The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu (33 page)

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The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu
∧

K
ubu left home at
9:00 a.m. after a good breakfast. He wanted to leave late enough to
miss the traffic headed north, and he wanted to leave on a full
stomach. “Your brother knows nothing about food,” he grumbled to
Joy. She was busy packing and ignored him.

Kubu carefully checked his Land Rover, and the family settled
in. The plan was for Pleasant and Joy to stay with Sampson for a
week, but the vehicle was bursting with luggage. It looked as
though they could all survive for at least a month in Francistown.
Even Ilia had a huge bag of her favorite dog biscuits.

“You can’t always get them,” Joy explained.

“The dog never eats biscuits anyway,” said Kubu. “She doesn’t
like them. She always has our scraps. That’s why she gets fat and
has to have expensive diet biscuits.”

Quick as a flash, Joy responded, “No one would get fat on your
leftovers.” Pleasant thought this very amusing. Kubu subsided, and
squashed Ilia’s rations into the back of the vehicle.

♦

Francistown is a five-hour drive along a road that is good but
offers little interesting scenery. A double-lane highway led them
to Mochudi and after that the road was two-lane, but wide and well
maintained. Kubu started to feel they were setting off on holiday
rather than fleeing a murderous group of Zimbabwean kidnappers. In
celebration, he launched into an aria from
Aïda
. Pleasant
and Joy also relaxed and hummed along. Ilia was less sanguine and
howled when he reached the high notes.

Three hours later they arrived at the small town of Palapye.
Ilia, who had slept quietly for much of the trip, started jumping
around the car, diving from her backseat pad into Joy’s lap in the
front.

“Ilia needs a break,” said Joy.

“Yes, we should stop for lunch,” said Kubu. “It’s after
midday.”

“But we’ve just finished breakfast!”

“We’ll have something light,” said Kubu, visualizing a double
cheeseburger.

♦

Kubu’s lunch break was interrupted by the call from Tatwa.
Fortunately Kubu was down to mopping up the ketchup with the last
of his chips while Ilia watched with disappointment. He listened
with an occasional grunt.

“A vehicle,” he said finally. “Probably they used a
vehicle.”

“The murderers?” Tatwa asked. “To get to the scene?” Kubu
brushed this aside. “Suppose you wanted to make it look as though
an elephant had crushed someone, you’d need something really heavy.
I suppose a sledgehammer might work, but I’d guess that it would
produce a different sort of injury. But drive over someone’s chest
with a heavy vehicle? That would do your crushing for you. Broken
neck is easy. You don’t need an elephant or a vehicle for
that.”

Tatwa hadn’t thought of that possibility. He would tell
Forensics to check the tire tracks carefully. Then, changing the
subject, he told Kubu about the briefcase with its false bottom.
There was silence as Kubu considered the implications.

“Get it to Forensics in Gaborone, Tatwa. I need to close the
Tinubu loop in Zimbabwe, but I’ll keep in touch. Your instinct was
spot on. I don’t buy the elephant story. We’re treating this as
murder.”

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The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu
∧

A
fter the call, Tatwa
went to reception and gave instructions that Gomwe’s tent be left
untouched until the forensics team arrived. He made notes of what
camp manager Adam Kamwi had told him, then considered what his next
move should be. Having promised to keep the matter low key, he did
not want to start by interviewing all the guests. However, he
certainly wanted to talk to the woman who had been the last person
to see Gomwe alive, and to the guide who had been the first person
to see him dead.

As he came to this decision, he was approached by a woman with
an attractive figure and a rather stolid face. Her eyes were moist;
she had either been crying or was close to tears.

“Are you the detective? The manager sent me to talk to you. He
said he couldn’t tell me anything about Boy and that I must talk to
you. Something awful’s happened, hasn’t it? You must tell me.”

Tatwa took her to a more secluded spot on the outside deck,
ducking too late to avoid the polished log supporting the thatched
roof. He gave the woman a wan smile, shrugged while rubbing his
head, and invited her to be seated.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “My name is Allison Levine. I’m from
Johannesburg. I was with Boy last night.”

Tatwa nodded. “Ms. Levine, I’m afraid there has been a terrible
tragedy. Your friend is dead. I’m very sorry to bring you this bad
news.”

The woman put her head into cupped hands and said nothing for
several moments. “What happened?”

“It’s believed that he was attacked by an elephant. Fortunately,
it killed him very quickly.” The woman said nothing, as though
acknowledging that her worst fears were realized.

“May I ask you a few questions? Are you up to it?” She
nodded.

“Did you know his real name was Gomwe? Boy Gomwe?” She looked at
him, surprised, and shook her head. Tatwa continued. “It seems you
were the last person to see him. Would you tell me exactly what
happened?”

“We got up early, just after dawn. Boy wanted to jog. He said he
never missed a day, liked to keep fit. He had a great body.” She
broke off and wiped her eyes. “Anyway, I wanted to watch birds, and
he wasn’t a birder, so I told him to stick close to the camp while
I went for a walk around the grounds. I saw a flock of parrots,
which is exciting because they’re not often seen here. They were
really cooperative, so I called one of the guides to help me
identify them. They were Meyer’s parrots. I wanted to show them to
Boy – seemed romantic, you know? But we couldn’t find him. I
guessed he’d run along the main track past the camp. Being macho, I
guess. You men are all the same!”

“Where did you see the parrots, exactly?”

Allison gave him a puzzled look. “They were in the trees behind
the pool.”

“And the guide was there too?” Allison nodded. Tatwa made a
note.

“When did you get worried?”

“When he didn’t turn up for breakfast. Even with a long run,
shower, and change, he should’ve been there by nine. That’s when I
went to the manager – Mr. Kamwi.”

Tatwa asked a few more questions and made notes, but Allison had
nothing more to add. She had been due to stay for another two
nights, but now wanted to leave as soon as possible. Tatwa
sympathized, but asked her to stick to her original schedule in
case the police needed her help. She hesitated, but then
reluctantly agreed.

At this point Tatwa was informed that the forensics people had
arrived. He took his leave of Allison, found the guide, Douglas,
and asked him to show them where Gomwe had been killed.

♦

Tatwa drove with Douglas – the two men from Forensics followed
in their own vehicle – as he wanted the opportunity to quiz Douglas
on how he had discovered the body.

“I drove up the road a way and then turned south. The paths from
the lodge lead into the bush this way. I drove into the side tracks
and open spots on the right and looked around a bit.”

“Why only on the right?”

Douglas glanced at him. “No footprints crossing the road.”

Tatwa nodded. He hadn’t thought of that. Suddenly a flash of
blue and purple flew across the road. “What’s that?” he asked the
guide. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Lilac-breasted roller. Common around here.”

“You obviously know a lot about birds. Did you help Ms. Levine
with her parrots?” Douglas nodded.

“Where did you see them exactly?”

Douglas looked at him. “You interested in birds?”

“Just a beginner. I saw a man with a tame go-away-bird the other
day. Fantastic. Sat on his shoulder. Seemed to talk to him. Did
tricks.” Douglas nodded, concentrating on the driving.

“So where were the parrots?” Tatwa persisted.

“I don’t know. Allison just described what she’d seen. Had to be
the Meyer’s. The others don’t occur here.” He slowed, searching for
car tracks.

“What made you come this far?”

“I was going to turn back. But there’s a clearing up ahead with
a waterhole nearby. I thought he might have gone there. It’s
actually a walking track but I knew how to get the vehicle through
the bush from this side.”

They had come to that point of the road. Douglas pointed out his
tracks and those of Kamwi, before following them carefully through
the bush. After a few bumpy minutes they came to an open area. A
mixture of shrubs surrounded it, but it was presided over by a
massive knobthorn tree. It had survived a dangerous youth and now
was serene, too big to be damaged by even the largest elephant.
Around it were elephant tracks, some dried dung, and wilting broken
branches. There were also multiple vehicle tracks and boot prints.
Hardly a pristine crime scene.

“Where did you find Gomwe?”

Douglas gave him a quizzical look.

“That was his real name. Biko was a false name he was using at
the Lodge. We don’t know why. Yet. Where did you find the
body?”

Douglas pointed at a spot surrounded by scuff marks and boot
prints. The vehicle tracks converged there. I should have guessed,
Tatwa thought.

There was little to show for Gomwe’s death. Just a little dried
blood on the dead grass. The forensics people started to look
around, collecting samples and taking casts of the prints. They
examined the tire tracks, checking for any clues to how Gomwe had
died.

Douglas stood by with a rifle, but did not look worried. The
bush was still now, and quiet but for the bowing of cicadas. While
the others worked, Tatwa looked around but did not stray far. He
did a full circle of the area looking carefully for tracks. He saw
where the elephant had come and gone, noting its direction by the
toe-smudge at the front of the elliptical pad mark. He had grown up
in the bush and knew how to read its stories. A careless man on a
jog or walk, let alone fleeing from an elephant, would leave easy
signs of his progress, but he found none. Conveniently, it seemed,
Boy Gomwe had materialized in this glade to be mauled and killed by
a rogue bull.

∨
The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu
∧

T
he Bengu family
arrived at Sampson’s house in Francistown shortly after 3:00 a.m. A
neighbor met them and let them into the house.

“Make yourselves at home,” she said, very graciously Kubu
thought, especially as it was not her house. He explored the fridge
and, in the absence of the makings of a steelworks, helped himself
to a St Louis beer. Joy and Pleasant settled for fruit juice, and
Ilia for water.

Unfortunately, Kubu was not fond of his brother-in-law, and the
feeling was mutual. Sampson was number two in the Francistown
office of the Ministry of Lands and Housing. He was always singing
the praises of the government in general and his minister in
particular. By contrast, Kubu felt that elected officials were only
human, and so it was unfair to expect them to behave in a less
selfish way than other people. Thus they needed to be watched
carefully and not held in unreasonably high regard. Kubu’s
viewpoint was much closer to the norm. Sampson was also a jogger
and prided himself on keeping fit. Kubu felt such activities were
imports from countries where people did not have enough work to do
to keep themselves busy.

However, after a very acceptable dinner, particularly in view of
the bachelor fare Joy and Pleasant had for ingredients, the men
were mellow. Kubu had brought an acceptable shiraz, and Sampson had
been appreciative.

Sampson had a sketchy knowledge of what had happened to his
sisters, but now they filled in the outline and added the colors.
He was shocked, but listened with only the occasional exclamation
or question. He made no secret of his dissatisfaction with the
police. Kubu felt he had a point and did not rise to the comments.
After all he was requesting Sampson’s help.

“I’m sorry to impose on you this way, Sampson,” Kubu said once
the story was complete. “We think it’s best that your sisters are
out of Gaborone until we wrap this case up. We don’t expect any
more trouble, now that these people know I don’t have their money,
but there’ll be a policeman keeping an eye on them just in case.
From a distance,” he added quickly when Joy’s brow furrowed. “I’ll
be in Zimbabwe for the next two days; after that I’ll stay for the
weekend, if that’s okay with you, and then head back to Gaborone on
Monday.”

Sampson said it was fine, although it might be a bit cramped.
All of them were welcome to stay for as long as they wished. He
asked what Kubu would be doing in Bulawayo, but the detective
avoided anything specific.

“No cloak-and-dagger stuff, I hope,” said Sampson with a laugh,
making a joke of it. “The minister wouldn’t want anything
embarrassing to mar the president of Zimbabwe’s visit to the
African Union meeting.”

Kubu laughed too, adding, “I would’ve thought that receiving the
Zimbabwe president in the first place was embarrassing enough.”

Joy spotted an incipient argument and called for dessert. The
tense moment passed.

♦

The next morning, Kubu left early and headed for Plumtree. He
wanted to be at the border post before it became too crowded. He
filled up with gas at the last possible point before Zimbabwe and
bought two slabs of chocolate and two packets of cigarettes. He was
unlikely to find any fuel available once across the border,
certainly not without a long line. The collapse of the Zimbabwean
currency meant that anything requiring hard currency to purchase –
such as fuel – was very difficult to obtain. Shortly after that he
came to the border post. Even with the early start he had to wait
to get through immigration.