy, while gnawing
the well-done chops. Each had a large helping of lasagna for
variety. Not without regret, Kubu put down his chop bone. “When we
catch the criminals,” he said. “Not before that.”

“You mean Madrid and Johannes?” asked Salome.

“Well, yes, them also, but I had the murderers in mind. Madrid
is after the cash. He didn’t send Zondo to bump off Tinubu and
Langa. If he had, we wouldn’t have heard from him again. He’d have
what he wanted. No, Madrid’s the injured party looking for his
money. We need to catch the murderers and confiscate the money.
Once that happens, Madrid will give up.” Kubu looked pensive while
he rolled another
pappa
ball. “You know, Ms. McGlashan, it’s
a funny thing. Every criminal thinks he’s smarter than the police.
Never considers the possibility of being caught. Worse than that,
he thinks he’s cleverer than every other criminal. So he’ll take on
police and criminals all at once.”

Dupie swallowed a heaped forkful of lasagna. “You’re talking
about Zondo?” But Kubu had his mouth full and just shrugged. Dupie
spoke across the long table to Salome. “Don’t worry, my dear.
Nothing’s going to happen. Not while I’m here.”

Kubu noticed the looks that met across the table. Something has
changed between them, he thought. Interesting. What had Dupie done
to win his lady’s favor?

Enoch ate in silence. Suddenly he met Dupie’s eyes, and touched
his chest as though he were about to cross himself in the Catholic
fashion. Dupie glanced away, and Enoch let his hand drop back to
his food. From somewhere in the lagoon there came a loud series of
hippo grunts. There was a loud crack, and a tree descended to
comfortable elephant-trunk level. The night-bush was filled with
sounds.

It was left to Moremi to respond to Kubu. “No, not clever,” he
said, shaking his head. “Not clever! Not clever!” But whether he
was agreeing or just commenting was unclear. “Must go see to
dessert. Kweh may eat it!”

There was apple pie bristling with cloves and drenched in
custard. It was delicious. Everyone’s spirits seemed improved,
whether or not they’d had alcohol. Dupie told tales from what he
called the ‘old’ Africa, and everyone had a bad-news story from
Zimbabwe.

“How can they let him carry on?” asked Dupie. “Surely someone
can bump him off if that’s the only way to get rid of the
bastard.”

“It’s not that easy. He’s got the place tied in knots. Everyone
watches everyone else. And everyone is scared of everyone else.
Even the police. I was there recently.” Depression and anger
sounded in Kubu’s voice. Dupie shook his head at the unfathomable
ways of Africa.

With Kweh on his shoulder, Moremi brought a large pot of boiled
coffee. They heard another tree crashing on the mainland and
pachyderms engaging in minor quarrels.

Kubu pushed back his chair, and Tatwa unfolded from his.
Constable Tau was deep in conversation with Solomon, but took the
cue and jumped up, followed by the other two policemen.

“We’ll take Tau up to the lookout,” said Kubu. “I want him to
keep watch across the river. The guys on the mainland will watch
the landing. But Tau’ll be moving around the island during the
night. Don’t be concerned.” He turned to Dupie. “And don’t take any
potshots!”

The group broke up. Solomon joined the remaining two constables,
and they headed for the motorboat and their posts on the mainland.
Kubu and Tatwa walked with Tau to the lookout, settled him there,
and strolled back to the guest tent near Dupie and Salome. By
mutual agreement, the detectives had decided to sleep in one
tent.

“Tau’ll be asleep in an hour,” said Tatwa.

Kubu shrugged. “It won’t matter. The dangers are here on the
island. Not on the mainland or across in Namibia. We better keep
alert, though.”

Tatwa nodded, but was pensive. He took this first opportunity to
tell Kubu Solomon’s story about his
mokoro
.

Kubu stopped and turned to Tatwa. “What does it mean?”