Zambezi (12 page)

‘That’s a good answer, although you didn’t really answer my question.’

‘Where are you going after you’ve been to the police tomorrow?’ he asked.

‘Look, Jed,’ her tone was softer now, ‘I know you’ve come all this way to find Miranda, but you have to prepare yourself for the worst. The National Parks rangers have scoured the campsite where Miranda was staying for clues and tracked the lions as far as possible. There’s really nothing more any of us can do. I’m sorry, but I think we’ve both got to face the facts.’

She was right, of course – he did need to prepare himself for the worst. But she was also right in the first part of her comment – he had come a long way to find his daughter – and he would be damned if he would leave without some concrete evidence of her death.

‘You can’t stop me talking to the police and you can’t stop me visiting the National Park.’

‘I’m not going to try. It’s just that I don’t think you’ll be able to find out any more about what happened to Miranda by blundering around on your own. Despite what you may think, I do wonder if I was somehow responsible for her disappearance. As her supervisor I promise you that I will pass on any information I get from the police or other sources about her whereabouts. I know you want to help, but it will be better for all of us if you sit tight for a couple of days and wait and see what turns up.’

‘I didn’t come here to sit tight. I came here to find my daughter and bring her home.’

‘So did I.’

‘Well then, don’t get in my way.’ He wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed it on the empty plate.

She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t want to argue with you, Jed. I want the same thing you do – to find Miranda alive. But we both have to start preparing ourselves for the fact that might not happen.’

‘Don’t try to shield me, Professor Wallis. I’m no stranger to death. I also know the best way to deal with grief is to confront it, head-on. I want to be there when they open that goddamned beast. If my daughter is dead I want to see it with my own eyes.’

Chris shrugged. ‘In the end, these are matters for the police to decide. You’re a blood relative and you have certain rights. I’m a scientist and Miranda’s employer. I have certain rights too. As I said, we’re all working towards the same goal.’

Jed looked into those green eyes that had sparkled with warmth a few minutes before. Now they seemed as cold and hard as cut emerald. As she stood and excused herself from the table, he wondered if the two of them were, in fact, working towards the same goal. He doubted it.

Jed woke late.

He had finished off two more beers after Christine Wallis had left him, nursing his anger and resentment at the fiery-haired female. It had been nearly midnight by the time he had made it back to his room.

Heavy curtains kept the place in darkness but Jed saw from his watch that it was after nine in the morning. He had been operating on minimal sleep since Afghanistan, so it wasn’t surprising.

However, he was annoyed with himself – he had wanted an early start. The morning sun blinded him as he pulled back the drapes. He fetched his sunglasses from the pocket of his trousers and stepped out onto the little balcony, clad only in his green boxer shorts. The lake stretched to the horizon, glittering silver in the harsh glare, like a pool of spilt mercury. It was hard on his eyes and his head hurt. He had been alcohol-free for months in Afghanistan and it would take a while to rebuild his tolerance level.

‘Any messages for me?’ he asked the woman at reception after a breakfast of toast, coffee and tomato juice.

‘No, sir.’

‘One of your other guests, Professor Wallis, is she still in the hotel?’

‘Oh no, sir, she left about five o’clock this morning.’

That was odd. He didn’t imagine veterinarians anywhere in the world started work before dawn.

The security guard in the car park saluted him as he opened the door of the Land Rover. It was sweltering already and the steering wheel was hot to the touch. Jed rechecked the map of Kariba and set off.

The countryside was spectacular. Below him were myriad little inlets. Fingers of water divided brown hills studded with acacias and trees with copper-coloured butterfly-shaped leaves. The land was crisscrossed with clearly visible paths, which he presumed were made by animals of some sort, as there were no signs of houses away from the water’s edge. Bays that had been wooded valleys before the man-made flood now sheltered houseboats and sailboats. The skeletal white tops of dead trees protruded above the surface of the lake, their boughs blanched with droppings from the many different types of water-birds that roosted in them.

The Zimbabwe Republic Police camp was perched on the top of a high hill with a panoramic view across the lake. Jed parked the truck and walked into the two-storey concrete building. It looked as though it had been built to withstand a direct hit from a rocket-propelled grenade, which probably wasn’t far from the truth as the country had been at war for most of the nineteen sixties and seventies.

A bored-looking policewoman in a blue-grey uniform was seated reading a magazine and picking her nose. Jed cleared his throat. She didn’t look up.

‘Excuse me,’ he said.

She got to her feet ponderously It was stifling hot and the woman moved slowly to the long wooden charge counter. ‘Yes, sir, can I help you?’

‘I’m looking for someone I can talk to about the disappearance of my daughter, Miranda Banks. An American citizen. She was researching carnivores in Mana Pools National Park.’

‘What is the name again? Hanks?’

‘Banks.’ Jed spelled it out. He wondered how many Americans disappeared in presumed lion attacks.

The female constable opened a large book on the counter and ran her finger down the margin. She looked puzzled.

‘The initial report we had was that she had been taken by a lion,’ Jed said, trying not to let his frustration show.

‘No, I do not think so.’

‘Can I see your superior?’

It was the woman’s turn to look annoyed. ‘You can see me. First name Miranda?’

‘Yes.’

‘We have a report about an American woman disappearing, but her name was Miranda Lewis.’

Jed was embarrassed. ‘Yes, of course. That’s her mother’s name.’

‘So she is not your daughter?’

‘She sometimes called herself Banks-Lewis.’

‘Not according to her passport she didn’t.’

Jed was surprised. He wondered at what age his daughter had gotten her new passport. Had Patti organised it for her when she was a child and left his name off it in spite?

‘She’s my daughter.’

‘And you have proof of that, sir?’

Damn. He had no proof at all that Miranda Lewis – or even Miranda Banks, come to that – was his daughter. He had not realised it would be necessary. ‘The US embassy in Harare knows of my relationship to my daughter. They advised my wife of her disappearance.’

‘Perhaps you can call and get them to send us a letter.’

‘Can I use your phone, please?’

‘Ah, I am sorry, the phone is not working today.’

‘Jesus Christ.’

The constable frowned at the blasphemy.

‘Who is your superior?’

‘Why do you want to know? The member in charge will only tell you the same thing.’

Jed was ready to hit someone.

Voices echoed from down the corridor, behind the charge desk. He heard a woman’s laugh.

‘Mr Banks. How are you today?’ Chris Wallis asked as she came into view.

Jed thought that she didn’t seem surprised to see him. She was escorted by a tall African police officer in a grey-blue shirt and khaki trousers. He was a distinguished-looking fellow with a grey moustache and silver crowns on his epaulettes.

‘I’m fine,’ Jed said. In fact, he was seething, but he didn’t want to betray his emotions to her.

‘This is Superintendent Ncube. He is the member in charge here – that’s like the station captain back home.’

‘I get the picture. Will you tell him that Miranda Banks-Lewis is my daughter?’

‘Professor Wallis told me you would be visiting us today, Mr Banks,’ the superintendent said.

‘Please accept my apologies that I have not yet had the opportunity to brief all of my officers on your impending arrival.’

‘No problems,’ Jed said. ‘Has the lion been examined yet?’

‘We are on our way to the morgue now, Mr Banks. I would invite you to accompany us but I fear the experience could be quite … traumatic.’

‘I’m a soldier, Superintendent. I won’t see anything I haven’t seen before in combat.’

‘Mr Banks … Jed, I think -’ Christine began.

‘Professor Wallis, with all due respect I don’t give a flying you-know-what for your thoughts.

Superintendent, I am Miranda’s father and I demand to be present at this examination.’

‘Mr Banks, I understand your concerns. Normally I would not let any family member view such a procedure, but you have come a long way to learn of your daughter’s fate. Professor Wallis means no disrespect, I am sure. You are welcome to accompany us.’ Superintendent Ncube led the way out of the police station, donning his peaked cap once he was in the open air. He saluted two male constables who were entering the building and thrust an ebony swagger stick under one arm.

‘In times such as these, when fuel is short, it is silly to take three vehicles. Won’t you both please join me?’ Ncube offered.

Jed and Chris exchanged glances. Jed wasn’t thrilled with the idea of sharing a ride with the obstructive scientist and it was clear she felt the same way.

‘It will be our pleasure, won’t it, Mr Banks?’ she said sweetly.

Chris climbed into the front seat of the superintendent’s white Land Rover and Jed took the rear bench. They sat in strained silence as Ncube drove recklessly down the hill and into a ramshackle township.

It was the superintendent who started the conversation again. ‘This is Mahombekombe township. It was built as a temporary village for workers during the construction of the dam around forty years ago. As you can see, it seems no one told the inhabitants it was only temporary.’

The place was a crowded mini metropolis of corrugated tin and asbestos fibreboard. It reminded Jed of shantytowns he had seen in the Philippines and Central America, but without the litter. The people here were poor, but proud enough to keep their meagre homes and neighbourhood tidy. He wondered what their lives must be like.

‘Most of the people here make their living from the lake and the tourist industry – fishing, maintaining the holiday houseboats, working in the hotels. Times are tough, though, because of the lack of foreign visitors.’

‘Is that elephant dung on the road?’ Jed asked.

‘Yes, it is,’ Ncube said. ‘As Professor Wallis knows, there is still a healthy wildlife population around Kariba.’

‘Poaching has been bad here in recent years, but Kariba remains one of the few places in Africa where you can see humans and the big five – well, minus the rhino – living side by side,’ Chris said.

‘I nearly collected an elephant on the drive in, but I didn’t expect to find evidence of them this close to people’s houses,’ Jed said.

‘You’ll see people and elephants walking along the same roads around here. The locals know how to deal with dangerous game, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t fatalities on both sides,’ Chris explained.

Superintendent Ncube chimed in again. ‘Just last week a local man was killed by an elephant. He ran into it with his vehicle, driving too fast at the time, but the elephant was only injured, not killed. The animal crushed the car and, as the man fled, he charged him.’

‘Was he gored by the tusks?’ Jed asked.

‘That’s a common misconception,’ Chris said.

‘Indeed,’ Ncube continued. ‘The elephant knocked the man to the ground with his trunk and then knelt on him with one of his front legs, crushing him to death.’

‘Despite the occasional accident, though,’ Chris added, ‘Kariba is proof that if people take care they can live in close proximity to dangerous game.’

‘What about lions?’ Jed asked.

‘There’s actually a fairly large pride living close to the outskirts of town at the moment. But there’ve been no reported cases of attacks on humans locally. I’d be interested in studying that particular group sometime.’

‘Is that where you were this morning?’

Chris nodded.

‘Five a.m. is probably a good time to go looking for big cats, I guess,’ Jed said.

Ncube looked at his watch. ‘Do you mind if I turn on the radio to listen to the news?’

Jed shook his head.

Ncube leaned over and turned up the volume.

A female announcer said: ‘And repeating our top story of the hour, a bomb has exploded on a tour bus in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. Police say at least fourteen tourists, all of them Americans, are believed dead, with up to twenty more injured in what they claim is a terrorist attack. No one has claimed responsibility for the act.’.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Jed said.

Ncube grimaced. ‘This is not the first time terrorists have struck in East Africa. Remember the failed missile attack on the Israeli airline in Kenya and the bombing of your embassy? Fortunately, in southern Africa we have yet to be targeted by religious extremists or terrorists.’

Jed looked at Chris. She was staring fixedly out of the window. She said nothing and her face looked pale.

‘Here we are,’ Ncube said, pulling up in front of a whitewashed building. ‘This clinic doubles as our overflow morgue. We thought it best to bring the lion here as there will be no other families of victims here today.’

‘Please go ahead without me,’ Chris said. ‘I’ll join you in a couple of minutes.’ She pulled a mobile phone from the pocket of her tan safari trousers and walked away.

Jed raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Instead he followed Ncube inside. They were greeted by a nurse, who spoke to the superintendent in their shared language. ‘The doctor is waiting for us,’ Ncube translated. ‘Please take a seat, Mr Banks.’

Jed sat in a moulded plastic chair, which creaked under his weight. The clinic smelled strongly of disinfectant. The walls were whitewashed, but stained here and there with flecks of brown. The linoleum tiles under his boots were scrubbed but pitted. Dirt had collected in the tiny holes, giving the flooring the appearance of being covered in fly specks. He reminded himself to try not to get sick in Africa.