A Death in the Family (24 page)

“But you said you grabbed him.”

“Perhaps it was more like a shove. I wanted him to run. I thought I might be able to reason with the mob.”

“Did you try to do that?”

“I shouted, but no one listened. It was like a landslide. So I ran too.”

“Please take another look at the picture.” Mabaku leaned across the table and used his pen to point out the participants. “This is your father. He seems to have fallen. You are right behind him, here on the left in a sports jacket with your back to us. The mob is just about on you. This man is actually within striking distance of your father.” He pointed to a man wearing jeans and a red T-shirt, who seemed to be reaching out for the chief.

Julius studied the picture and moistened his lips.

“We've questioned the five of our nine suspects who are in that picture. Two think they heard shots, but no one saw anything.”

“Probably one of them did it.”

Mabaku shook his head. “They led a bloodthirsty mob, but it wasn't premeditated, I think. Nevertheless, we're testing them for gunshot residue. Did you see anything, a flash, someone digging in his pocket, anything that struck you?”

Julius shook his head.

“Did you see your father fall?”

“Yes, I thought he'd tripped. I tried to get him up, but then they were on us. I couldn't save him.” Julius buried his face in his hands. “Afterward, when I lifted him up, he was covered in blood.”

Mabaku gave him a moment and then asked, “Did you hear a shot?”

Julius hesitated. “I think there was a shot. I thought it was the police.”

“You thought the police were shooting at the mob?”

Julius threw up his hands. “Well, they did, didn't they? If it wasn't for that, the men would've had their demonstration on the stage, maybe pushed the elders around a bit to get the message across, and settled down. But your people overreacted and started shooting! Now we have dozens of people in hospital. And Petrus Romade is dead. Who's going to pay compensation to his family? The whole thing was a disaster, Director Mabaku, and your men are to blame.”

Mabaku swallowed an angry response. There was some justification for Julius's accusation, and the local police hadn't managed the situation well. So he contented himself with telling Julius, “We'll want you to take a gun residue test too.”

Julius jumped up. “Are you suggesting—” he began, but Mabaku interrupted. “I'm not suggesting anything, Rra Koma. I'm doing my job. Sit down.” He opened his notebook and started recording the relevant points of the interview. Samantha took her cue.

“Rra,” she began once Julius had settled down, “I'd like to go back to the issue of Wilmon Bengu, the man you visited in Mochudi.”

Julius brushed her aside. “We're finished with that issue.” He turned back to Mabaku. “Director, it was wrong that Detective Bengu questioned me about what I was doing in Mochudi. It was
his
father who was murdered. He was very aggressive, and I'm going to talk to the commissioner about it.” Mabaku didn't look up from his notes.

“Rra Koma,” Samantha said icily. “
I
am conducting the interview now, so pay attention to what I say.”

Julius continued to ignore Samantha. “Director Mabaku, I insist on talking to you, not to this junior.”

Mabaku lifted his head. “Rra Koma, you may be an important man in Shoshong, but in here you're like everyone else. If you don't treat Detective Khama with respect and answer her questions fully, I will arrest you for obstructing a police inquiry. Understood?”

Samantha wanted to jump up and give Mabaku a high five but instead sat straight-faced until Julius reluctantly turned back to her.

“Rra Koma, how did you set up the meeting in Mochudi?” she asked.

“I told you. By phone.”

“How did you get Rra Wilmon Bengu's number?”

“From his half brother in Mahalapye.”

“Where did you call him from?”

“I didn't. This Mzi Bengu set up the meeting for me.”

Samantha frowned. “Before, you told us you phoned from the
kgotla
here in Shoshong.”

“I made a mistake.”

“You lied about it?”

“I didn't want to bring Mzi Bengu into the story!” Julius said angrily. “Detective Bengu was upset already!”

Samantha frowned again. It was reasonable and exactly why Mabaku didn't want Kubu involved, but she wasn't convinced. “Did you speak to Rra Bengu on the phone yourself?”

“No!” He turned to Mabaku. “Look, Director, where's all this going? I thought we were talking about my father's murder!”

Mabaku looked up. “Exactly what did your father ask you to speak to Wilmon Bengu about?”

“I've explained that. Bengu is a name that's known here from the past. My father thought the man might have some status here. He thought he should be consulted. So that's what I did. The fact that he died shortly afterward has nothing to do with me.”

“What do you think he meant about something staying in the family for his son?”

Julius shook his head. “I've no idea. The old man wasn't a full box of matches. The whole business was a big mistake, another example of my father worrying about the past instead of looking to the future. It was a complete waste of time!”

“And where were you on the Saturday night when Rra Bengu was murdered?”

Julius spluttered as though he were going to object but then calmed down and replied, “I was at home. It'd been a busy week. I watched some TV.”

“Alone?”

Julius nodded.

“What was on the TV?” Samantha demanded.

“Do you know what
you
watched on TV two weeks ago?” Julius sneered.

Mabaku took over again. “Where were you on the next night? The Sunday night.”

“I had a few drinks with some friends at a bar and then went home to bed.”

“What time did you leave the bar?”

“I don't remember exactly. Maybe around ten. I had work the next day.”

Mabaku asked him to give Samantha the names of the friends from the bar, and he waited while Julius did so. Then he closed the folder in front of him. “Rra Koma, someone stabbed Wilmon Bengu, someone shot your father, and someone was stirring up trouble before the
kgotla
. I'd like you to think hard about all these things. These cases aren't going to be closed until I have all the facts and all the people responsible. Is that clear?” He waited until Julius nodded, and then added, “A forensics officer is ready next door to do the residue test.”

Julius was dismissed, but he had questions of his own. When could the funeral take place? It was urgent; it wouldn't be appropriate to appoint a new chief before that. When would the suspects be charged? What about an inquiry into the police use of excessive force? His parting shot was that he intended to speak to the commissioner about the rude treatment he'd received.

After Julius had left, Mabaku looked at Samantha for several seconds. “What do you think?”

Samantha didn't hesitate. “He seemed surprised about the chief being shot, but that could've been acting; he's had plenty of time to prepare his story. And I'm sure he knows more about the Rra Bengu issue than he's telling us.”

The director nodded. “The chief was shot at close range with a .22. Julius Koma was right next to the chief and was wearing a jacket that could've concealed the weapon. And he's the only person with an obvious motive. He stands to become the new chief and probably do pretty well out of the mine deal.”

“He certainly doesn't seem really upset about his father's death,” Samantha said, thinking of Kubu. She shook her head. “Much as I dislike him, I don't think he did it.” She glanced at Mabaku to see his reaction to being contradicted, but he just nodded and waited for her to go on. “Why take the risk? Julius had just seen the mob kill two of the elders, and the chief was their main target. He was too old to get away. All Julius had to do was stand aside and let it happen. Which is pretty much what he did.”

“Wouldn't the same argument apply to any one of the men in the mob?”

Samantha thought about it. “A .22 pistol is small. You could conceal one in a jacket pocket. Some of the men had knobkieries. Why not some guy who fancies himself with a handgun and uses it in the heat of the moment?”

Mabaku said nothing for a few seconds. “It's possible. We should question the suspects again, see if anyone would like to get out of the shit he's in by coming clean on a shooter. The man in the red T-shirt is in custody, and he would've had a pretty clear view, as well as opportunity himself. Unfortunately we'll get nothing from the residue test; it's way too late for it. But it stirred them all up. Julius too.” He allowed himself a slight smile and then thought for a moment. “There's another possibility. Maybe someone came to the
kgotla
specifically to kill the chief, and if he was being paid to do that, perhaps he wasn't going to let a bunch of hotheads cut him out of his fee.”

Samantha nodded. “In that case Julius could be behind it after all. He stirred people up, got someone to pay some money to a few
skelms
to cause trouble, and then took out insurance with a hit man.”

“Yes,” said Mabaku thoughtfully, “but there's another big winner with having the old chief out of the way and Julius in charge.”

“The Konshua Mine.”

Mabaku nodded slowly, frowning. He was thinking that this was the sort of mess Kubu was good at sorting out. And the thought irritated him.

 

CHAPTER 41

At the best of times, conferences were not on Kubu's list of favorite places to be, and in this case, he'd been forced to attend against his will. He nearly dozed off during a discussion of counter-counterfeiting techniques developed in Kazakhstan, and he
had
fallen asleep during an interminable talk on international art theft. It was only when his neck muscles lost their strength and his head fell forward that he woke up. He looked around guiltily, wondering whether he'd snored, and surreptitiously wiped saliva that must have drooled out of his mouth off the lapel of his jacket.

He shook his head, trying vainly to get rid of the heavy weights that appeared to be attached to his eyelids. What was the man saying? he wondered. Something about robberies in Monte Carlo? He adjusted his headphones and, to pass the time, tried to calculate how many translators were necessary for the thirty languages spoken at the conference.

There has to be a formula, he thought. So he tried first with three countries and then four, then five, hoping to find a pattern. But he couldn't. With three countries, you needed three translators; with four, you needed six, and with five, you needed nine. Or was it ten? Although he was intrigued by the puzzle, he didn't have the energy or the enthusiasm to do the calculations by hand all the way through thirty.

They must have a lot of translators, he concluded.

At that moment, a hand reached over his shoulder and deposited a note in front of him. “From a gentleman outside,” a voice said. Kubu nodded and unfolded the paper.

“Starbucks. Entrance C. Ten minutes—Newsom”

*   *   *

“ASSISTANT SUPERINTENDENT BENGU
. What a pleasure to see you again.” Newsom stood up gingerly and flashed a smile. He offered his left hand; his right arm was in a sling. “What can I get you? A cappuccino? An espresso? A filter coffee?”

Kubu ignored the outstretched hand and sat down. “I told you not to leave Botswana.”

“I know, but when I was stabbed, I needed to get stateside for immediate treatment.”

“Bullshit! Your wounds were relatively minor. I checked. The hospital admits patients every weekend with injuries much more severe, and they don't have to go to the States to recover.”

“My wife was worried, so—”

“It wouldn't have been too painful to lift a phone and—”

“Assistant Superintendent, that's water under the bridge. Let's talk about the future. I've something interesting to tell you. What'll you have to drink?”

“A cappuccino.” Kubu paused as he tried to sort out his conflicting emotions—anger at Newsom's unannounced departure from Botswana, curiosity as to what Newsom was going to say. “Please,” he added reluctantly.

A few minutes later, Newsom returned and put a cup down in front of Kubu.

“I apologize for not letting you know I was leaving,” Newsom said as he sat down. “I was angry at being mugged. My gut was aching, and all I wanted was to get the hell out of Dodge.”

Kubu wasn't sure what that meant but said nothing.

“As soon as you left the hospital, I called the embassy for assistance.”

“At two in the morning?”

“Yes. The ambassador wasn't happy to be pulled out of bed, but one of his responsibilities is to help Americans in trouble, any time of the day or night. So he helped me. All I wanted was to get home, so he made that happen. That's all there is to it.”

“Except for the fact that in the space of a few days, your friend in the Department of Mines is murdered, and right after you return from a visit to a mining company, you're attacked by someone who wants to kill you. I don't believe in coincidences, Mr. Newsom. And I'm sure you don't either. What's going on? What's this tidbit of interesting information you have to share with me?”

“First, let me tell you how I came about it. A friend of mine works in the foreign exchange department of a Botswana bank. He told me a couple of months ago that someone influential in mining in Botswana received a large wire transfer—over a hundred thousand pula—from the Standard Chartered Bank in Lagos, Nigeria. Of course, this piqued my interest, so I did some follow-up.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I contacted a friend of mine here in New York, who did some digging around and found out that about nine months ago the same Nigerian account started receiving monthly deposits of five thousand US dollars from a bank in Shanghai.” He paused and looked at Kubu expectantly.