Frederick Ramsay_Botswana Mystery 01 (19 page)

Chapter 43

Mma Santos heard about the dead American from her neighbor. She made a determined nod of her head at this most satisfactory news. The man who murdered Sesi with his big automobile had been punished. That was as it should be. She had visited the
moloi
and bought a talisman. The old man’s eyes had lighted up like
ditshikanokana,
like fireflies
,
in the gloom of his hut, at the sight of the strange currency she’d pulled from the front of her stained
mosese
.

It had taken her several days to locate the automobile. She’d slipped the bit of
beloi
behind the back seat. Still, it came as a surprise that the magic had been so strong. She assumed it would affect the vehicle, which she believed had done the actual killing, and it would crash, so it came as a great shock when she learned the man’s death had been the result of a lion attack. She supposed that since she had paid the witch with one of the bad man’s bills with all the zeros on it, she’d purchased more power than she might otherwise have if she had bartered some cheese and milk for the charm.

She beamed. Justice.

***

Inspector Modise spent a fruitless day asking area headmen and subchiefs about witches, diviners, and purveyors of magic. They all claimed to know nothing. They were either stupid, liars, or reluctant to tempt fate. People crossed one of those at the risk of life and limb, or all of the above. He decided the only thing left for him do was take the bit of skin to Gaborone and have tests run. Tracking down a ritual killing presented a two-fold problem. First, the difficulties presented by a superstitious populace, to risk magical retribution if they revealed a local practitioner, and secondly, how to assure the report had any substance in the first place. This same populace would as likely ascribe magical intervention as not, particularly when anything untoward befell them. Who better to blame than a neighbor with whom they’d had a falling out?

His next task required speaking to Superintendent Mwambe. The man had been in the force for a long time. Perhaps, too long. He represented old thinking. Modise did not wish to aggravate him. This was Mwambe’s district, after all, but to insist that a thing was black when it was clearly white, and only because he did not want to acquiesce to a woman…well, he could not let that pass. That Sanderson woman, she had a head on her shoulders. She knew something of animals and she should be listened to. If she said the lion did not kill the man, it was so. And, well, she was a handsome woman, and that was the truth.

“Mwambe, There must be an investigation. The examining physician says that the man had a deep puncture wound to the stomach area and this puncture went into his heart. He is bleeding to death before the lion goes to him.”

“But he has a great wound on his shoulder. You saw it, Modise.”

“I saw the wound being made by the lion that is picking the man up to take him into the bush. I also see that it does not bleed very much. You know what that means? It means the heart is not beating and so no blood is being moved about. You see?”

Mwambe did see. He also saw he would have to work with Sanderson on the investigation. That did not please him. But he was a policeman and his personal displeasure at the effects of modernity could not interfere with that. He clenched his jaw in a small effort to dissipate his annoyance at this turn of events and nodded his agreement.

“Also, I am required to return to Gabz this afternoon. I will take the sample of
beloi
with me for testing. If you can please keep your ears open for any hint of a
ngaka
. The government is concerned about even the possibility of ritual killing, even of the monkeys. Also, keep your man on Greshenko. I cannot determine what he and the party of Americans is about, but until they leave I want to know everywhere they go and who they meet. I do not think it is just a coincidence that the dead man traveled with them. And finally, there will be an attaché from the American Embassy here this afternoon to enquire into the death as well.”

Mwambe had shifted from nodding to making entries on a note pad. The words
American Embassy
required double underlining.

***

If Mma Santos was pleased, Bobby Griswold was anything but. He faced a huge dilemma. He could dummy up and let the whole scenario play out, and Farrah’s death would remain an accident. That would put him back where he started, no better but no worse off than before. Alternatively, he could proceed with his plans. Make sure Brenda took the rap for a murder, apparently accidental murder, of Henry Farrah. If he could mistake Henry for Leo in the dark, so could she. That would get rid of her without the bother of divorce. Botswana was a country with capital punishment. She’d be a swinger alright, only this time at the end of a noose. He smiled at his pun. He’d use it when he returned home. Brenda was a swinger right up to the end!

But suppose they just put her in jail?

He could also try for Leo again, but that would be pushing it. Why didn’t Leo just go on and have a heart attack? Could there be a way to get that done? Well, why not? What happened when you had one of those? With his bad heart, how much longer could he last? Bobby had looked up coronary infarction and heart attack on Wikipedia once. If he could catch Leo unawares, say, and wrestle him around, he could, maybe, make him have a coronary. Maybe just get him on the bed and put a pillow over his face. Heart attacks caused something called cerebral ischemia. He’d looked that up too. Not enough blood to the brain. He sat in the Sedudu Bar and turned his options over in his mind. He hadn’t seen the scarf on the path where he’d left it. That must mean the cops had it. That and the spear point. So if they were to put two and two together, Brenda could be in big trouble.

He walked back to the rooms and knocked on Leo’s door. No answer. Leo must still be out with Travis and the Russian. He’d wait.

An hour later, Leo came down the walkway. Bobby ducked behind a pillar and watched. He heard the door slam. Should he or shouldn’t he? Even though he had avoided a murder conviction, assuming Brenda didn’t swing. At best, a maybe, and even though he was positioned to remain in
status quo
as a result of his earlier errors, Bobby seemed ready to step over the line again.

He hesitated and then knocked on Leo’s door. No response. He knocked more loudly. He jogged around the building to the back and peered through the glass door. There was enough space between the curtain’s edge and the catch for him to make out Leo on the bed. Asleep? Better yet. He tried, without success to force the slider open.

Maybe Leo was already dead. Maybe this would be his lucky day.

Chapter 44

Sanderson took the call sitting in an empty office. Mr. Pako now lorded over a different staff several kilometers away. The rest of the game rangers and assistants were busy elsewhere. Since she’d finished her assignment regarding the killer lion, so to speak, she had nothing pressing to do, and had there been a situation requiring her attention, no one would tell her to do it. She wondered who would replace Pako. What he would be like? Until he arrived, she would be at loose ends. She assumed her new boss would be male. It is always so.

The voice on the other end of the line belonged to the last person in the world she would expect to wish to speak to her. This week seemed full of surprises. First the lion attack, and now Superintendant Mwambe wished to consult with her.

“Sanderson, will you come, please, to police headquarters? I need to have a conversation with you about the dead man that the lion took.”

“Yes, certainly. I do not think the lion took the man, if you mean it is the cause of the man’s death.”

“That is what I must determine, and you will give to me the reasons why I should agree with that notion.”

Before she could respond, the line went dead. Mwambe had rung off.

The drive into Kasane took no more that fifteen minutes. Sanderson worried about how Mwambe would react to her insistence that the white man’s death could not be attributed to the lion. She had picked up a rucksack containing the spear point on her way out the door. Superintendant Mwambe waited for her, seated behind his desk. A scowl bisected his face.

“So, Sanderson, tell me why and what.”

“Sir?”

“Why should I not dismiss this man’s killing as an accident? Why should I put this department on the task of investigating the murder of a tourist? It would be a thing that will not please the tourist board, you know. It is bad enough you could not capture the lion before it struck again, but these accidents happen from time to time. They are understandable. A murder is another thing completely.”

“Yes, but—” Sanderson could feel the heat on her neck when she realized he wished to place the blame on her and her failed hunt.

“The what,” Mwambe continued, ignoring her, “is what happened to that man that makes you think he was such a victim? I do not wish to have that sort of report to send to Gaborone. The American Embassy is sending someone to look into this. I would prefer to report an accident.”

Sanderson collected her thoughts and simultaneously bit her tongue. Since her childhood she had become accustomed to men’s superior way of talking to her. It was just the way, but this Mwambe must certainly be a fool.

“First, sir, with respect to the lion. This animal is not the same as the one that took the boy weeks ago. That lion is either already dead or on the Makgadikgadi Pans by now. We have tracked him enough to know that. He might double back and become a problem in the future but not at this time.”

“How can you be so sure of this? A lion is a lion, after all. Are you telling me you can separate them without even seeing them?”

“The lion that you say killed the boy was young and still not so big. You can see that in the spoor. He is lighter and smaller. The lion that killed the American is big and heavy. His tracks are different. Also, this lion was the one we named Sekoa. He used to be the ruler of a pride in the park. All the guides and gamekeepers knew him. He seemed very sick. He is being looked into now by the university scientists to test him for disease, you see.”

“Two different lions, you say?”

“Yes.”

“Then the first one, the one who kills the boy, is still loose? Should I tell the lodges of this?”

“There are always animals, and there will always be a threat to humans in certain areas and times. People come to the Chobe to see them, and they know if they come this close to them, they run a risk. Everyone understands that. But the animals are not so foolish to come into Kasane. Well, except for the elephants when the morula fruit is on the ground. In the Okavango, it is different, of course.”

Mwambe squinted and puffed. He did not look happy. “I will accept that for now, but how was this murder accomplished? I saw the wound, and that is all. It could have been made all sorts of ways. What caused this one, I want to know.”

“The wound came from this.” Sanderson removed the spear point from her rucksack, unwrapped it, and placed it on the desk.

“And what is that?”

“It is a spear point, one of the ‘made for the tourists’
diassagai
that they sell in the gift shop at the lodge.”

“Who would want such a thing?”

Sanderson shrugged. The tastes of tourists were a mystery to her as well as to most of the population in the country. A few entrepreneurs, sensing a market, came up with these things. That was all she knew.

“I must make a call.” Mwambe lifted the receiver from the phone and dialed. While he waited, he poked at the spear with the eraser end of a pencil. “It is too dirty to be much use to us for fingerprinting. Where did you come by this?”

“Some Americans, the friends of the dead man, I think, came to see their friend and stumbled on it in the brush. They tossed it in the big dust bin. I went and pulled it out. I thought maybe this is the thing that made the wound and I should keep it for you to investigate.”

Mwambe swiveled in his chair, turned his back on her, and made his call. “I have for you an item. I require you to look at and tell me if it could have caused the wound in the dead American.” He listened and swiveled back toward Sanderson. “Sanderson says she found it at the scene. It is a spear point like they sell at the lodge. You know of these things? You do?…I see.”

He hung up and studied the weapon for a moment. “The examiner says that he knows of this item. He has seen wounds made by such a thing lately. Some of the boys at the lodge had a fight and one was hurt, not too badly, it seems, but…He has asked the lodge not to sell them any more. They said they will not stock them after this supply is exhausted. He is sure you are right about the wound. He almost said so in his report but, in the absence of the actual weapon, could not. So you have brought us a murder weapon, Sanderson. Can you offer anything else?”

Sanderson considered mentioning the Mpitle’s scarf and decided to wait. “How much strength must a person have to stab a grown man with this
assagai
?”

Mwambe shook his head. “You must ask the examiner. I am thinking it would require some force.”

“Could a woman have done it?”

“Oh, I do not think so. It is a very deep wound, I believe.”

Of course the superintendent would say that. She would have to ask the examiner herself. However, this time she hoped Mwambe had it right. She did not like the idea of a woman, any woman, becoming a killer.

Female lions, yes. Female humans, no.

Chapter 45

Brenda heard Bobby fumbling at the lock. She stepped over to the bed and stretched out letting her skirt ride up a few more inches than necessary. The lights were off and the room dim. Only the late evening glow provided any illumination. She’d get him. He pushed his way in.

“Where you been at?”

“What?” Bobby jumped and reached for the light switch. “I’ve been around. Like, what’s it to you? Mr. Gorgeous Travis Parizzi not paying you any attention anymore?”

“Screw you. Listen, hot shot, I figured it all out.”

“What? You figured what out, Brenda? You finally remember what you had for dinner? Not hippo, right?”

“Very funny, coming from you, genius. I know about the phone, Bobby. I know why you took it, and I know—”

“You don’t know jack, Brenda.”

“Like when I couldn’t figure out the hit-and-run? Hello, you mean like that? I know you, Bobby, and I know you’re into something and it isn’t good. Tell me I’m wrong.” Brenda noted the sudden pallor on Bobby’s face. She must be hitting pretty GD close, she thought. What had he done, besides take her phone to mess with her mind?

“Look, Bren…” Bobby only called her Bren when he wanted something kinky or was in trouble, or had a load on, or any and all of the above. “Take it easy. You can’t know, because…”

She waited for him to finish his thought. He didn’t. Push, her instincts told her. He’s been into something really heavy, and it could be, like, worth money.

“You’re in deep kaka, Bobby, and unless you square it with me, this is a promise, either you tell me what you did, or there’ll be hell to pay.” Bobby looked stricken. “The phone, Bobby, gimme my phone, or I spill it to the guys at the top.” She wasn’t sure what
at the top
meant but it seemed to have a serious effect on her husband. He collapsed into a chair as though his knees gave out and stared at her and then out the glass doors. “Bobby—the phone.”

“Bren, you have to cover me, okay?”

“Sure, why not? We’re a team, right. We stick together, right? Like, forever, right?” The last was not so much a question as a threat. “Forever,” she repeated, this time louder, and stared him in the face. She watched as what must have been a kaleidoscope of really scary images flew across Bobby’s eyeballs.

“Right, a team. We…yeah, a team.”

“So, the cell phone is…where?”

“I hid it outside under the steps. You might want to erase the messages on it, just to be safe and all.”

“Messages? What messages? Did I get a call? Why should I erase them? Desiree called, didn’t she? What’d she say that you don’t want me to see? Go find my phone, Bobby.”

He stood and walked to the door, paused, looked back at her and, when she waved him on, opened the slider and went out. She watched as he reached under the step, frowned, and knelt to reach deeper.

“It’s gone.”

“What’s gone? You mean my phone’s not there? Look some more. How can it be gone?”

Bobby lay flat on the ground and scrabbled in the dirt under the steps. “Get that flashlight. I can’t see anything out here.”

Brenda dug through the pile of clothing and paper bags on the bench and found the flashlight. She walked to him and handed it down. “Anything?”

Bobby swung the light around, inspecting the length of the step. He pointed it toward the building. “Not here.”

“Jesus, Bobby, what did you do now? Where’s it at?”

“I swear to God, Bren, I put it right here, right under this step. It’s not there any more. Somebody musta took it.”

“Like who? Who crawls around under porch steps looking for cell phones?”

“I don’t know. The cleaners could have found it, or the guys that, like, mow the grass. I don’t know. The cops maybe.”

“Cops? Why the hell would cops look under our steps? It’s not going good for you, Bobby. You need to talk to momma.”

“I’m thinking about Leo, I mean Farrah, getting killed is all. They might want to know how and are looking for clues. You know what I mean.”

Farrah, Leo, clues? Bobby wasn’t making any sense, not that not making sense was anything new. Brenda decided to let it slide. It would all come out in the wash, or in the shower, or in the bed. She’d know soon enough what he’d been up to, and it didn’t hurt for him to think she already did.

“Get in here. We’re going to be late for dinner, you need to clean up, and I need your Blackberry until I can replace my phone. You jerk, that phone, counting the silver case it was in, cost me over two hundred dollars. You’re gonna replace that.”

Brenda wheeled and went into the room while Bobby struggled to his feet. He looked desperate.

***

The medical examiner inspected the spear point and shook his head. “Besides the fact that it has been dragged through the dirt and spent time in the dustbin, too many people have handled this thing. Even if we could lift prints, they wouldn’t tell us anything, Sanderson.”

“I suppose not. But I would like to know this thing. Could the wound that killed the man have been made by a woman?” Sanderson tried to ignore the pervading odor of disinfectant and bleach in the room which didn’t quite conceal the scent of death.

“A big woman, for certain, but in this case, I do not think so. The man was tall and heavy. You know, he was fat around his belly. Whoever struck the spear into him did it by taking a step or two forward toward him, to build momentum, you see, and then he stabs him. You could not just push it in. It is not very sharp either, so…” He shrugged and turned the point over in his hand.

“When did this happen, do you expect?”

“Ah, that I can answer. We have two deaths close together, the lion and the man. So what one can’t tell us the other can. We can call the time of death much closer, because of the size of these two. The lion is so much bigger and will cool at a different rate than the man. So we calculate the rate of cooling for both and then see if they agree. If they do, then we can guess more accurately. You see?”

Sanderson nodded, even though she didn’t see, not exactly. It’s enough that the examiner thought so. Something about body temperature?

“So with these two numbers in mind, the temperature of the lion when we find him and the temperature of the man, and then correcting for their initial core temperatures and size…” Sanderson shook her head in mild frustration. All she wanted was the time, not the science. “I can tell you that these two old fellahs died between nine at night and two in the morning.”

“But that’s five hours. That is a wide range, yes? It will not be easy to pin anyone down. Not at the lodge where people move about at all hours.”

“Well, nine at night will include many, but two in the morning? It’s the best I can do.” The examiner looked chagrined. “What of Mwambe. Isn’t he the investigator?”

“Oh, yes, but…” She left the thought unfinished. The examiner nodded. He understood.

Tomorrow, Sanderson thought, I will check the gift shop and discover who bought spear points. If I am lucky, they won’t have sold that to a man. She picked up her rucksack and headed home. Would David Mmusi be there again this night? That was another problem she needed to address.