The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu (6 page)

Mabaku had had enough. “Let’s go back to your office.”

MacGregor looked disappointed. “Don’t you want to meet
Langa?”

Mabaku shook his head firmly. “When did all this happen
anyway?”

MacGregor returned Goodluck to his penultimate resting place,
and started to wash up. He shrugged. “Between two and five that
morning is about the best I can do.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, there’s this. He was on the bed when he was hit, but I
can’t tell whether he was stabbed on the bed or on the floor. There
was blood on the pillow, which we sent to Forensics, but I’m sure
it’s his and came from the head wound. But the body was on the
floor when we found it, and the blood from the throat and ear
wounds was on the floor too. Why did the murderer move him? Was he
worried about dirtying the sheets?”

Mabaku shook his head. “Food? General health?”

“Agreed with what the camp people said he had for dinner. No
alcohol. He seemed pretty healthy. But there was a time when he
wasn’t. He had some impressive scars on his lower back. Bullet
wounds, I’d say. He was lucky to get out of that lot alive.”

“How long ago was that?”

Ian shrugged. “A long time. Twenty, thirty years. There’s no
internal damage anymore. Everything healed.”

“What about Langa?”

“Well, that’s pretty straightforward. He was hit from behind and
then several times from the front. At least one of the blows
cracked his skull and killed him. Then the attacker rolled him off
the path down the rocky slope. There was blood at several points on
the way down.”

“Could he have fallen and hit his head?”

Ian shook his head. “Too many blows! He could have slipped and
hit the back of his head, but hardly likely that he’d then get up,
fall forward cracking his skull, and roll down the slope.”

Mabaku nodded. “That’s it then?”

Ian fetched his pipe, settled himself, and started to suck it.
“The wounds on Langa’s head are similar to Tinubu’s. My guess is
the same weapon was used on both. I would bet that you only have
one murderer, or group of murderers, not two.”

Mabaku just scowled. That was very little consolation.

∨
The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu
∧

K
ubu and Tatwa
commandeered Dupie’s office for the interviews. Barely enough room
for three chairs, but it was relatively private. With Dupie’s help,
Kubu cleared enough of the desk for it to be usable. Kubu shook his
head. How could anyone operate in such a pig sty?

When the space was workable, Kubu took Dupie’s seat and motioned
him to sit down opposite. Tatwa sat near the entrance to the tent,
behind Dupie’s right shoulder. He was going to observe, not
participate. But he was fascinated by an object, perhaps a
paperweight, which had emerged from under one of Dupie’s piles of
documents. It was striking: an opaque glass disk about three inches
in diameter. The outer ring was deep indigo, then a teardrop of
white containing an inner ring of turquoise, and finally a
pitch-black center. It looked like a flattened eye, staring.

“What’s that?” Tatwa asked.

“This? It’s a souvenir a Turkish hunter gave me when I saved him
from a lion. It’s called a Watching Eye. Apparently they’re all
over the place in Turkey. Supposed to bring good luck to businesses
and such. Doesn’t seem to work in Africa though, judging by the way
things have been going here. But it’s useful. I tell the staff it
watches them when I’m not here, and they’re petrified of it!” Dupie
laughed, creating a belly wobble. Then gauging the reaction from
the policemen, he quickly added, “Just a joke, of course. Just a
bit of fun.”

“Mr. Du Pisanie,” said Kubu turning the conversation to
business. “Thank you for showing me around. Now I have to find out
what happened here the night before last. I’m going to ask you a
number of questions, which you should answer as fully as possible.
If anything pops into your mind as we are talking, please tell me.
You’d be surprised how often something that seems unimportant can
be the key to solving a crime.”

“Look, of course I want to help. But what are you doing about
catching Zondo? The longer you play tourist and Sherlock Holmes,
the further he’s getting away!”

“Don’t worry. We’re looking for him, and the Zimbabwe police are
looking for him. We’ll find him. I want to be sure we can nail him
when that happens. If, of course, he is the murderer.”

“Pretty obvious he’s the murderer! Dog that didn’t bark!”

Kubu had read Sherlock Holmes, but decided to ignore the remark.
“Where were you when Tinubu was murdered?”

“In my tent. These guests are not much into after-dinner
drinking. So I closed the bar about ten.”

“You didn’t hear anything during the night, like a scream or a
loud thud?”

Dupie shook his head.

“Did you see anybody wandering around the camp later?”

Again Dupie shook his head.

“Did you stay in your tent the whole night?”

Dupie hesitated. “I went to the bar to get a bottle of soda
water at some point. Thirsty. Hot night. Don’t actually remember
when. Otherwise, yes, I was in my tent until I got up to take
Zondo.”

“Can you think of any reason Zondo would murder Tinubu and
Langa?” Kubu looked up from his notebook.

“Those terrorists are all the same. Savages. No place for the
law. If you think someone has wronged you, kill ‘em. That’s their
attitude. I saw it all too often in the war.”

“That’s the civil war in Southern Rhodesia?”

“Call it what you want. It was a bunch of terrorists trying to
get rid of the whites. That simple. We gave them hell, but the rest
of the world stopped us from finishing them off.” Dupie glared at
Kubu daring him to engage.

“You fought in the war, I take it?”

“Yes. In the Scouts. That’s the Selous Scouts, not the…”

“From what I remember,” Kubu interrupted, “they were the elite
troops. Is that right?”

“We were the ones asked to do all the big jobs and all the dirty
jobs.”

“Did you by any chance know or recognize Zondo, Langa, or
Tinubu?” Kubu looked at Dupie, gauging his reaction. Dupie shook
his head emphatically.

“Why should I? Never seen any of them before.”

“Other than the fact that Zondo left suddenly, did you see or
hear anything that makes you think he could be the murderer? Did he
and Tinubu talk to each other? What about Langa?” Again Kubu
watched Dupie carefully as he answered.

“I can’t say that I noticed anything,” Dupie said. “Langa and
Tinubu sat at the same table at dinner that night. Drank soft
drinks.” Dupie managed to add a sneer to the last two words. “They
seemed to get on okay. Didn’t talk much. They said they met on the
road from Gaborone to Kasane. Tinubu’s car had broken down and
Langa stopped to help. Langa was looking for a place for a few
nights and decided to come here with Tinubu. After dinner, they had
coffee. Tinubu left almost immediately, claiming he was tired.
Langa stayed a while and offered us all an after-dinner drink.
First time he’d been sociable. Zondo declined, but Gomwe had one
Amarula then went to bed. That’s a cream liqueur flavored with
marula fruit. Tourists like it.”

“Are you sure they said they’d never met before?” Kubu
asked.

Dupie nodded.

Kubu changed tack. “Was that the last time you saw Tinubu?”

“Yes.”

“And how about Zondo. Had you talked to him at all?”

“Nothing more than small talk. Seemed a little on edge, but
didn’t say much.”

“You’re sure he and Tinubu never spoke?”

“I never saw them, but I don’t see everything.”

“Did you see Zondo again before you took him to the
mainland?”

“Yes, about half an hour after dinner, I went to the storeroom
at the back of the kitchen to get some more Amarula. As I came
back, he startled me by walking out of the shadows. He told me he
had just received a phone call and had to leave first thing in the
morning.”

“Did you ask him why?”

Dupie shook his head. “No.”

“When was he scheduled to leave?”

“He was going to spend three nights here, so he would have left
around lunchtime today.”

“He must’ve got the call on his cell phone,” Kubu said. “Do you
know if Zimbabwe phones work down here?”

Dupie hesitated. “There’s a Namibian tower across the river in
Linyanti. He must have had roaming on his phone.”

“Did he look anxious, angry, perturbed?”

Again Dupie shook his head. “No. His normal, tense self.”

“So you told him you’d meet him in the morning and take him to
the airstrip?”

“That’s right. Enoch was taking William Boardman bird watching,
and I said I’d pick up the staff from the mainland. We left at
about six thirty, I think. I dropped him off about half an hour
later. The plane hadn’t arrived yet, so he told me to go. He would
wait for the plane. I picked up Beauty and her husband, Solomon,
when I got back to the river. Most days we give them a lift over in
the motorboat, if it’s convenient. It takes them longer in a
mokoro
. Beauty cleans, and Solomon is our waiter.”

“Did you hear the plane arriving?” Kubu looked at Dupie.

“No. The airstrip is quite a long way away, so it depends on
which way the wind is blowing and where they come from and where
they’re going. I’d say we only hear a few of the planes that use
the strip.”

“Is it possible that Zondo wasn’t picked up by plane?”

Dupie shrugged. “The airstrip’s in the middle of nowhere. How
else was he going to get away?”

“Do any of the other camps use the strip?” Kubu asked.

Dupie nodded. “Yes, there are about half a dozen places nearby
that use it occasionally. It’s not busy. A few guests fly into
Kasane International, and we pick ‘em up there. But it’s a hell of
a long trip overland.”

Kubu made a few more notes, then leaned carefully back in the
chair. He thought through everything Dupie had said. It seemed to
hang together.

“Are you a partner in the concession?” Kubu asked.

“No. It’s Salome’s.”

“Does she pay you to work here?”

Dupie shook his head. “No. We use the money from guests to pay
the staff and maintain the camp. That includes our food. For the
most part guests pay for my drinks. I’ve some money left over from
my hunting days. Occasionally, we dip into that if things are not
going well here.”

“How are things at the moment?”

“Not great, but not bad. We could really do with a more
consistent stream of guests. I wish we could hook up with a tour
operator of some sort. That would help a lot.” Dupie nodded,
agreeing with himself.

Kubu looked at his notes again. “Just a couple more questions
and we’re done. What luggage did Zondo have when he left? Was it
the same as when he arrived?”

Dupie frowned. “I never thought about that. I didn’t see him
arrive, because Enoch brought him. He left with a carry-on suitcase
and a small tote bag. The suitcase seemed quite heavy by the way he
lugged it. But you can’t imagine how people travel these days.
Everything but the kitchen sink.”

Kubu stood up. “Thank you, Mr. Du Pisanie. Please don’t leave
the island until I say so. I apologize for the inconvenience.
Please ask Ms. McGlashan to come in.”

When Dupie left the tent, Tatwa took off his St. Louis cap,
placed it carefully over Dupie’s Watching Eye, and left it there.
Kubu gave him a sharp look, but did not ask him to remove it. Then
Tatwa said, “Exactly what he told me. I didn’t ask about the
luggage though. I wonder what was in those bags?”

“Tatwa, remind me to ask Enoch about the luggage Tinubu and
Zondo brought to the island. See if he noticed anything unusual
about any of the bags.”

Tatwa nodded as Salome pushed open the tent flap.

Kubu motioned to the chair. “Please sit down, Ms. McGlashan,” he
said, studying her drawn face. “I’ll keep this as short as
possible. It must’ve been a bad shock.”

Salome nodded and looked down at the floor.

“You have a wonderful setting here,” Kubu asked. “How is the
camp doing?”

Salome’s shoulders sagged. “We’re struggling. I don’t have the
money to upgrade the camp, and the camp is not posh enough for most
overseas visitors. This murder could be the end of the camp for me.
I’m not sure I can go on. And when the concession ends next year, I
may not have the money to renew it.”

“Well, I hope it doesn’t come to that, Ms. McGlashan. Had you
ever seen Zondo, Tinubu, or Langa before?” Salome stared at him,
and then shook her head.

“Just a couple more questions for now. Did you hear or see
anything unusual on the night Mr. Tinubu and Mr. Langa were
killed?”

“No,” she said quietly. “I heard Dupie zip up his tent around
ten thirty or eleven, and I heard him leave the tent early the next
morning. Must have been around half past five or so. Otherwise I
heard nothing. I didn’t leave my tent.”

“When did Mr. Du Pisanie tell you he had to take Zondo to the
airstrip?”

“Dupie didn’t tell me. Enoch told me when I went to the kitchen
around seven.”

“A few personal questions to end off.” Kubu paused. “What is
your relationship with Mr. Du Pisanie?”

Salome hesitated and twisted a strand of hair around her
fingers. “He and I are friends. We’ve known each other for a long
time.”

“Just friends?” Kubu raised his eyebrows. “Nothing closer?”

Again Salome hesitated, shifting in her chair. “Just friends,”
she said, her voice tight.

Kubu finished writing his notes, and looked up with a smile.
“Thank you for your time, Ms. McGlashan. I may need to talk to you
again.”

Salome looked down. “How long is this going to take? We can’t
survive a long period of uncertainty and no paying guests.”

Kubu thought for a moment. “Not too long, I hope. We’ll resolve
this as quickly as we can.”