A Death in the Family (35 page)

When Liz finished translating, Hong blabbered, “Yes, I do. Thank you. Thank you.”

Mabaku nodded at Edison. “Take care of the details. I don't want him out on bail.”

*   *   *

WHEN HE RETURNED
to his office, Mabaku looked out the window at Kgale Hill. Things have turned out better than I imagined they would, he thought. And best of all, I now can go after the director of mines. Little does he know what's ahead of him.

He picked up his phone and dialed a familiar number. “Kubu,” he said, “I have some good news for you.”

 

PART 8

 

CHAPTER 54

“I'm looking for Lamado Emefiele,” Samantha said as the door to the small house opened.

A shirtless man, wearing shorts and sandals, looked her up and down. “Well now. And who are you?”

“Detective Khama, Botswana Police.” She held out her ID. “Do you know where he is?”

He broke into a smile. “Come in. Would you like a cup of tea—or a beer?”

“No, thank you,” she snapped. “Do you know where I can find Lamado Emefiele?”

“And what do you want with him—if you find him?”

Samantha glared at him. “Tell him I may be able to work out a deal for him.” She pulled out a card and gave it to him. “Ask him to call me, if he's interested.” She turned to leave.

“Wait a moment.”

She stopped and turned.

“What sort of deal?”

“We know that he's been importing goods from Nigeria without a permit and then selling them without being registered for tax. The Revenue Service is looking into prosecuting him on various related charges.”

“So what's the deal? I will give him your message.”

“I can only negotiate with Rra Emefiele in person.”

The man looked around anxiously.

“I am Emefiele! What do you want?”

“Rra Emefiele, you're in a lot of trouble. I may be able to help you.”

“How?”

Samantha quickly explained that she was looking for the man who had paid the two men to disrupt the
kgotla
. “They tell us that the man was foreign. You're Nigerian, right?”

He nodded. “But what does that prove?” he asked.

“I'm not here to prove that you did it,” she said. “I'm here to find out who
paid
you to do it. If you can tell me that, we'll ask the revenue service to give you a warning rather than prosecute you.”

“How do I know that you're not bullshitting me?”

“You're probably not used to trusting people, but you're going to have to trust me. If I walk away from here with nothing, I can't help you. You probably saw that one of your compatriots was recently sent to jail for six years for tax evasion.”

The man stared at her for what seemed like minutes.

“I think you
are
bullshitting me. I don't know what you're talking about. Good-bye.”

He shut the door in Samantha's face.

*   *   *

“DID YOU GET
a good shot?” Samantha asked Edison when she returned to her car.

Edison nodded. “Good enough for anyone to recognize, anyway,” he said as he took the long lens off the camera body. “That's the third today. Let's drop them off and pick up the prints after lunch.”

After a leisurely meal of a hamburger and fries, they returned to their offices at Millennium Park and picked up an envelope at Reception. The prints inside were very sharp—three of Emefiele, and two each of the other two men they'd visited, both from South Africa.

“Okay,” Samantha said. “Let's see if our men recognize any of these.”

They showed the first suspect the photos, and he immediately pointed to Emefiele. “He's the guy that paid us,” he said. “Where's he from?”

“Nigeria,” Samantha answered as she walked out of the cell.

A few minutes later, the second suspect corroborated what the first had said.

“I don't believe it,” Samantha said. “All that work, and we've finally got something. I think it's time to visit Rra Emefiele again.”

*   *   *

“HELLO, RRA EMEFIELE.”

“I told you I wasn't interested!”

“Well, now you have no choice! I'm arresting you on charges of incitement to violence and of disturbing the peace. Edison, please handcuff him.”

“What do you mean? I've done nothing. I want to talk to my lawyer.”

“Save your breath,” Edison said. “Two men independently identified you as paying them to cause problems at a
kgotla
in Shoshong. You can call your lawyer after we've booked you.”

“And then we'll let the revenue service know that we have you,” Samantha interjected. “They're going to be pleased.”

“I've done nothing, and you know it. I'll be back here by evening.”

“Dream on,” Samantha said. “You're going down for a long time now.” She turned and walked away, leaving Edison to drag Emefiele to the car.

*   *   *

“KUBU? THIS IS
Director Mabaku.”

“Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”

“I'm lifting your suspension for the rest of today only. I want you to come in and interrogate a Nigerian Samantha located. He apparently was the man who paid our suspects to cause troubles at the
kgotla.
They've identified him from photos. I want you to have them identify him in a lineup. If they both ID him, interview him and find out who paid him, when, how much, and so on. This could strengthen our case against Shonhu, because I'm sure he was behind it.”

“Yes, Director. I'll come in right away.”

“Two things, Kubu. First, remember this has
nothing
to do with your father's murder. This is about the murders at the
kgotla
. Second, Samantha has some dirt on the man that you may be able to use to persuade him to tell us what happened.”

“Yes, Director,” Kubu said. “I promise I'll behave.”

*   *   *

“MR. EMEFIELE. MY COLLEAGUE
, Detective Khama, has already told you how much trouble you're in. Unfortunately, she's an inexperienced detective and missed the most important charge.”

Emefiele frowned.

“If you don't tell me who paid you to get those two men to stir things up at the
kgotla
,” Kubu continued, “I have to assume that
you
wanted to cause the trouble in Shoshong. If that's the case, I have to charge you as an accessory to the murder of two policemen, of the chief, and two elders. That can carry a very long sentence, Mr. Emefiele. Much longer than you intended to stay in Botswana, I'm sure.”

“I don't know anything about Shoshong,” Emefiele said. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Mr. Emefiele. Where were you on the afternoon of Saturday, February fifteenth?”

Emefiele smiled. “I was in Johannesburg. You can check my passport. I couldn't have been at Shoshong as well.”

Kubu nodded. “What do you say to the fact that two of our suspects identified you as being the man who paid them to cause trouble?”

“They're lying!”

“I don't think so. They're willing to testify that it was you.”

“You've made some sort of deal with them to set me up.”

“No, Mr. Emefiele. They are being charged with murder no matter what they say about you.” Kubu stood up and turned to Samantha. “Go and charge him as an accessory to the murder of those who died at the
kgotla
.”

“Yes, sir!” Samantha jumped up eagerly.

“Wait!”

Kubu and Samantha both turned back.

“A man gave me money to get the men to cause trouble.”

“His name?” Kubu asked.

“I never asked for it. He came to my place, just like you did.” He pointed at Samantha. “Told me what he wanted and left.”

“How much did he give you?” Samantha asked.

Emefiele hesitated. “Five thousand pula,” he said.

“Nice profit, seeing as you only gave the men a thousand each,” Samantha said.

“What did he look like?” Kubu asked.

Emefiele shrugged his shoulders. “Black man. A Motswana, I think. Maybe thirty years old. I don't know.”

“You're sure he didn't give a name?” Kubu demanded.

“I'm sure.”

“What sort of car did he drive?” Samantha asked.

Emefiele was silent for a few moments. “A silver car. A Toyota, I think.”

“Julius!” The name popped out of their mouths at the same time.

“Samantha, go and get Julius's photo,” Kubu said eagerly. “And the photos of another four or five men about the same age. Let's see if he can pick him out.”

*   *   *

“WE'VE GOT HIM!
” Kubu could barely contain his excitement as Emefiele pointed to the photo of the late chief's son. “Julius. I never trusted him.”

He turned to Emefiele. “Thank you. We'll speak to the revenue service and ask them to drop their charges.” He walked to the door. “Constable,” he said to the man standing quietly in the corner. “Constable, take this man to the cells and book him as an accessory to murder.”

Emefiele jumped up. “You promised—”

“I promised to speak to the revenue service about your tax problems. That's all,” Samantha chimed in. “You helped get several people killed. That's what we're charging you for.”

“But I didn't hurt anyone.” Emefiele had started to whine. “This Julius must have killed the men. I sold him a gun too!”

There was silence in the room.

“Say that again,” Kubu said quietly.

“I said that the man who paid me also bought a gun. A .22 handgun.”

“Oh my God!” Samantha said. “Julius murdered his own father!”

 

CHAPTER 55

When the police came for him on Friday afternoon, Julius was meeting with two of his friends at his house. They were finalizing their strategy for the election—now only a week away—that would make Julius chief. The elders were scared; they knew there would be more trouble if Julius wasn't elected and that the trouble would be directed at them. So Julius had the numbers he needed, and if it was more because of fear than respect, he had no problem with that.

But Julius was worried. The papers were full of the story of Shonhu's arrest, and Hong hadn't returned his calls. When he'd phoned that morning, he'd been put through to someone he didn't know, who said that Mr. Hong would be away for some time. What if Hong started talking about their cozy deal?

He tried to relax and concentrate on the discussion. After all, why would Hong bring that issue up? It looked like he had much bigger problems.

“
Kgosi
,” one of the friends called out. “There're some people driving in here.” Julius went to the window to take a look.

Two vehicles had pulled into the driveway: a police van and an unmarked car. Julius felt a flush of panic, but it was too late to run; he'd have to wait and see what it was about.

He opened the front door and waited for the policemen. Three uniformed constables climbed out of the van, and the man getting out of the car was the police station commander. He'd always been a supporter of the old chief and never shown Julius the respect that he felt was his due. At least the fat man from Gaborone isn't with them, Julius thought. Who would've thought that the senile old fool in Mochudi would have a sharp detective for a son?

The station commander offered no greeting. “Julius Koma, I have here a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Rra Rankoromane Koma.” He paused and then added caustically, “Your
father
.” Julius was too shocked to respond. He saw the disgust in the man's face and the scorn in his eyes.

“You don't have to say anything, but anything you say will be noted and may be used at your trial. Do you have anything to say?”

Julius shook his head, still speechless.

“No, I didn't think you would. You must come with us. You'll be taken to Gaborone. You better get what you'll need.”

The station commander followed him into the house with one of the constables. The others remained outside.

“You must go,” he said to the two men gawking at their leader. “At once. I have a search warrant for the house, and I'm to secure it until the forensics people arrive.” They gathered up their belongings and headed for the door.

“Wait!” Julius called after them. “I need a good lawyer. They're trying to frame me! It's all a lie. Do you understand? Please!” Neither looked back. A few minutes later when Julius was brought out in handcuffs and roughly shoved into the back of the waiting police van, there was no sign of either of them.

*   *   *

AN HOUR LATER
, Zanele arrived with the forensics team. She knew the responsibility was on her to get the evidence required to convict Julius. So far he had motive and opportunity, but they needed a clear connection to the murder. She intended to find it.

Her team put on their overalls, gloves, and booties, and spread out, doing their work efficiently. She headed straight for the main bedroom, carrying a close-up that Mabaku had given her of Julius at the
kgotla
. He was wearing a gray sports coat and charcoal pants. It only took her a few minutes to find the jacket, and she carefully took it off its coat hanger. She felt through the pockets—they were empty—but the lining on the right-hand one felt different, coarser. She paused, then turned it inside out and checked the stitching. It was obvious that the pocket had been replaced. The color had been well matched, but the material was of a different quality. She smiled. “You thought that was good enough, Julius,” she said aloud. “Just replace the pocket. Too stingy to throw away a nice jacket.” She knew that jacket would take Julius a step nearer to the gallows. She folded it neatly and zipped it into an evidence bag.