The Hunter (25 page)

Rina pushed my hand away. ‘You should look nice for him and his tourists and then maybe he will notice you some more. You can take our
bakkie
. The Olifants camp is not far from here and they have a shop. You can buy some nice clothes there – expensive, but nice.’ She fished her keys from her handbag and put them on the table in front of me.

As I reached for them I blushed, remembering how I’d contemplated stealing this very same vehicle from this kind-hearted woman and her sleeping husband. ‘Thank you,
Tannie
.’

I looked at the Kruger Park map book in the car and Rina told me that the shortest route to Olifants, across the river of the same name via the low-level bridge close to Balule camp, was closed. The bridge had been damaged in the 2012 floods and was still out of action. She said I would have to drive in a loop back to the main north–south tar road, cross the river on the high-level bridge, then take a right to the camp.

I thanked Rina again, kissed her on both cheeks, and returned the hug she gave me. In the truck I looked at my red-rimmed eyes in the rear-view mirror and tried to ignore the wreckage they spoke of as I drove on a dusty road flanked by thick mopane trees.

On the high-level bridge half a dozen cars were stopped – people were allowed to get out of their cars here, unlike on the roads through the park. I slowed and followed the direction of binoculars and massive camera lenses picking out hippos, elephants and, when I craned my neck, the malevolent form of a giant crocodile just below the water’s surface.

On the other side of the river I continued on, golden light flooding the inside of the Toyota, and took the right turn to the Olifants camp. Checking my watch as I pulled up to the shop, I realised I would only have about twenty minutes before I’d need to head back again. This posed no problem as I was used to picking out the best of the best in much shorter periods. The shop sold souvenirs – carved giraffes, decorative cups, postcards and a few books; a selection of food and drinks and a range of clothes in greens and browns for the tourist on safari.

I found a couple of tops, one sleeveless and the other a T-shirt, a pair of green shorts and a khaki skirt. That would use up my loan from Rina. There were some nice beaded sandals, but I didn’t have enough for them. The shop was filling with customers, and I guessed this was visitors returning from their afternoon drives and stocking up with supplies for the evening meal, which they would cook in their self-catering chalets. Ducking behind a counter I took off my running shoes and socks and kicked them under a set of shelves. I selected a pair of sandals from a hook and, glancing at the counter to make sure no one was watching, separated them from the plastic tie holding them together and shrugged my feet into them. I took a chance that the size I’d selected would fit me, and made my way quickly, but not at a run, to the checkout.

I made small talk with the cashier as she scanned my purchases, and I handed over Rina’s cash. A wave of guilt broke over me as I walked past the security guard at the door – he hadn’t spared me a second glance as I’d browsed. I was planning on going straight back to the
bakkie
, but I could see people gathering down a pathway at a stone and thatch hide that looked out over the river below. I walked down to join them.

The view was spectacular, taking in the sweep of the majestic river, studded with granite boulders lit pink in the low afternoon sun. People were oohing and aahing and a man lent me his binoculars and pointed out a solitary lioness on the far bank, sunning herself on a flat rock.

‘See the cubs, on the right,’ he said, clearly enchanted.

I shifted my focus and saw the tiny babies, still bearing the spots they would lose with maturity, climbing the rock to be with their mother. One nuzzled at her teats. I swallowed. I did not know if I wanted children, but I wanted some semblance of a normal life again. This wild creature’s existence was simple – to fight to feed and protect her babies. I wanted to know, again, what it was like to care for someone, and to have someone care for me. Suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, I handed the guy back his binoculars, turned away and ran up the pathway to Rina’s car.

*

Bryce Duffy’s eyes were wide as he pulled up at the campsite, and I noticed more than one of the men in the back of the truck was similarly slack-jawed.

‘Hi all, dinner will be ready in half an hour, just in time for all of you to freshen up.’ I brushed my clean hands unnecessarily but theatrically down the front of the checked pinafore Rina had lent me.

I turned and bent to lift the lid on the
potjie
. The men would be able to see my short shorts, bare legs and stunning new beaded sandals. Well, maybe I was more interested in the sandals than they were.

As the tourists dispersed, Bryce sidled up to me. ‘What have you been up to?’

I gave him my best domestic goddess smile and come hither glance. ‘Just doing as ordered, sir.’ I lowered my voice to add: ‘If you ever drop me in the shit like that again I really will shoot you.’

Bryce took a step back. ‘The
potjie
smells delicious.’ He looked around and saw Rina, sitting by her caravan, return her smiling face to her copy of
Sarie
magazine. ‘You had help.’

‘More than you gave me.’

‘You pulled a gun on me and hijacked my truck,’ he pointed out, correctly. ‘You’re lucky I didn’t use one of the tourists’ phones to call the police.’

I put my hands on my hips. ‘Why didn’t you?’

‘I don’t know. I thought I’d get back to find you gone, that you might have hitchhiked out or stolen someone else’s truck.’

‘The thought crossed my mind.’

‘So why did you stay and learn how to bake?’

I smiled. ‘I don’t know.’

‘What kind of trouble are you in?’ he asked me.

‘Just going to the shower, Bryce, OK?’ Herb Lipschitz called.

‘Sure, Herb. No rush. We’ll wait ’til everyone’s ready.’

A handsome older guy who’d been sitting at the back of the game viewer, out of my earshot, wandered over to us. I had little inclination to share my troubles and my crimes with Bryce. ‘Hello there,’ I said to him, brightly. ‘We haven’t formally met.’

‘Andrew Miles,’ he said, extending a hand. ‘Most people call me Thousand.’

He was tall with a short crop of still thick grey hair and a neatly trimmed moustache. I don’t normally like facial hair on a man, but it seemed to suit him; it gave him an almost military bearing. His khaki shirt and shorts were starched, adding to the image of a man in uniform, but he was, I noticed, barefoot – a relaxed counterweight to the ramrod rest of him. His face and arms were tanned a mellow mahogany and he had piercing blue eyes.

‘Most people call me Naomi,’ I said. He held my gaze, and my hand, for a little too long for my liking, but a not totally unpleasant chill tinkled through me. ‘Why “Thousand”, is that in reference to your age?’

He laughed, from deep down. ‘No, the speed at which I work.’

Flirt
, I thought. Or sleazy, given our age difference, which would be approaching twenty years or more.

‘Or worked, I should say. I flew jets for a while and the “thousand” was a reference to a certain penchant I had for being something of a fast mover in the old days. It got me in quite a bit of trouble, but it was usually worth it.’

I didn’t know much about aeroplanes, but I didn’t think passenger jets flew that fast. ‘Were you a fighter pilot?’ Now that I thought about it, he looked a bit like the old guy in the movie
Top Gun
, Tom Cruise’s boss.

‘Yes, I was. Cheetahs, the South African version of the French Mirage, during the border war, then MiGs in Angola for a mercenary mob. Now I do private flights. Herb is one of my clients; I fly him and his friends around Africa on safari in my Beechcraft.’

‘That must be expensive?’

‘Almost prohibitively,’ Andrew said. ‘Only people like Herb can afford to fly and there aren’t many like him.’

I wondered what he was doing here. ‘Shouldn’t you and Herb be in some fancy luxury five-star game lodge?’

‘Herb wanted to rough it, and I was a friend of Bryce’s father, Kim, who was also a merc, ex-infantry. I was happy to give the work to Bryce’s employers on the condition that we got him as a guide for the Kruger leg of the trip.’

Bryce coughed. ‘Yes, well, Naomi, I’m sure you need to get back to the cooking.’

‘Not so fast, my boy,’ Andrew said to Bryce. ‘I’ve got a better idea. Since Herb and I are paying, why don’t you get us a drink and put one for each of you two on my tab while we’re at it?’

Bryce frowned at being treated like a waiter, but he clearly respected his father’s old war buddy because he nodded and went to the cooler box in the camping trailer.

‘You look like you’ve got everything under control here, Naomi,’ Andrew said, gesturing to the fire and the bubbling pot. ‘And your new clothes suit you very well, I might add.’

I was surprised he’d noticed. ‘How did you . . .?’

‘Price tag, on your collar.’ He pointed to it and I blushed as I ripped it off.

‘Bryce was right, I’d better see to the meal.’

‘Naomi,’ he said softly, ‘I didn’t mean to offend.’

‘No problem.’

‘My ears are burning.’ Bryce walked back over, handed Andrew a can of Windhoek Lager and popped the top on a Castle of his own. He passed me a miniature can of Coke.

‘What, no brandy?’ I quipped.

‘You’re working,’ said Bryce shortly.

‘Hell, Bryce. Get the lady a proper drink, or
I
will,’ Andrew said.

I could see the muscles in Bryce’s jaw bulge. He might respect this old air force officer, but he clearly had his limits when taking orders from anyone.

Andrew gave one of his belly laughs and clapped Bryce on the arm. ‘Come. What would you like, Naomi? I’m being barman. Bryce, sit down by the fire, man. You’ve earned five minutes off. You gave those Americans the game drive of their life and your only challenge now is to do better over the next two days!’

He’d disarmed the situation immediately and Bryce gave a sheepish grin as he lowered himself into the camp chair. I’d put him through a lot. I followed Andrew ‘Thousand’ Miles to the camping trailer.

‘Cane, if he’s got any,’ I said, as Andrew rummaged through a cardboard box of spirit bottles.

‘Here we go. Haven’t had any of this since my days in Rhodesia.’ He unscrewed the cap and poured me a double of the white cane spirit. ‘Allow me.’ He set the bottle down and took the can of cola from my hand. I found myself staring at my sandals. ‘They are quite lovely. New as well, by the look of them.’

‘What do you care about my shoes?’ I looked up at him, trying to hold his gaze longer than he could mine.

‘One of my ex-wives told me you should always compliment a woman on her shoes.’

‘Really? Does that work as a pick-up line?’

‘Well,’ he emptied the can into my glass, ‘I tried it on her best friend and she became my third wife. However, you’re too young for me and out of my league. Forgive me, again.’

I couldn’t help but laugh at his caricatured sexism. ‘You’re forgiven.’

‘As the catering manager for this expedition you really should know what’s in the drinks cabinet.’ He poured me a drink and handed it to me. ‘First day on the job?’

He was probing and as much as I was relaxing around him I had to remember to keep my guard up. Whenever possible, it’s best to base your lies on truth. ‘How did you guess?’

‘The clothes were a good indicator. That and the fact that you don’t seem to know how to act the part of the camp cook and bottle washer.’

‘Who said I was acting?’

He took a swig of beer. Bryce craned his neck to look back at us, and I could see the anxiety in his eyes. ‘Bryce told me, when I made the booking, that he’d be doing the cooking. I stirred him up a bit; his father was a terrible cook when we shared digs in Sierra Leone.’

‘You didn’t mention Sierra Leone before in your CV,’ I said.

‘You’re trying to change the subject.’

‘You’re assuming I’m interested in talking about me or what I’m doing here, Mr Miles.’

‘Thousand.’

I turned and walked back to Bryce and my pot of frankly delicious-smelling
potjie
. Andrew went to his tent and emerged a minute later with a towel over his shoulder. He grinned and waved to me.

Bryce saw me glance at Andrew and smile. ‘He’s old enough to be your father.’

I shivered involuntarily. ‘Don’t talk like that,’ I said, faster and with more vehemence than I’d wished. I took a breath and exhaled. ‘Don’t talk like that. He’s funny, but I’m not interested in him, or any other man for that matter.’

He looked genuinely hurt. ‘Hey, I’m sorry.’

‘It’s OK.’ I didn’t want to expose myself or my problems to Bryce any more than I already had. I lifted the lid off the pot and ladled out some sauce. I blew on it and sipped it. God bless Afrikaner grandmothers. ‘Jealous of my cooking ability now?’

Bryce relaxed, his eyes turning from sad to excited puppy again with my forced change of mood. ‘Yes.’

I corrected myself, mentally. I didn’t
want
to be interested in any man in the foreseeable future, but then I’d gone and hijacked Bryce Duffy. Damn it.

19

T
he next day, Hudson Brand drove the Cliffs from Elephant’s Eye lodge towards Binga, on the edge of Lake Kariba, about a two-hour drive from Hwange National Park. The route took them through hilly country to the bridge Kate had accidentally driven off.

‘This is it, isn’t it?’ Anna said as Brand slowed to a stop. They got out.

‘It is.’ He walked back and forth a few metres, remembering the reference in Sergeant Khumalo’s report. ‘They’ve replaced the crash barrier. See here how new the paint is.’

‘I didn’t get a chance to visit here after the funeral. Everything was so rushed and this place is too far from Bulawayo.’

A fish eagle gave its pining cry and they all looked up to see the majestic bird swoop low over the river and then up into a tree, where it perched near another. ‘Probably its mate. They pair for life, you know,’ Brand said.

Anna shaded her eyes with her hand to better see the bird. ‘The fish eagle was Kate’s favourite bird. I wonder if it’s a sign.’

‘I read that,’ Peter said, ‘that they mate for life.’

Brand noticed Anna shoot her husband a resentful glance. Dinner the night before, at the lodge, had not gone well. The couple had been bickering about something when Brand had returned from his shower and joined them at the dinner table in the lodge’s dining area.

‘We were just trying to figure out what was wrong with Kate,’ Peter had said over drinks.

‘There was nothing
wrong
with my sister. That’s the problem with this whole bloody mess.’ Anna was already slurring her words.

While they were eating, the herd of elephants that had arrived earlier glided silently towards the waterhole in the
vlei
in front of the lodge. Three big bulls stepped into the cone of light cast by the floodlight, and noisily slurped fresh water that was being pumped into a cement trough. The rest of the herd had to content itself with the muddy water in the waterhole further along the line of elevated tents.

Anna had said over dinner that she had saved some of Kate’s ashes and that she wanted to sprinkle them on Lake Kariba, where Kate and Linley had been headed at the time of their crash.

‘I remember she loved the lake when we were kids,’ Anna had said.

Now, at the bridge, Brand asked Anna if she wanted to scatter some ashes there, where her sister had died.

‘No. I don’t want to remember her here, although it’s a beautiful gorge. I’ll do it on the lake.’ Anna wiped her eyes.

‘Come on, let’s get to the boat,’ Peter said, putting a hand on his wife’s shoulder. Brand saw her look into his eyes. Perhaps there was still tenderness there, but Anna moved away from her husband and walked ahead of him to the Land Cruiser.

The country was harsh in this part of Zimbabwe, with steep-sided rocky hills covered in sparse, leafless trees desiccated by the dry wind and furnace-like temperatures. The people were similarly hardy; the Batonka had been forced from their homes in the lush Zambezi River valley in the late fifties and early sixties when a dam had been built about two hundred and forty kilometres downstream at Kariba, forming the lake of the same name. They passed roadside stall after stall selling axes with shafts made from rough-hewn mopane wood and heads crafted from leaf springs from old car wrecks that had been hammered into heavy, wicked blades. Peter asked Brand to stop and when he pulled over an old lady, bent at the waist and with deeply wrinkled skin, emerged from the dying bush to offer them a handmade marijuana bong for sale.

‘What’s that all about?’ Peter asked, fingering the edge of an axe blade with his thumb.

‘The people here are allowed by the government to smoke
dagga
as part of their traditional beliefs.’

‘About the only thing that keeps them sane in this kind of country,’ Anna observed.

The weather became hotter and more humid as they descended to the lake, near the town of Binga. Brand drove through the gates of a fishing lodge, up over a hill, past thatch-roofed accommodation units and down to the water’s edge, where the single-hulled steel
Lady Jacqueline
was moored.

‘This is the boat your sister and her friend were booked to travel on. I checked with the owners’ booking office in Cape Town; there were no other guests registered. It’s a nice boat, and has cabin space for ten people and deck space for another thirteen sleeping outdoors.’

‘Quite extravagant for just two people,’ Anna said.

Brand nodded. It was similarly extravagant for the Cliffs and him to be taking the boat, but they were only booked for one night. When he’d made the enquiries about Kate Munns’s booking Brand had booked the boat for the night, telling the operators that the Cliffs wanted to sprinkle some of Kate’s ashes on the lake.

It was Sunday and the sound of singing carried across a small bay from the village beyond, which housed staff and boat crew who worked for the fishing lodges and houseboats in the area. Brand shook hands with the captain, Steven Mpofu, and exchanged greetings.

‘I’m taking you not far, to a nice place towards the Sengwe River, and we can stay one night there, then come back tomorrow morning. Is that fine?’

‘Fine, thanks, Steven.’

The crew, a cook and deckhand carried Peter and Anna’s baggage aboard. Brand hefted his duffel bag and climbed the steel ladder that jutted out from the prow of the boat to the rocks on the shoreline.

On the middle deck was the deckhouse, which doubled as a small kitchen, and an enclosed lounge area with comfy leather couches, a television and a little library. Below that, on the lower deck, were the cabins – a double state room fore and aft, and two cabins with bunk beds amidships. Brand took the rear cabin and showed Anna and Peter to the master cabin.

‘It’s lovely,’ Anna said.

Brand wondered where Linley Brown and Kate Munns would have slept, just the two of them on a boat that could carry twenty-three people. There were smaller boats they could have chartered; why had they chosen this one?

‘You said your family had been on the lake before?’ he asked Anna.

‘Yes, several times, but never on this boat, as far as I can remember.’

Brand’s phone beeped. He took it out of his pocket. There was no signal from the Zimbabwean mobile phone providers, but it seemed the boat’s mooring was in range of Zambia, across the lake. He got a message telling him he was on roaming, along with numbers to check his messages. The phone beeped again.

He read the message on the screen:
Mr Brand, this is Captain Sannie van Rensburg, Nelspruit Police. Please call me urgently.

‘Anything interesting?’ Anna asked him. Peter had left the cabin and was walking up the stairs to the upper decks.

Brand shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. Nothing about Kate, in any case.’

She leaned against the doorway to her cabin. ‘Do you spend a lot of time on tour, on the road with clients?’

He nodded. ‘I do.’

‘Do you have anyone at home, a wife, a girlfriend, a partner?’

‘I’m a fairly private person, Anna.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. None of my business.’

He put up a hand to signal it was OK, and that he hadn’t taken offence. ‘But to answer your question, no. No one’s been silly enough to put up with my wandering ways for an extended period of time.’

He thought about Hannah. She was the closest thing he’d had to a steady girlfriend in years, since Angola in fact, and it hadn’t worked out between them when they had cohabited for a short time. Dani and he were close, but despite them having slept together theirs was more a platonic business relationship these days.

‘Gosh, a handsome, single man like you would be off the market in minutes in London.’

‘Well, perhaps I like staying on the market.’

Anna lowered her voice. ‘Is it wrong for me to say I envy you?’

Brand had a fair idea where the conversation was headed. ‘I’ll go check with the captain what time lunch is served.’

Anna reached out and put her hand on his forearm. ‘Can’t you call someone in South Africa, try and get a lead on Linley Brown?’

‘It’s not that simple.’ He wasn’t used to looking for people, alive or dead, in South Africa. So far his insurance work had been confined to Zimbabwe and although he didn’t want to let on to Anna, he had precious little experience as an investigator. ‘If she was still in Zimbabwe we could trace her through places where she’d worked, through the electoral roll, neighbours, that sort of thing. But Linley’s in the wind, in another country, so we’ve got to start from scratch. I’ll keep trying her phone number, though, and hope she picks up.’

Anna took a step closer to him. She was perspiring, as was he, but the musty odour of her body didn’t turn him off; the opposite, in fact. He needed to get above the confines of the lower deck. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, and moved past her into the corridor.

They had lunch while cruising to the sheltered bay where they would spend the night and Anna would scatter Kate’s ashes. Brand stayed with soft drink, but Anna had three glasses of wine. Peter eyed him coolly over his sparkling mineral water. The conversation was stilted and when they had finished their meal of grilled Kariba bream Brand excused himself. He lingered in the lounge for a few minutes, inspecting the library’s offerings. He flicked through the guest book then went to his cabin. He stayed below deck for an hour, lying on his bunk thinking about the case and hoping he might catch forty winks, but sleep wouldn’t come. Through the wall he heard the Cliffs talking, arguing at one point over something.

At five Anna knocked on his door. ‘We’re going to do the ashes now, if you’d like to join us.’

The setting sun was red through the dust layer that hung above a range of purple hills. Anna and Peter stood side by side at the railing and Hudson waited behind them.

Anna cleared her throat. ‘We don’t know why you wanted to leave us,’ she said, looking up, ‘but you did, and all I can hope is that you’re at peace now.’

She looked to her husband, who just gave a little shake of his head, and looked down at his hands on the railing. Anna lifted the lid on the wooden box and shook the ashes into the lake, which was the colour of molten metal. ‘Goodbye, Kate.’

Peter turned from the railing and mumbled an ‘excuse me’ as he shuffled past Brand and into the lounge. Brand looked over his shoulder and saw the doctor was walking downstairs. He was alone, again, with Anna. A fish eagle cried and they both looked up to see it circling. ‘There’s her favourite bird again. Eerie.’

Brand knew people looked for signs, and hoped for Anna’s sake that the bird’s presence did indeed indicate that Kate Munns was at peace now. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he said.

She looked up into his eyes. ‘Would it be wrong if I asked you to hold me now?’

He looked over his shoulder.

‘Don’t worry about Peter,’ Anna said. ‘I doubt he’d care. I just need someone to tell me she’s in a better place.’

Brand put an arm around her shoulder. ‘Whatever was worrying her, she’s away from it now.’

Anna nodded and wiped her eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’ She broke away from him. ‘I’m rather tired now, I think I’m going to skip dinner tonight. But thank you, Hudson, just for being here, and for trying to help us sort this mess out.’

He waited for Anna to leave, then went below deck to his cabin. He checked his phone and found he was still picking up a signal from Zambia. He sent an SMS to Dani, asking her to call him. His phone rang a couple of minutes later. ‘How are the Cliffs?’ she asked.

‘How do you think?’

‘Terrible business, finding out Kate had faked her death then died for real.’

‘You think? That was some move, leaving it up to me to tell them, and . . .’

‘Hudson, listen to me,’ Dani interrupted. ‘We’ve got more important things to talk about. I was just about to call you so your timing is good. There’s been a new development; you were right to suggest the insurance company review their file.’

‘What did they find out?’ he asked.

‘Well, with your confirmation that there was a genuine death certificate and that the police report checked out, they were still inclined to pay up, despite you finding the fake certificate.’

‘
Were
?’

‘There was a note on the Kate Munns file that said Linley Brown had called the insurance company’s UK call centre on the same day as the car crash to report that Kate had died and to ask what she had to do to claim on the policy.’

‘A little hard-hearted, calling just after her friend had died,’ Hudson said.

‘That’s the thing, Hudson. She didn’t call
after
the accident, she called before.’

Brand digested the information. ‘You’re telling me that she called to report the fake death on the same day that Kate really died?’

‘Yes,’ Dani said. ‘When the company first reviewed the file, after Anna Cliff raised her concerns, the timing of the call didn’t stand out – a call had been received from Linley on the date of death recorded on the legit death certificate. After you suggested they go through the file again, one of their assessors listened to the recorded voice file of the telephone conversation and found the actual time of day it was made. They played the recording to me down the line; you can clearly hear Linley Brown saying that her friend Kate has died. She sounds upset, but it’s an act. Given the time difference between the UK and Zimbabwe, we worked out the call was made at 9.12 in the morning, two hours
before
the car crash. Linley didn’t call again after the real death.’

‘Because she already knew what she had to do to make the claim. Does making a call to the insurer to report a fake death constitute a false claim?’ Brand asked. He knew enough about the insurance business to figure that if Linley had made a false claim, or if it had been Kate making the call pretending to be Linley, then such a move would automatically invalidate the policy.

‘That’s the question we’re grappling with at the moment,’ Dani admitted. ‘And the answer is, I don’t know yet. I’m consulting with some of my colleagues and we’re meeting with the insurance company’s claims department, in-house legal and corporate affairs, in case any of this goes public. Linley hadn’t submitted an online claim form using the fake certificate, but we have proof that she and Kate were about to make a false claim.’