The Death of the Mantis (12 page)

She nodded, but said nothing.

“I understand that you were not formally married. Why was
that?”

Her face hardened. “Yes. It’s true. He was already married. To a
woman somewhere in South Africa.”

“Did he have other women in Botswana also?”

She shrugged.

“Do you know of any other women?”

“No.”

“But you suspected?”

“He went away on trips for days, even weeks. It was possible. He
liked women.”

“These trips. Were they for the National Park?”

“So he said.”

“But?”

She hesitated. “Once I looked. When he was packing for a trip.
He took two tents, a double and a single. I asked him why he was
taking two tents. He said another man was going with him. And that
I should mind my own business.”

“And did someone go with him?”

She shook her head. “No one from here. He left on his own. He
was away for nearly two weeks. I asked Ndoli where he had gone. He
just shrugged. Said Monzo had told him he was doing a survey along
the northern border. But no one had authorised it.”

Kubu thought that over. So Monzo helped himself to weeks of
government time to do what? Maybe he just liked to be in the bush.
But who had been with him? And what had they been doing? If it was
something illegal, then the murder investigation would have a
different perspective. Perhaps Monzo had demanded more money; maybe
he knew too much. Kubu sensed the fuzzy outline of a motive. He
would need to check Monzo’s bank account.

“When he went on these trips, did he take fuel, food and water?
As though he was going deep into the bush?”

“Sometimes. I didn’t watch what he was doing all the time.”

Kubu paused, then changed tack. “What relationship do you have
with Rra Vusi?”

She bristled. “What do you mean, ‘relationship’?”

Kubu just waited.

“He’s kind to me. To us. He likes the children. He has supper
with us sometimes.”

“I need a definite answer to the next question, and I warn you
that if you lie, I will find out. Everyone knows what’s going on in
a little community like this. Was there anything between you and
Vusi before Monzo’s death?”

“No!”

Kubu believed her, but of course, he’d check.

♦

Kubu found the office manager at his desk. Ndoli looked busy,
but not averse to being interrupted. He offered Kubu tea, and Kubu
accepted, to be sociable, but there were no biscuits to go with it.
They took their cups to a small anteroom, which was more private
than the general open-plan office where the staff worked.

“Now, Superintendent,” said Ndoli once they had settled, “how
can I help?” He obviously expected more questions about the
discovery of the critically injured Monzo, but Kubu surprised
him.

“I gather Monzo was in the habit of making bush trips. More or
less when he chose. Is that right?”

Ndoli looked away. “Yes. I was against it. But he persuaded Vusi
these so-called survey trips of his were important.”

“How did he do that?”

“Actually he just went on and on until Vusi said he’d think
about it. After that he did what he liked.”

Kubu’s mouth twitched as he imagined someone trying that
technique on Mabaku. But he said nothing, waiting for Ndoli to go
on.

“Vusi’s not a very strong manager, you see. Very nice guy.
Really cares about the job and the staff. But he doesn’t make a lot
of decisions.”

“Did Monzo tell you where he was going on these trips? Surely
you had to know where he was?”

“Yes, but I don’t know if he stuck to what he told me. He took
one of our satellite phones with him in case of emergency, but he
never used it.”

So Monzo had been a free agent with a perfect cover as a ranger
for whatever he might want to do in the Kalahari area. Kubu felt a
motive for the killing coming more into focus.

He tried another line of questioning.

“Do you know why Monzo decided to go after the Bushmen that
morning?”

“He didn’t ‘go after’ them. He had a report that they were
poaching in the reserve. He went out to check up.”

“One of the other rangers told him?”

Ndoli looked puzzled. “No, we knew they were around the border,
but no one suggested they’d been hunting. We would all have heard
about that.”

“So it’s possible that Monzo made the whole thing up?”

Ndoli shook his head. “He was cross. He said he was going to
sort them out.” He hesitated. “Maybe some tourist tipped him off as
he was driving around.”

“Wouldn’t he have investigated right away in that case?”

Ndoli frowned. “Maybe someone reported it at the main gate. Or
maybe phoned in. I really don’t know. Does it matter?”

Kubu dropped it, but he felt it might be important. He had
learnt to trust his intuition. It usually kicked in when someone
else couldn’t see why some niggling issue mattered.

Instead he explored some operational issues with Ndoli, and
slipped in the question about Marta and Vusi. But Ndoli was clear
that he kept out of other people’s business, especially if one of
them was his boss.

Vusi wasn’t in his office, so while he waited, Kubu helped
himself to another cup of tea from the urn. The office cleaner was
washing up the cups. Kubu greeted her politely.

“You shouldn’t drink so much tea,” she told him by way of
response. “It’s not good for you.” Apparently she had noticed the
first cup. Kubu realised that by luck he had come upon the office
busybody. He introduced himself.

“What are you doing here, then? From what I hear, Gaborone isn’t
safe to walk around any more. Why don’t you do something about
that, eh?”

Now Kubu wasn’t so sure about the encounter being fortunate, but
he explained that he was investigating what was now believed to be
the murder of Rra Monzo. If he thought this would impress the lady,
he was mistaken.

“Monzo! Serves him right. Always sneaking off after a woman or
heaven knows what. You know he had a regular in Tshane? Someone
else’s wife? Always making a reason to go up there for a couple of
days. And Marta’s a real lady. She gave him two good boys,
too.”

Kubu wondered if simple jealousy could be the motive after all.
He decided to push harder. “Well, she has Rra Vusi for
comfort.”

She gave him a dirty look. “And why not? Monzo’s dead. Vusi’s
alone here. No harm done.”

“What about before Monzo’s death?”

“She never looked at another man. You can take my word for
that.” Kubu thought he probably could.

“I see you keep your eyes open, Mma. Perhaps you know what Monzo
was doing on these special trips of his. His private missions into
the bush?”

She shrugged. “Probably up to no good. With a woman, I bet.” She
wagged a finger at him. “Now I have work to do. And no more tea for
you!” With a disapproving sniff, she was off.

Kubu smiled. Another item to add to the growing list of things
someone thought he shouldn’t eat or drink.

♦

Vusi sat behind the security of his desk. He looked nervous and
in a hurry and claimed he had told the police everything already.
Kubu said he wouldn’t take long, but made it clear that he wasn’t
going to be rushed.

“Do you know how Monzo came to believe that the Bushmen were
poaching?”

“No idea. Ask Ndoli, he’s the office manager. Or Kweto. He does
reception. Takes messages and answers the phone and so on. Maybe
he’d know.”

Kubu nodded.

“I understand that Monzo did a lot of work in the bush. Surveys
and so on. Is that correct?”

“Yes. It was part of his job. He had to keep tabs on what’s
happening in the whole area. This is a huge area to manage,
Superintendent. Thirty thousand square kilometres! People don’t
appreciate that.”

Kubu nodded. “What did he do on these trips?”

“He’d check an area, see what was going on, count game, things
like that.”

“Were these trips on some sort of schedule?”

Vusi found a pencil to play with while he talked. “Yes and no.
They were done when we could fit them in.”

“Did Monzo always discuss the trips with you? Or did he
sometimes use his own initiative?”

“Well, we discussed what was needed in general, and then he went
ahead. What’s all this about, Superintendent? Why the sudden
interest in park management?”

“I have the impression that Monzo pretty well scheduled these
trips as he saw fit, and it wasn’t always clear what they were for.
Is that right?”

“Certainly not! I’m in charge here, and Monzo reported to me. I
was satisfied with his work.”

“Wasn’t it a problem that he was away so often?”

Vusi put down the pencil. “Actually, the others got more work
done when he was off on a trip.”

Yes, Kubu thought. Everyone including Vusi was happy to let
Monzo go his own way.

After that, he explored the manager’s feelings toward Marta.
Vusi admitted that he visited her occasionally to cheer her up and
was helping her with financial issues until the government gave her
a settlement. There was nothing more to it. Kubu decided that
Vusi’s relationship with Marta, whatever it was, had started after
the murder and wasn’t relevant to the case. So he left it at
that.

Vusi pointed out Kweto and said goodbye, clearly glad that the
interview was over.

Kubu asked the receptionist about the report of the poaching,
but Kweto had no idea. However, as Kubu turned to go, he said,
“Monzo did get a call late on the afternoon before he died. I
remember because the man wanted to speak specifically to him, no
one else, and he wouldn’t give his name. Said it was personal. He
had to wait while I found Monzo for him.”

Kubu thanked him. He’d check up on the phone call later, but it
was a pretty long shot. Right now it was time to get back to
Tsabong and talk to Lerako.

♦

Kubu was hot and tired by the time he got back to Tsabong, but
he went straight to the police station. He wanted to start things
moving on the new leads. Lerako heard him out, but then lived up to
his name. “You’ve added nothing new, Kubu. Nothing. So Monzo took
some unauthorised trips, which, incidentally, Vusi denies were
unauthorised. So what?”

“Don’t you see? He could have been involved in something illegal
– animal smuggling or something. Once you step over the line, if
you turn up dead it’s no big surprise. Maybe that’s what the
personal phone call was about. Someone setting up a secret meeting
at the
donga
.” He paused. “And the girl in Tshane? Her
husband may have decided that he’d had enough of Monzo. We need to
follow this up.”

“What do you suggest? I’m trying to track down the Bushman
group. Or is that a waste of time in your opinion?”

“We have people in Tshane. They can make door-to-door inquiries.
Everyone knows everything that goes on in these small places. I’m
sure we’ll find connections. Anyway, these new possibilities make
more sense than the nonsense that the Bushmen did it.”

Kubu had gone too far. Lerako leant forward across his desk,
angry.

“You won’t believe they could have done it, will you? They’re
all just good gentle folk who want to be left alone to get on with
their lives. Well, let me tell you something, Assistant
Superintendent. Some of them are. But many just hang around in rags
looking for handouts, refusing to work. They beg or commit petty
theft, usually for booze rather than food. I work with these
people. I know them. You just have your educated friend. Good for
him. But that’s not how they all are!”

“Monzo still had his money and watch. What’s supposed to have
been their motive?” Kubu asked mildly.

“Who knows what they took? Maybe they were after something
else.”

Kubu felt himself getting angry too. “I’m here to make sure
these men aren’t railroaded like Maauwe and Motswetla. They were
Bushmen too. That was a travesty of justice!”

Lerako’s voice rose. “Travesty, you say? I agree with you. But
you know what people forget when they’re bleating about how badly
those two were treated? That they stole someone else’s ox and
killed it. Nobody disputes that.”

“They killed it for food.”

“The man who owned it wasn’t rich. He also had a family to feed.
They stole his ox and killed it; he went to find it and got
murdered for his trouble. Who looks after his family now, hey? Who
protects them from the droughts? Yes, it was a travesty. And we
carry the blame either way. Either those men were guilty, and the
police and prosecutors did such a bad job that they weren’t nailed
down and hanged as they should have been, or they were
not
guilty, in which case a murderer is free out there. And no one went
looking for that murderer!” He thumped his fist on the desk and got
to his feet. “I’m going to get some coffee.” He stalked out of the
cramped, baking office, leaving the door wide open.

Kubu sat and fumed, and then cooled. Was it possible that
Khumanego’s representations had blinded him to the obvious? Was he
unable to see that the Bushmen – like everyone else – could have
their rotten apples, their renegades, their
murderers
?

At that moment of introspection, his mobile phone rang. Kubu had
a premonition, and he was right. It was Director Mabaku.

“Bengu! I spoke to Lerako a bit earlier. It seems that the
footprints you so conveniently discovered are fakes. And now the
suspects have disappeared!”

Kubu gave a detailed report on what he had discovered at the
ranger station. But Mabaku didn’t seem impressed.

“Well, I’m sure this will all be wrapped up quickly,” the
director commented at the conclusion. “Now that we have our star
detective on the case.” Kubu knew better than to imagine that this
was a compliment. Mabaku continued. “Perhaps you will need to
explain the case on TV. Point out how you have to guide your
bumbling colleagues through their investigations.”