The Hunter (19 page)

The elephant matriarch trumpeted. She raised her trunk again and left the cluster of her family stealing the water from the pipe. There was a tiny calf amid the forest of grey legs and the old cow was clearly nervous about the presence of the lion who, in reality, was posing no threat to any of the animals. She took a handful of paces towards the lion and he looked up at her approach.

For a moment he glared at her defiantly, but as she carried on around the edge of the waterhole, closing on him, he stepped back from the ooze and started trotting. Emboldened, the cow chased him, her tail sticking out and her ears back as she trumpeted again. The lion broke into a run and headed for the tree line.

‘So much for the king of beasts,’ one of the Australians said.

Brand had watched the scene play out countless times. Elephants hated lions, as did buffalo, and both would turn on lions to chase them away from their young. In reality, it was no picnic being the king. Male lions were chased out of their prides when they reached sexual maturity and then spent long, often lonely years in the bush fending for themselves. If they were lucky they would survive and eventually challenge a male or a pair of brothers for dominance of a pride and enjoy a year or two of protecting their family and mating while their lionesses did the majority of the hunting. But all too soon they, too, would be challenged, and if not killed by the young usurpers they would be cast back out into the bush, to die of starvation if the wounds inflicted in the coup didn’t kill them first.

Brand could identify with the old male. The De Villiers boys had sent him on his way and he had no woman, no family to speak of. He was past middle age with barely a dollar in his pocket; no one to feed him and no one for him to protect. In his own way, though, he was happy.

The male lion started to call, his deep, rumbling roar echoing across the plain that had been pounded flat by thousands of elephant. He had someone after all, Brand thought, perhaps a brother or perhaps still a pride. He was not alone.

Brand finished his beer as the elephants moved from the trough and fanned out around the muddy waterhole. Having slaked their thirst they were now snorting up trunkloads of ooze to spray on their backs and under their bellies. Once dry the black crust would protect them from the sun’s rays and the itches of ticks and other parasites. Brand took his cooler box and walked down the timber stairs to his Land Rover, climbed in and started the engine.

He opened another beer and drove slowly back to camp. The sun was red as it neared the treetops and he stopped to watch it perfectly silhouette the long neck of a giraffe that grazed on an umbrella thorn. It was a quintessential African picture, and it reminded him why he was here.

He would meet Anna and Peter Cliff tomorrow and drive them around southern Africa, on a safari and a most likely fruitless search for Linley Brown. He wondered if Dani had told the sister and brother-in-law what he had learned about Kate, or if she was leaving that to him.

Brand raised his beer to the giraffe, and to a young woman who had thought she could pull off a fraud by cheating death.

‘Goodbye, Kate Munns, whoever you were.’

14

T
o Brand’s surprise, his mobile phone beeped in his pocket as the female ranger lifted the green and yellow striped boom gate and he drove back into Main Camp, which was, as the name suggested, the main rest camp in Hwange National Park.

He trundled past green-painted bungalows to the sandy, mostly empty camping ground. A trio of South African-registered Land Cruisers, fitted with rooftop tents, awnings, and every camping gadget imaginable, were laagered up around a fire and Brand smelled the greasily tempting aroma of sizzling
boerewors
.

When he found a place to park, under a mopane tree, he took out his phone and checked the screen. He had two missed calls. There had never been mobile phone reception in the park on any of his previous visits. He had only left the phone on to use as a clock.

There were other signs of progress in the camp, small indicators that Zimbabwe might be extricating itself, slowly, from the economic and political mess that had plagued it for years. Checking in to the camp he had noticed people in the garden of the Waterbuck’s Head bar and restaurant, which had been closed for the past ten years due to Zimbabwe’s disastrous economic climate and the lack of visitors to the park. But now it seemed tourists were returning to Hwange.

Brand got out of the Land Rover and opened the rear door while he dialled to check his voicemail. The first message was from Sergeant Goodness Khumalo.

‘
Hello, Mr Brand. I checked with Dr Rodriquez’s surgery and her receptionist said she had to leave the country urgently. I hope that wasn’t because your investigation tipped her off. Goodbye.
’

Elena had escaped, and had probably cost him a good contact in the Bulawayo police, but Brand knew he would probably see neither of the women again. The second message was from Dani.

‘Hudson, hi. I’ve transferred the money into your bank account. You should be able to access the funds tomorrow. I spoke to Anna Cliff. As you thought, she is going to hire you to track down Linley Brown. Good luck with that. I’ve informed the insurance company that your findings are that Kate Munns is dead and the death certificate issued by Dr Fleming is valid. I’ve mentioned the fake certificate to the company and they have asked me for legal advice on their position. It’s tricky – they are unlikely to want to involve the police, and if they don’t then they may have no choice but to pay up. Will advise in due course, but this will inevitably delay payment to Linley Brown while the insurers faff about. Oh, I didn’t get a chance to catch Anna and tell her your news about the fake death certificate. Thought I’d leave you to tell her that bit. Should make for an interesting first night around the campfire. Ciao.’

Brand sighed and put his phone back in his pocket. He slid a canvas-covered mattress from the back of the Land Rover and undid the leather belt holding it rolled tight. He tossed the released mattress onto the roof of the truck. Next he took a compact travelling mosquito net and climbed up onto the roof via the front bumper bar and bonnet. He shook the net out and, reaching up, tied the piece of string at its apex to a low-hanging branch, then tucked the net in around the mattress.

Climbing back down again he opened another bottle of Zambezi. With the beer in one hand he dragged a stack of fresh-cut mopane wood into a cross-hatched configuration. Brand set his beer down, reluctantly, on the cement-and-brick
braai
and packed kindling and dry yellow grass into the well he had left in the centre of the firewood. Then he lit it with his Zippo. The parched fuel caught immediately and before he had finished his beer the fire had taken hold and the wood was blazing.

As well as his cooler box he had a forty-litre camping fridge that ran off an auxiliary car battery. From it he took a piece of rump steak he had bought before leaving Bulawayo. It was the last of his food. He would need to shop in the morning for the safari he was taking Peter and Anna Cliff on in Victoria Falls, before their plane arrived. Also, he needed to pick up a bigger vehicle from a guy he had worked with in the past, who ran a travel company in the Falls. There was much to do.

For now, though, he pulled a fold-out camping chair from the back of his truck and sat down with his beer to watch the flames turn the wood into coals he could cook on. Some people called a campfire bush television; Brand certainly had no need for the real thing, even if he could afford one.

For the moment he put off thoughts of the news he would deliver to Anna Cliff: that for some reason Kate had wanted to disappear and fraudulently obtain a good deal of money for her friend and/or herself. He wondered if the sister would come up with the answer. She would certainly want to track Linley down and this safari holiday would degenerate into a person hunt, with two amateurs tagging along with him. It would not, he predicted, be a pleasant trip.

A jackal gave its high-pitched whine out beyond the rusting, falling-down camp fence. Further off was the low rumbling of a lion, perhaps the male Brand had seen at Nymandlovu. In the shadows beyond the fire a shape was moving. Brand put his hand to his face to shield his eyes from the worst of the light and caught the slope-backed silhouette of a spotted hyena patrolling the perimeter. The smell of his steak would rouse its curiosity.

Brand was not scared of hyena. They were brazen, but cowardly when confronted. Another gave an eerie,
woo-oop
call, and the one on patrol responded. These were the sounds he loved, not the honk and whine of city traffic nor the rumble of jet aircraft overhead. The moon was rising and a shooting star blazed a trail across the dark purple sky.

He thought again about Kate Munns. ‘Who were you?’ he asked the flames as he prodded a log back into the fire’s jaws. ‘Why did you want to leave your life?’

Money, love, sex and drugs were, in Brand’s mind, the motivators for most bad behaviour in humans. Kate’s friend, Linley, apparently had the drug problem, but Brand couldn’t believe one person would go to such bizarre lengths to help a friend. There were other ways to raise cash. No, there was more to Kate’s attempted disappearance, and maybe even her eventual death.

Perhaps Linley Brown had decided she wanted all the insurance money, and not just whatever Kate was going to split with her – if indeed that had been their plan. Kate would have been dead to her family and friends in the UK, but she still had a new life to get on with. Maybe, Brand thought, Kate survived the car wreck, but Linley decided, on the spur of the moment, that she would be better off if her friend really did die. That would certainly account for Linley’s absence from the funeral and her unwillingness to confront anyone who knew Kate or who was investigating her death. What that meant, though, was that if he did track Linley down, as Anna would undoubtedly pay him to, then instead of finding a sad young woman and offering a tearful reconciliation and closure, they might walk straight into the path of a cold-blooded murderess with money to protect. If they cornered her she might be as dangerous as any wounded animal Brand had ever encountered.

The hyena called again.

*

The next morning, Peter Cliff picked up his bag and his wife’s at Victoria Falls international airport and loaded them onto a trolley with a wonky wheel.

They had taken a night flight from Heathrow to Johannesburg’s O.R. Tambo Airport in South Africa, then made a connection to Zimbabwe. Despite the fact they had flown Club with British Airways he had not been able to sleep in the business class bed from London and had only dozed fitfully on the second leg.

Anna’s friend, Dani, the lawyer, had texted her overnight and on arrival they received the message that the safari guide, Brand, would have ‘news’ for them about Kate, though Dani stressed that she was still most definitely deceased.

Unable to control her curiosity, Anna called Dani from the terminal while Peter was fetching the bags. When he pushed the trolley over to her she was ending the call. ‘Well?’ he said.

‘She won’t say. It’s infuriating, Peter. I just wish she would spill, but she says it will be better if this man Brand tells us the news and puts it in context.’ Anna sighed with exasperation.

‘We’ll see him soon enough.’

Anna checked the tiny padlocks on the bags. ‘Well, at least the bags haven’t been broken into.’ On their trip to Zimbabwe for the funeral their luggage had been tampered with and Anna had lost her camera. The Zimbabwean police had blamed the baggage handlers at Johannesburg airport. All African countries liked to blame immigrants and citizens of neighbouring countries for crime.

Peter knew that what had pained her most was not the loss of the compact Nikon but the fact that there were some snaps of Kate on it which Anna had not yet downloaded to her computer. Her last and most recent images of her sister were lost forever. He missed Kate too, and while he was having reservations about trying to track down this Linley Brown he knew it had to be done, for Anna’s sake and for his.

Brand was dressed in safari shirt and shorts. He was tall, taller than Peter by about six inches, and his arms were coffee-coloured and muscled.

‘Hello, I’m Anna,’ his wife said, and Peter thought she was almost flirting with the man.

Brand touched the brim of his hat. ‘Sorry for your loss, ma’am.’

‘Peter Cliff.’ He shook hands with the American, squeezing his as hard as he could. Despite the size of the other man’s hand his grip wasn’t as brutal as Peter had expected; it was firm, but not crushing.

Brand looked him in the eye. ‘Good to meet you, Peter.’ The voice was deep, gravelly, and Peter suspected Brand was a smoker. He was curious about the man, but not cowed by him.

‘Likewise, I’m sure. It’s been a long flight.’

Brand nodded. ‘It’s a couple of hours’ drive to the game lodge where you’re staying tonight, but you can have a nap when you get there if you like.’

‘I said a long flight, not that we’re old-age pensioners.’

‘No offence meant.’

Brand moved to take over the trolley, and Peter decided to let him. ‘None taken.’ Brand pushed ahead, leading them through the single-storey terminal building.

‘Mr Brand – Hudson – Dani said you have some news for us, about Kate.’

The American nodded, signalling he had heard the question, but said nothing. He led them outside and Peter felt the pitiless burn of the African sun on his bald crown. His hat was in the daypack on the top of the luggage. ‘Hudson, can you please get my hat out of my daypack?’ Peter said.

The safari guide stopped, but didn’t look back. ‘The blue one?’

‘Yes, that’s the one.’

Brand reached over the handle of the trolley, hefted the daypack, swivelled and passed it to him. Peter hadn’t really expected the man to unzip his bag and ferret for his hat, but he did want to see what reaction the request would provoke. Some people fawned over Peter because he was a doctor and others went out of their way to treat him like a common man, perhaps thinking that was what he wanted. The truth was, he didn’t want to be judged by what he did, but who he was. He knew he was behaving childishly, but this man had irked him from the moment he’d met him, and while Peter knew why this was, it still annoyed him.

Peter regretted his deliberate arrogance as he fumbled with the bag while Brand stepped out, increasing his stride and pace towards a tan-coloured Land Cruiser, forcing Anna to break into a shuffling trot to keep up with him. Peter gave up, stopped and took out his floppy bush hat, watching his wife chase after the long-limbed guide.

The car park was crowded with minivans and safari vehicles similar to Brand’s. The vehicle had a custom-built stretched cab and three side doors along the flank closest to them.

Anna put her hand on Brand’s arm as he opened a door and lowered a fold-out step that gave access to three seats behind the driver and front passenger’s positions. Peter felt a prick of anger and strode over to them.

‘Hudson, please, what is it that Dani wanted you to tell us about my sister? This really can’t wait,’ Anna said.

Brand pulled the brim of his hat down a little, shading his eyes as he looked down at Anna. ‘I wanted to wait until we got to the lodge, maybe until you had a drink in front of you.’

‘I don’t need a stiff gin to hear bad news.’

A snort caught in the back of Peter’s throat, but the American didn’t notice it. Peter was as curious about the guide’s news as Anna. ‘Yes, we don’t need you to sugar-coat it.’

Brand turned to him, looked at him, then took off his hat and moved his dark-eyed gaze back to Anna. ‘You might not want to hear this.’

She put her hands on her hips and glared up at him. ‘For God’s sake, tell me.’

He exhaled slowly. ‘Your sister
did
plan on faking her own death, and paid a doctor in Bulawayo two thousand dollars for a false death certificate.’

Peter saw Anna’s eyes and mouth widen in shock and he felt his own heart lurch. ‘So, she’s . . .’

Brand held up his big hands, palms out. ‘Ma’am, she
is
dead. I’ve verified that with the police and a doctor who I believe. Your old family physician, a man by the name of Fleming.’

‘Dr Fleming delivered us both as babies,’ Anna said in a quiet voice. ‘You’re sure?’

Brand put his hat back on. ‘We can stand here in the sun, ma’am, or we can go to the lodge and discuss this.’

Anna looked at him and Peter breathed a little easier. It had been tempting, he thought, to cling to the fantasy that Kate was still alive. Anna had had her hopes raised and dashed in the space of a few words. She reached out and put her hand on a side pillar of the truck to steady herself.

‘Ma’am . . .’

She flicked her head. ‘Stop calling me that. My name is Anna, and we’re going to be spending the next three weeks together.’

‘I know this is a shock.’ He took her elbow and Peter went to his wife and held her other arm, taking her back from the handsome safari guide. Around them other tourists were being loaded into their vehicles and parents were loading the bags of children back from boarding school into four-wheel drives. Brand lifted their bags into the car.