Frederick Ramsay_Botswana Mystery 01 (22 page)

Chapter 51

At least the coffee was hot. Sanderson preferred the way she brewed coffee to the hotel’s version. However, as the staff had not charged her for it, she could not complain.

“What now, Sanderson?” Before she could make a suggestion, Derek’s hand-held squawked. “Yes, hello? Who? Yes, of course.” His face took on a look of near panic. “He’s coming here.”

“Who’s coming here?”

“My uncle, the American attaché from Gaborone, and another policeman. What do I do?”

“Well, you can sit here and look afraid of your shadow or, you can hide somewhere, or you can carry on your investigation.”

“My investigation? What investigation? I haven’t done anything yet.”

“You questioned the manager. You have some suspects. You have a plan.”

“I did nothing. It was you, Sanderson. You asked the questions. What now?”

“Derek, the questions I asked were answered by the hotel manager and the saleswoman because you were there. They didn’t respect my game ranger’s uniform; they respected yours, you see. Now, what we must do is find this young couple the manager tells us about, and ask them about the spears. If it comes to nothing, well, you are investigating, and your uncle will be happy.”

“You really think so?”

“Do you have a better plan, Derek?”

Derek did not. They gulped down their coffee and headed toward the room assigned to the Griswolds.

***

Brenda had put on her very skimpy bikini and rummaged through the bag she’d packed with laundry earlier for a cover-up when Bobby exited the shower.

“Put on your trunks, Bobby, and a shirt. We can go straight to the pool after we eat. Maybe they have poolside and we can have lunch there, too.”

“Always it’s food with you. As much as you eat, I wonder why you don’t weigh, like, a ton or something.”

“It’s not always about food, and besides I have this high metabolic rate. A doctor told me that one time, and that’s why I don’t have a weight problem like Desiree and some of the other girls. If they ever stopped dancing they’d, like, be huge or something.” She gathered her tote, stuffed a towel, sunblock, and three magazines in it. “Come on, we gotta go.”

“Hold on to your hair for a minute. I can’t find my flip-flops. They must have been shoved under the bed.”

“I packed them, wear your Nikes. They’re better on the boards anyway. Come on, come on.”

“Slow down, Bren, you’ll bust a gut.” There was a tentative knock at the door. “See who’s at the door while I put on my shoes. Why’d you have to pack my flips anyway?”

“Bitch, bitch, bitch. I got it.”

Brenda dropped her cover-up on the bed and went to the door. A policeman and the animal person stood outside. The policeman’s jaw dropped when she opened the door. It must be a new thing to see a bikini, or something.

“What’s the problem, officer?” Brenda leaned forward and gave the cop a peek. It always worked. She hadn’t had a traffic ticket in years. What the heck, there was a time when that peek would have cost some serious money. The animal person answered. The cop seemed tongue-tied.

“We wish to ask you some questions about the death of Mr. Henry Farrah.”

“Sure, come in.” She stepped back and ushered them in the room. Bobby, it’s that cute animal person…what do they call you, Hon?”

“Game ranger.”

“No. I mean your name.”

“Sanderson.”

“Just Sanderson? Not, like, with a first name?”

“Just Sanderson.”

“Oh. So, you want to ask us about the death of Henry. We don’t know anything about that, do we, Bobby?”

He finished tying his shoes and stood. “No, nothing. We were together all that night.”

“No, that’s not right. I was with…a friend and you were…where were you, exactly? I never asked.”

Bobby looked stricken. “With you, Bren. You have to remember.”

An inkling, a suspicion, a niggling doubt, crept into Brenda’s consciousness. Bobby’s secret did have something to do with Farrah. But what? He was going to owe big-time for this one. “Oh, yeah, he was with me. We were, like, playing cards—strip poker.”

The policeman started to cough and excused himself. The woman squinted her eyes and glared at her. She wasn’t fooled, and Brenda realized, she hoped not too late, that this woman was no backwoods bimbo and she’d better be careful.

“Just kidding, officer.”

Bobby edged toward the sliding glass doors and glanced out. The gray monkey stared back at him.

“We are interested in the purchase of a souvenir at the gift shop. A spear point. Did you make such a purchase?”

“Oh yeah. I got it right here.” She leaned sideways, reached into the desk drawer, and pulled out the bag containing the
assagai
“See, here’s the sales slip and everything. I also got an outfit the same time, only I lost one of the gloves. Say, speaking of lost, did anybody turn in a cell phone? It cost a bundle. I could, you know, offer a big reward if you find it. Bobby thinks maybe one of the groundskeepers took it. Could you, like, interrogate them? You’re a cop, right?”

Derek finally got himself under control. He kept his eyes on the decidedly uncomfortable husband. “Yes, I am a police officer. There were two spear points bought by you, it seems.”

“Two? No, just this one. Bobby said maybe he would get another one but what would we do with two? You didn’t go back and buy one, did you?”

“Me? No. Why would I do that? I didn’t buy one, no, of course not.”

“We have a sales slip that indicates someone from this room bought one the day after yours was purchased.”

“Well, it wasn’t us. The clerk must have misunderstood,”

“That is always a possibility, of course, but you see the room number is written right here.”

“Bren…?”

“It’s a mistake. We only have one of them.”

“As you say. Of course we can always ask the clerk to come and see if you are the one.”

“Bring her on. Hell, I got nothing to hide,” a remark which had to be counted as a huge understatement, considering her costume.

“Listen, why don’t you get her and bring her back? No, wait a minute, we’ll be at breakfast. You can meet us up there.”

“I am not so sure that we can do that.”

“Well, we are done here, unless you have something else to ask. Come on, Bobby, I’m starving.”

The woman named Sanderson reasserted herself. “We are asking because a spear point like the one you hold has been determined to have been used to kill Mr. Farrah.”

“No shit, I thought the lion, like, ate him or something.”

“The lion held him in his jaws, but it did not kill him. The man was stabbed first.”

“Holy cow. What do you think about that, Bobby? Good thing we can account for our
assagai
right?”

Now she had it. Almost had it. But not quite. Bobby must have pulled another hit-and-run somehow. Why, no, who? She’d find out as soon as these two uniforms left.

She had the door handle in hand and was attempting to usher Sanderson and Derek out the door when another group pushed in.

Chapter 52

When she’d entered the room, Sanderson had scanned its contents. It was a thing a woman would do, but probably not a man, making a quick inventory of the expensive clothes in the closet, the luggage, the bottles of perfume, and the skin products on the dresser. Signs of indulgence, of indiscriminate spending, of money. Sanderson did not like this nearly naked white woman, standing there without a thought in the world of how she must appear to others. This spoiled woman could not have been more than two or three years older than her Mpitle, except in the eyes. The eyes were different. This woman had a child’s body but old eyes, eyes that had seen too much in a very short time. This woman could lie, and cheat, and steal. But she was not a killer. Sanderson knew that as a woman knows about another woman. She could not say the same thing about the boy.

She reached across the bed and handed the woman her cover-up. The woman took it and hesitated. Sanderson jerked her chin up, as she would to her daughter, indicating the woman should put it on. She did.

“Uncle…Inspector Mwambe,” Derek said. “We are investigating this couple over the purchase of—”

“I know what you are doing, Derek. You must not harass the guests of the hotel. The manager tells me you and Sanderson were asking about the purchase of souvenirs. That is not something that should be concerning you. I will take over now. And we will not require Sanderson’s assistance either.”

Sanderson heard Mwambe with half an ear, but focused her attention on the boy. He looked pleadingly at his wife.

“Brenda, help me out here.”

Sanderson held up the receipt from the gift shop. “There was another
assagai?
Mr. Griswold, did you buy this one?” Sanderson said, ignoring Mwambe’s scowl.

“No, not me…it’s a mistake, no way.”

“Sanderson, that will be all.”

She continued to disregard the inspector. “The sales slip reveals a purchase by someone in this room, bought at night…the same night Mr. Henry Farrah was stabbed to death on the path to the Sedudu Bar.”

“It wasn’t…That’s all wrong. I didn’t buy it then…it wasn’t me.” He looked around at the police, at her, and pointed at his wife. “It was her. That’s my spear in the bag. Hers is the one that’s missing. See I thought she might have done it, and so I bought that one to take the place of the one she used to…She did it.”

“What?” the wife screeched. She hugged her cover-up around her. “Me? You weasel, what are you trying to do? If you think you can dump this on me, you are so not going to! What did you do, Bobby?”

“Sanderson!” Mwambe seemed ready to have a fit.

The third man in the party stepped forward. “Mrs. Sanderson, please continue.”

“I think this slip indicates that a second spear point, the murder weapon, was bought the night the man was killed. I do not know why he was stabbed. Perhaps this man is angry at him. Who can say? They meet on the path to the Sedudu Bar and…You know,” she faced the boy and continued, almost conversationally, “Botswana is a country that does not encourage crime. It is a capital-punishment state, a fact that brings much criticism from nations that, as we know, have very much higher rates of violent crime than we do.”

She gazed at Bobby as if inviting a response. She did not have long to wait. Griswold took one more look at the monkey guarding the slider, pushed past the men, and bolted out the front door.

***

Leo Painter woke, weak and groggy. He lay very still, gathering his thoughts. He’d slept for a long time, he knew. Since when? Yesterday. His day came back to him, the meetings and the awful feeling he had later, chest pain, nausea, sweating…My God, I must have had a heart attack! I could have jumped ship right then and there and nobody would have known. A sobering thought, but not the first time he’d had it. Something of the sort had been on his mind when he’d slipped off into unconsciousness the previous day. Something about Travis. What about Travis? And Lucille, too, he’d have to find a way to convince her to come with him to the Chobe. For a visit, anyway. Life could be good here. A slower pace, a place to build.

He sat up. A sliver of sunlight bisected the room where the draperies were not quite drawn across the doors to the deck. He wondered if his monkey friend had tried to pry his way in again. He had a vague recollection of someone or something rattling the door last night. He should get up and dress. Travis and Greshenko would be looking for him. He was hungry. Breakfast. He donned a pair of slacks, golf shirt, and loafers and headed to the door. He’d clean up later. He needed coffee, now.

He opened the door just in time to see a panicked Bobby Griswold careening toward him.

“Bobby? What’s the matter?”

Griswold skidded to a halt.

“It’s all your fault, Leo. You’re supposed to be dead.”

“I very nearly was, Robert, but how is that your problem?”

“Why didn’t you go to the bar that night? Why did you send Farrah instead? You did it on purpose. You always screw with me.”

Griswold turned back, saw the men tumbling out the door of his room and pivoted again.

“It’s your fault, Leo, you’ve ruined everything.”

“What do you mean? What’s that about Henry?”

Leo stared after the boy, who charged away, down the path and toward the Sedudu Bar. Inspector Modise and a policeman, hot on Bobby’s heels, nearly bowled him over next.

“What the hell is going on here?”

“We need to stop him. He knows something about the death of your colleague.”

“What? Robert? I don’t think that’s likely. He has the courage of a frog. His wife, maybe. He’s the frog, she’s the snake, but Bobby wouldn’t…you really think so?”

“We will not catch him now. But, there is nowhere he can go. Eventually that young man will reappear. We will assemble a search team and find him. And you are correct, Mr. Painter. We should have a long conversation with Mrs. Griswold as well. One or the other, possibly both, of them, is responsible for the immediate death of Henry Farrah. Who else may be contributory to that sad fact is another matter.”

Leo flinched as if slapped. The man had a point if, as he’d indicated earlier, Farrah bought it on the way to the bar. Leo had sent him on that journey, his last, as it turned out.

Bobby had asked him to do something that night and he’d forgotten. He’d met with Farrah, and then he’d dismissed him. He remembered what Bobby had asked.

“I may be able to help you, Inspector. There was something Bobby wanted me to do that night and forgot. I may have sent Henry to his death—a death, by the way, I believe was intended for me.”

Chapter 53

Bobby nearly lost his footing when Leo stepped out from his room and into his path. He heard men chasing him. Leo! It should have been Leo. Everything would be fine if he’d just done what he’d been asked to do. Leo made some noise, excuses. Always excuses. Gotta get away, have to hide somewhere. Where? There were trees ahead; he’d hide there. He had his phone. He’d call Brenda. She would know what to do.

While he was growing up, his mother had always taken care of things. His father objected. Said the boy…
boy!
Said he needed to face the consequences of his actions. What a crock. But his mother didn’t care. Then his father disappeared. No loss there. Crap, Brenda didn’t have a phone anymore. The police must have found it. They would read the text messages. No, that wouldn’t work now. They didn’t have it. If they did, she’d be out here running her ass off with him.

He kept pounding on. It was the one thing he could do without thinking. Thinking got you in trouble. What had Leo said?
Botswana is a capital-punishment country, and its courts would not be reluctant to hang you, particularly if it deems the crime to have been premeditated.
Christ, help me…Brenda would fix it. She had to. Where else would she get the deal she had with me? Hell, she didn’t have to love him or anything. Just be there and get him out of this mess. She did it before. She could do it again.

He listened to his heart beat, adjusted his stride to match it. A track coach told him that was how you ran marathons. Run to the rhythm of your heart. He slowed a bit and felt better, stronger. He could run all day. Nobody was going to catch him. Not today. Not ever.

Brenda. She would be mad at what he’d said. She’d get over it. He’d make it up to her; take her to Miami Beach like she wanted. Maybe Cancú n. She could lie in the sun and get brown. Tan lines were sexy. Can’t think about that now. He needed her. She’d fix it. She always did.

He plodded past the Sedudu Bar. He tried not to look at the place. Why had Farrah come? Why didn’t Leo? He must have suspected something and sent Farrah to scout out the ground. Leo was sharp. You had to get up plenty early in the morning to beat him. He always hated me and Brenda. He was the one who talked me into the divorce. Wait ’til Brenda found out about that. She’d fix him all right. Damn straight. Brenda was smarter than people thought.

Beautiful, too. Tan lines…Jesus!

***

“You don’t think I did it, do you?” Brenda sounded desperate. Leo had never seen her that way. She always stayed on top. She knew how to market her sexuality. But nobody was buying today. Well, almost nobody. The young policeman with the round face looked like a puppy in a pet store window. Brenda’s cover-up kept flying open. That was probably the young man’s problem. Sanderson, the game ranger, looked like she’d like to put Brenda over her knee. So would he, as a matter of fact.

Not going to happen.

“No, Brenda, I do not. I certainly think you are capable enough to do it, and for all I know, you may, in fact, have had a hand in it, but at this juncture I don’t think you did it.”

The fat, older policeman frowned. “It is not appropriate to speak yet of murder.”

The game ranger let out an exasperated sigh. “Inspector Mwambe, you must listen to what has been said. That boy, or this woman, purchased a spear point the night the man was killed. It is no longer in their possession.”

“I didn’t buy that one. You can ask what’s her name, the girl at the gift store who works at night. She knows me. She’ll tell you.”

The game ranger rounded on Brenda. “I do not think you killed the man, Mrs. Griswold. I think you are a shameless woman and you have much to answer for, but I think your husband did the killing.”

“Why the hell would he do something that stupid? Answer me that.”

Leo took her elbow and led her away from the angry game ranger. “That afternoon he asked me to write a codicil to my will so that he would inherit the stock he’d just sold me, should I die before he could redeem it, that is.”

“He what? You mean if it was you that had been murdered, he’d have…Christ, enough stock to…what? Take over the company.”

“He’d have nothing of the sort. The will that codicil referenced was to the one Farrah drew up years ago. There is a later will I made with my new lawyer. It leaves Robert nothing.”

“But Farrah said…you dirty son of a—”

“Gently, Brenda, will or no will, your fate, and perhaps Robert’s, is still in my hands.”

“But why did he kill Mr. Farrah?” Mwambe asked. He was having difficulties following the direction the conversation had taken.

“A mistake. Robert called me just before Farrah arrived. He asked me to meet him at the Sedudu Bar. I forgot. Farrah left my room angry and thirsty for more booze. In the dark, Bobby stabbed him by mistake. I must assume some responsibility for that. I’m sorry.”

***

Bobby cleared the area around the bar at an easy lope but ran into a fence. He jogged in place considering his options, then turned and started up hill, running parallel to the wire. He thought he heard a car approaching behind him. He turned. It must be still around the corner. He needed to hide. Ten meters further on, he saw a gap in the fence. Bits of what appeared to be fur clung to its edges. Beyond it were bushes. He could hide there. He sprinted to the gap and squeezed through and headed back down hill. The car rounded the corner. He crouched behind a large clump of shrubbery. The car passed. He couldn’t see if it was a police car or not. When he felt sure it was gone, he stood and resumed his run. He would follow the fence the other way. It would take him to the river. He could hide there and think. Maybe when it got dark, he could slip back and talk to Brenda. She would know what to do. They just needed a plan.

The Chobe Game Park is a broad, relatively flat plain down near the water, but the ground rises to the south, and there it is covered with a thick stand of trees. The high branches provide food for elephants and giraffe. Ungulates feed on the underbrush beneath the canopy. If you are a predator, it is a good place to hunt. Prey have few choices. They must follow the food, knowing predators will be waiting for them. In the dry season, all animals move to the river and to water. Bobby’s primitive instincts were leading him north, to the river.

Close to the Chobe it is rare to see a stone outcropping, and large tree roots are also nearly nonexistent. So it must have been bad karma that brought these two rarities directly in the path Bobby selected. His eyes were focused on the river glittering in the distance. He should have been looking down. His foot caught on the root. He pitched forward. His head encountered the rock with serious consequences. He rolled, unconscious, into a large bramble that effectively screened him from the road and, later, from the search parties sent to find him. He lay prone in the dirt, unmoving, his left arm doubled up beneath him, fist pressed against his solar plexus, his head turned at an unnatural angle, and bleeding from his ear.

He was still there six hours later when the hyenas found him.