The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu (45 page)

His thoughts were interrupted by his cell phone. “Hello. Bengu
here,” he said.

“Kubu! It’s Mabaku. These idiots didn’t want me to phone you! I
feel fine. Come and pick me up and get me back to headquarters.
There’s lots to do! We’ve got to get Beardy to tell us what he
knows. I’ve a feeling that it may be important. Very
important.”

“Director, I shall do no such thing,” said Kubu firmly. “You’re
to stay in hospital until you are completely recovered. We can
handle matters here.”

“Bengu, that’s insubordination! Get here at once! These doctors
will be the death of me!” And they said I was a bad patient when I
was stuck in the Princess Marina Hospital, Kubu thought with a
smirk. “Director, I’m at Jackalberry Camp,” he said gently. “Why
don’t you give your wife a call? She can visit you and check with
the doctors.”

“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten where you were. Marie’s here, but she
thinks I need to spend a week in bed. Kubu, don’t let me down.
Phone me as soon as you have anything to report. Hey, give me…” The
line went dead. Kubu suspected Marie had intervened. He turned to
Tatwa with a broad smile.

“Director Mabaku’s going to be fine,” he said.

∨
The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu
∧

K
ubu thought about
the money. It had to be a lot of money. They’d needed a briefcase.
This wasn’t a payoff in a fat envelope from someone’s inside jacket
pocket. And almost certainly the money was in an international
currency, not rand or pula. If it was in U.S. dollars, it could be
half a million dollars in one hundred dollar notes, even if the
briefcase was not full. And if it was in euros, it could be almost
ten times that because euros come in notes up to 500. But apart
from issues of size and weight, the briefcase had led to at least
four murders. It had to be a lot of money.

“What about the heroin or whatever it was?” asked Tatwa.

Kubu shook his head. “We don’t know what it was. Drugs? Maybe
they didn’t even keep those. Too dangerous and impossible to sell
quietly unless you have the contacts. Diamonds? We’ll never find
them. No, we concentrate on the money. We know it existed, and they
must’ve kept it.” Kubu scratched his head. “Tatwa, what sort of
search did your people do when they came out the day of the
murders?”

“We were looking for evidence connected with the murders. We
weren’t looking for money. We didn’t know about the money, then.
But the guys checked all the luggage, all Goodluck and Langa’s
stuff, of course, and looked over the island. We did a cursory
check of the vehicles, the other tents, the kitchen area. If you’re
asking if we could’ve missed a stash of hidden money, the answer
must be yes.”

“Okay, that means that they had time to move the money to a
better hiding place after we all left and before Madrid turned up.
For that matter, Dupie could’ve hidden it anywhere along the road
to the airstrip. We know he went there because he dumped Zondo’s
stuff near it. They could even have taken the money to Kasane – you
may as well check with the banks. See if they deposited it or
accessed a deposit box. Just because something is incredibly
stupid, it doesn’t mean they wouldn’t have done it. But I think the
money’s nearby. I don’t think they would want that money out of
their control. Especially not with three people in the know. I’ll
bet the money’s within walking distance of right here.” He heaved
himself to his feet. “Let’s go and find it.”

A different type of search took place around Jackalberry Camp.
Two of the constables walked the island, looking up into the trees
for anything unusual that might indicate a package. Kubu scanned
the messy bird nests in the dead trees near the water’s edge with
binoculars. Tatwa took on the kitchen area, opening boxes of
provisions in front of a scandalized Moremi and irritated Kweh. The
third constable, accompanied by Salome, went through each tent,
quickly checking the vacant ones, and carefully going through the
staff accommodation.

Kubu finished first and returned to the reception area. He found
Dupie there drinking tea and looking smug. “You’re howling up the
wrong tree, Superintendent. You’re not going to find anything
because there’s nothing to find. What’s next? Dig up the island for
buried treasure? Dredge the lagoon?” He laughed.

In fact, Kubu had thought about the money being buried or hidden
in the lagoon and had rejected it. The crime was opportunistic in
the sense that they’d planned it when they found the money. He did
not think that a suitably strong or waterproof container would have
been available. But it was a concern. If he were wrong, there were
hundreds of places the money might be. They might never find
it.

“I want to look at the stuff on the mainland. The vehicles and
that shed you have there. Any objection?”

Dupie shrugged. “Help yourself. But everything is locked. Has to
be, with the village just down the river. I better come with you.
I’ll get the keys.” He swallowed the rest of his tea, climbed to
his feet, and headed to his office tent. At the same time, Tatwa
appeared from the kitchen wiping his head with a tea towel. He had
been through everything, concluding with Kweh’s perch-cupboard.
Kweh had been so outraged that he had broken his strict
housetraining. Kubu could not help smiling as he detected a note of
triumph in the raucous ‘go-away, go-away’ that followed Tatwa’s
departure.

“Nothing,” Tatwa announced, dumping the wet towel. “They’re low
on provisions, too. Either they’re not expecting to be in business
much longer, or they’ve delayed stocking up because of the Madrid
story. And Moremi’s in as bad a mood as Kweh now. Don’t expect a
gourmet dinner.”

Kubu pouted because Tatwa expected that. But actually he was
keen to get home, touch base with Mabaku, and most of all to see
Joy. Perhaps he would have to take her to Dr. Diklekeng himself.
And he felt the urgency again. Something was going to happen.
Perhaps they would break the case given enough time, but
instinctively he felt that time was exactly what they didn’t
have.

“I want to check the boat and the vehicles and look around at
the landing on the mainland. Dupie will come with us. He’s gone to
fetch the keys.”

♦

The boat had a sealed fiberglass hull and a few storage
compartments that were damp and stuffed with life jackets and
fishing gear. Nevertheless, they were unpacked and the compartments
checked with a flashlight. It was soon obvious to Kubu that there
was nowhere on the boat that you could hide anything, let alone the
amount of money he thought was involved.

They took the police launch to the mainland. There they
carefully checked the vehicles, looking for extra tanks or
compartments. Both vehicles had second tanks for long distance
driving, both contained fuel. They checked under the seats, inside
the seats themselves, and in the small camping fridges whose
contents kept guests cheerful on game drives. The open Land Rover
had long since lost the sealed dashboard area, but there was closed
space behind the Toyota Double Cab’s façade. It was large enough.
Kubu asked Dupie to disassemble it.

“Hell, that’s a big job. I don’t want my vehicle messed up
because you’re on a wild goose chase.”

“Then we’ll have to impound the vehicle and take it apart in
Kasane.”

“Like hell you will! Shit! Okay, I’ll get some tools from the
shed.”

“I’ll come with you. I want to look at the shed anyway.”

Dupie battled briefly with the rusted padlock on the door of the
small storeroom and then creaked open the door. There was no
window, but enough light came in through the door to be able to
see. The place was as messy as Dupie’s office. You can judge a
workman by his tools, thought Kubu. Someone had told him that; he
was not much of a workman himself. There was a scatter of wrenches,
screwdrivers, and other tools on a rickety wooden workbench. They
had to step over a drip pan for oil changes – still containing oil
– to reach it. A couple of spare tires leaned against one wall next
to a hopelessly distorted wheel rim and some tire irons and clamps.
Clearly Dupie did – or tried to do – much of his own maintenance
for the boat and the two vehicles.

Dupie cursed.

“Your bloody people took half my tools! When am I going to get
them back, hey? How long does it take to check if they were
involved in whacking Langa?”

Kubu treated the question as rhetorical. There were some greasy
boxes under the workbench. He pointed to them. “Spare parts?”

Dupie glowered. “Yes. You want to check? Help yourself while I
waste my time pulling the vehicle apart.” Carrying a selection of
screwdrivers, wrenches, and a pair of pliers, he headed off. Kubu
was tempted to let it go. But it could be a bluff. So he started on
the boxes.

Ten minutes later he emerged into the sunshine, blinking, and
with nothing to show for his efforts but greasy hands. He tried to
clean them with a rag from the boat. By the time he felt he could
survive until soap was accessible, Dupie had the dashboard off, and
Tatwa was shining the flashlight and poking around inside. He shook
his head when Kubu approached.

“You satisfied?” asked Dupie. “Can I put it back together now?”
Tatwa was checking depths from the engine side to be sure there was
no hidden compartment. He nodded. It was another blank.

“Thanks. Much appreciated,” said Dupie, sarcastically. Kubu was
looking at the inside of the vehicle doors. “Do the windows open?”
he asked.

“Of course the windows open,” said Dupie with irritation. Then
he guessed where Kubu was heading. “Oh shit. You want me to take
the door panels off too? Well, why the hell not?” He started
viciously levering them off with a screwdriver. A lot of dust and
rusty mechanism was exposed, but not a single dollar bill.

Kubu took another look under the vehicle. Like many
bakkies
, the spare wheel was held under the vehicle with a
protective plate. It kept the tire out of harm’s way. It also meant
that the wheel’s center cavity was hidden. That could hold a lot of
money.

A stream of invective was coming from the front of the vehicle,
where Tatwa was trying to help Dupie replace the dashboard. The
screwdriver had slipped and gouged Dupie’s hand. Kubu decided to
wait a while before raising the issue of lowering the spare wheel.
He noticed that the front driver’s tire was a bit flat. Maybe Dupie
would want to change it. He left Dupie and Tatwa to their struggles
and wandered over to the Land Rover. It had two spare wheels, one
on the hood and one fixed to the tailgate. Neither rim had any
significant space for hiding money. He scanned the river bird nests
again with his binoculars, checked around the shed, and got back to
the Toyota Double Cab in time for Dupie’s satisfied grunt as he
tightened the last screw.

“Your front tire’s a bit flat,” Kubu offered.

Dupie took a look at it and tried a kick. “Well, I’m not going
anywhere, am I? I’ll pump it up when I am.”

“I’d like you to take down the spare.”

Dupie did not even argue. Without a word he rummaged in the
vehicle and appeared with a tire spanner and jack handle. Then he
said to Tatwa, “You’d better do it. Neither of us will fit under
there.” Suddenly in a better mood, he offered Kubu a wink. So it
was Tatwa who emerged five minutes later, covered in dust. He had
lowered the wheel far enough to check there was nothing hidden, and
then cranked it back into place. By that time Dupie had locked the
shed. He accepted the vehicle’s tools from Tatwa and packed them
away, locked the doors, and rubbed his hands on his shorts.

“Tell you what, you owe me a beer. On you this time,
Superintendent.”

In spite of himself, Kubu smiled. But why was Dupie suddenly in
a good mood? Was the beer something of a celebration? Had they,
after all, missed something? If they had, Kubu could not think
where. He sighed and relaxed.

“Okay. I’ll buy you a beer.”

Despite Dupie’s sudden bonhomie, it was a somber evening. Dupie
drank his beer and took himself off, leaving Kubu and Tatwa to
ponder the disappointments of the day. Kubu tried to phone Mabaku,
but the call went straight to voice mail. Kubu smiled. Marie must
be in full control.

Next he tried Joy. She answered, but sounded tired and
distracted, and again asked when he would be back. The stress is
starting to tell, he thought. He told her they would be leaving
tomorrow. The thought had become a decision. He had to get back
and, anyway, his investigation was stalled. Tatwa, pretending not
to listen, was relieved. He, too, could see no point in hanging
around the camp.

They walked up to the lookout to watch the sunset. It was as
spectacular as the sunrise, but this time brought no inspiration.
Then they wandered back to the bar and, in Dupie’s absence, Kubu
opened a bottle of cold sauvignon blanc. Dupie arrived shortly
afterward, changed and showered. Dupie was friendly, but thoughtful
and restrained. There was no sign of Salome or Enoch until
dinnertime.

As Tatwa had predicted, dinner was not gourmet fare. Moremi
produced cold meats, bread and cheeses, salad, and fruit. He had
little to say to anyone and retired early with Kweh. Solomon and
Enoch followed soon after. Dupie brewed a pot of coffee while
Salome sat in hostile silence with the detectives. The three
constables had set up camp near the landing. The pretense of an
attack from Madrid had been abandoned. It was clear to everyone now
that the policemen were there as guards not protectors.

When Dupie arrived with the coffee and the bottle of port he and
Kubu had opened the previous night, Salome broke her silence.

“What’s going to happen now, Superintendent? Are you still
trying to prove that we’re all bloodthirsty murderers?”

Kubu took his time before replying. “I think some people here
are responsible for the deaths of four men. They did it for money,
and they did it for revenge. I’m not sure who they are, but I have
five suspects. I intend to make a decision soon as to how to
proceed. I’m afraid it’s going to be very unpleasant for everyone.
It would be very helpful if at least the innocent parties started
telling me the truth.”