Part Six
THE WAY TO DUSTY DEATH
“And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!”
MACBETH, ACT 5, SCENE 5
FIFTY
“DADDY. DADDY. PLEASE TAKE us to the mall today. I want to ride the ponies.” Tumi was always energetic in the morning.
Kubu grunted and rolled over. He wasn’t awake enough to start planning the day. He put his arm over Joy and pulled her closer. After a long week, he’d decided to sleep in a little this Saturday morning.
He felt one of the girls sit on him as if he were a horse. He did nothing, wishing that they would go and lie down for another half hour. Then there were two riders. Next thing they’ll tell me to giddyup, he groaned. Sure enough, the two started to bounce up and down as if they were galloping. He sighed. His thoughts of a slow morning were rapidly fading.
The final straw was Ilia barking and jumping up on the two girls.
He rolled onto his stomach, causing the girls to fall onto Joy. They giggled and tried to snuggle between the adults. “Move over, Daddy!” Tumi shouted into Kubu’s ear. “Nono also wants to cuddle you.”
Kubu pulled a pillow over his head, but that encouraged the girls to climb all over him. Eventually he rolled over once again and sat up. He gave both girls a big hug and a kiss. “Can’t you girls sleep later on weekends?” he asked rhetorically, trying to look stern.
“We want to play, Daddy.” Tumi grabbed Kubu’s arm and tried to pull him to his feet.
“Girls, girls!” Joy was now awake. She also sat up and put an arm over Kubu’s shoulders. “Morning, darling,” she said and kissed him on his cheek.
“That was nice.” He turned and gave her a lingering kiss on her neck. She snuggled closer.
“Don’t start what you can’t finish,” she said with a smile.
“THIS HASN’T BEEN A good month for Saturdays,” Kubu said between bites of toast. “First Marumo’s funeral, and this afternoon, Deputy Commissioner Gobey’s. I have to go.”
“You liked him, didn’t you?” Joy asked.
Kubu nodded.
“What’s a funeral, Daddy?” Tumi asked, forever inquisitive.
“Remember when we said goodbye to Seloi?” Joy asked.
“When they put her in the ground to see Jesus.”
“Yes. We call that a funeral.” She glanced at Nono to see how she was reacting to the mention of her sister. Nono seemed far away.
“This afternoon, I have to go to the funeral of a very good policeman. He died suddenly last week.”
“How did he die, Daddy?”
“He was quite sick. He couldn’t breathe properly.”
“Will he be able to breathe properly after he’s in the ground?”
“No, my darling,” Joy said, leaning over and taking Tumi’s hand. “He’s dead and won’t breathe again.”
Tumi frowned but didn’t say anything.
“My darling, can you drop me off at the cemetery and then pick me up afterward?”
“What time?” Joy asked.
“The service is at two, and it will probably be six by the time everything wraps up.”
“I can do that, but you’ll owe me. The traffic will be bad—it will be a huge funeral.”
Kubu smiled. “I can think of some fine ways to repay the debt.”
“Daddy, come outside and play!” Tumi’s shout prevented Joy from answering.
IT WAS INDEED A huge funeral. The church the Gobeys attended was overflowing, and even more people arrived at the cemetery. All the top brass from the police were there in their ironed uniforms and medals, and wives in attendance, as were dozens of police from different divisions. There were many Defense Force higher-ups—a testament to the cooperation between the two organizations—as well as representatives from other government departments as diverse as Labour and Home Affairs, and Environment, Wildlife and Tourism. There were also several cabinet ministers.
As the crowd worked its way toward the grave, Kubu held back to observe. Gobey’s family had seats under an awning to protect them from the sun. Maria Gobey was trying hard to be stoical, but would break down and sob every few minutes. She was being consoled by a man and woman with similar features. Kubu assumed they must be Gobey’s children, now in their late thirties or early forties. Their spouses and children were also seated out of the sun, in the second row. Also in the first row was the commissioner of police and his wife. Finally, at the end of the first row, Kubu saw Joshua Gobey, and presumably his mother and family. Joshua was in close conversation with the commissioner. No doubt buttering him up for the deputy commissioner position, Kubu thought uncharitably.
Next to the grave, the choir from Gobey’s church was in full voice with both hymns and traditional songs. Many members of the crowd joined in with gusto. Kubu thought the scene had the air more of a celebration than a funeral. But that was how it went, sometimes, when a beloved man died.
Then suddenly the crowd parted, and an impressive hearse inched its way toward the grave, FUNERALS OF DISTINCTION painted on its side. As the hearse came to a stop, a suited Kopano Rampa stepped out of the driver’s seat, face solemn, and walked over to Mma Gobey. He extended his arm to shake hands, touching it with his left hand in the traditional manner. Kubu watched closely. Was he the witch doctor? he wondered. He certainly had opportunity and a perfect way of being invisible.
Rampa then walked over to Joshua and shook his hand. They chatted for a few moments, then Rampa leaned forward and said something in Joshua’s ear. Kubu frowned. What was that about? Payment for the funeral? Or something more sinister? Rampa returned to the hearse, where he talked to six uniformed policemen, who were obviously going to carry the coffin to the grave. Probably instructions on how to carry the casket without dropping it, Kubu thought.
“A lot more dignified than the last funeral we were at.” A voice came from over his shoulder, startling him. Kubu turned to see Dr. Pilane behind him. “At least there are no political protests at this one.”
“What brings you here, doctor? Did you know the deputy commissioner?”
“Oh yes. I’ve been his doctor for many years.”
“Did you treat him for his emphysema?”
“Oh, no. I referred him to a specialist, a Dr. Mapunda. I’m just a family doctor.”
“I spoke to him on police business about a week before he died. He was quite sick, but I didn’t think his life was in danger. It seemed very sudden. When did you last see him?”
“Oh, it was several months ago,” Dr. Pilane replied. “A minor unrelated ailment.”
“How’s his wife doing?”
“She’s struggling. She’s taking it quite badly, as you can see.” Pilane pointed to Mma Gobey under the awning. “I paid her a visit last night. Gave her a sedative.”
“Do you know his nephew, Joshua?”
“I’ve met him a few times, but he lives out of town, in Phakalane, I believe. He’ll have his own doctor out there, I’m sure.”
“Yes, he’s done well for himself,” Kubu commented sourly.
“Well, I must go and check on Mma Gobey. I said I’d stop in and see her. I hope this is the end of the funerals.”
“Me, too, doctor. Goodbye.”
Kubu watched Dr. Pilane walk over to Mma Gobey and talk to her. After a while he patted her on the shoulder and turned to Joshua. The two men shook hands and spoke. Words of condolence, Kubu presumed. He looked around to see whom else he knew. He saw Mabaku in the distance talking to Ian MacGregor and a few other police colleagues. But overall, most were strangers.
A hush settled on the crowd, and Kubu saw the cortege move solemnly to the grave. The bearers lowered the coffin next to the open hole onto the ropes that would be used to lower it into its last resting place. They covered the casket with a Botswana flag, the blue standing out against the red of the earth and the black of the mourners.
A few minutes later, as the priest blessed the deputy commissioner’s passage into the afterlife, and the casket was lowered into the ground, haunting ululations so common at African ceremonies filled the air. Kubu felt goose bumps all over. They certainly get into one’s soul, he thought.
As the crowd slowly dispersed, he made his way to the area of the awning to pay his respects to Mma Gobey. As he passed Joshua Gobey, he offered his condolences, and then went to wait in the line.
“Mma Gobey,” Kubu said when he reached the front, “once again I want to say how much we will miss your husband. He did a great deal of good for the police force and for the country. He set a very high standard for all of us by always choosing the right course of action rather than the expedient one.”
Maria Gobey looked at him sharply, then lowered her eyes. “Thank you, Assistant Superintendent. I will miss him more than anyone can know. He was a wonderful husband.”
“God bless his soul,” Kubu said quietly. “And may He look after you, too.”
He turned and walked toward the entrance to the cemetery, where he was to meet Joy.
“That was very moving.” Dr. Pilane was again at his side. Kubu nodded.
“I hear you’ve caught the man who murdered Bill Marumo.”
“I think so. The evidence is very strong.”
“Has he said why he did it?”
“No,” replied Kubu. “He’s in hospital. He had a car accident as he tried to evade the police.”
“From what they were saying the other day, the Freedom Party thinks you are covering things up.”
Kubu bristled. “They can think what they like,” he said sharply. “We don’t take political sides in murder investigations.”
At that moment he saw Joy ahead, holding her girls by the hand. She let them go and they came running over to Kubu. “Daddy, Daddy!” they cried. They flung themselves at him and each hugged a large thigh.
He patted them on the head as Joy kissed him and took him by the arm.
“Dumela, Dr. Pilane,” she said.
“Dumela, Joy,” he replied.
Before Kubu could say anything, the doctor waved. “Well, I must be off. Good afternoon to you all.” He turned and headed toward the parking lot.
“You know him?” Kubu asked as soon as he was out of earshot.
“Of course, darling. He’s a pediatrician and is involved in the fight against AIDS. He gives Nono her antiretrovirals.”
Kubu shook his head. Gaborone was certainly a small town.
FIFTY-ONE
THE FOLLOWING NIGHT KUBU sat in his garden and gazed up at the stars. The Milky Way was bright, as were Orion and the Southern Cross. There were the Seven Sisters—the Rainy Pleiades—and Orion’s Belt, and Canis Major, the Dog, with its bright eye, Sirius—in fact the brightest star in the sky.
The kids were in bed, and Joy had offered to wash the dishes. The stars offered some balm to Kubu’s churning mind.
Earlier in the day, Kubu and Joy had changed the direction of the normal Sunday visit by fetching his parents from Mochudi to have lunch in Gaborone. This had been carefully planned by Joy and Amantle, because they wanted Wilmon to be assessed by a doctor—something he had vigorously resisted. He was unaware that Kubu’s additional guest was their family doctor, Dr. Patel, who had agreed, after some persuasion, to have Sunday lunch with the family so he could assess Wilmon’s failing mind.
“I can only be sure after the appropriate tests, but I’m pretty sure it’s Alzheimer’s, not dementia,” he told Joy and Kubu in the kitchen after lunch. Then he went on to explain the difference to them. “It’s worse than dementia, because he is likely to lose his temper and become intolerant. He’ll remember less and less as time passes. You are going to have to look after Amantle—it’s extremely hard to have a husband who declines the way he’s likely to. She’ll feel guilty and angry, as well as lonely.”
Kubu had felt a great sadness when he heard this. His memories of his father were all good—a loving man, born poor, but with a vision of what he wanted for his only son, namely the best education he could afford; a man who was revered for his kindness and ability with traditional medicines; a loving husband.
As Kubu gazed upward, a satellite moved slowly across the sky, growing bright then fading into nothing. Even now, Kubu felt he was losing part of himself as his father lost his memory. They had shared so much, just the two of them. Now the only person with whom he shared so many memories was fading away. Less and less the laughter of mutual reminiscences.
What would that leave for him? Kubu wondered. Would those memories be as sparkling without his father’s participation? Or would they wane in his head, too, shriveling for lack of stimulation.
As Kubu gazed into the heavens, he felt a great emptiness.
Slowly he pulled himself back to the present. He had a family to look after, a job to do. And he would do those things in a way that would make his father proud.
He looked around. Joy hadn’t joined him, had left him to his thoughts. What a wonderful woman she is, he thought.
He leaned back and gazed up to the night sky again, his mind beginning to engage.
Was Rampa actually the witch doctor? They had circumstantial evidence, but nothing really incriminating. And Rampa had access to bodies, which he could use for muti. But which bodies? Where were they? The cemeteries were large, with many new occupants. They couldn’t dig them all up, even if they received permission from the minister, which was unlikely with the little evidence they currently had.
Rampa also could hide bodies in the coffins of others. Kubu had a hunch that was why Seloi’s coffin seemed so heavy—two bodies not one. Again, the minister would never give permission to exhume based on Kubu’s intuition.
And that was all they had. Very little indeed.
Kubu lifted his arm and ran his finger along the Milky Way. He tried to remember the bright star in the middle. Canopus? He couldn’t remember. Then he traced the outline of Orion’s big dog, Canis Major, and the little dog, Canis Minor. He was surprised he could remember any of the constellations—it was nearly twenty years since he had attended the Astronomy Club at high school.
Was there an Undertaker constellation? he wondered. Probably not. If there was, would it have Coffin Major and Coffin Minor as appendages? He smiled. Coffin Major and Coffin Minor! That was funny. Stupid, but funny.
Suddenly a thought crystallized in his mind. Coffin Major! If Rampa needed to bury Owido, he would never be able to double up in someone else’s coffin. He was an adult—too big. The others were kids. He would have to bury Owido in a coffin by himself.
Kubu sat upright, his mind in high gear.
How could he do that and get away with it? There had to be a part of a cemetery where unclaimed bodies were laid to rest; where people were buried whose families had no money. Surely the undertaker could bury the body there without questions being asked?
He stood up, an idea forming in his head.
He started to hum—a melody from Pirates of Penzance, he thought. It was the first time in several weeks that he felt encouraged.
He walked inside. Where was Joy? He looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight. He’d been outside for four hours. He walked into the bedroom. Joy was snoring quietly. He wanted to give her a big hug, kiss her, hold her, caress her. He stood, undecided.
Eventually, he undressed, climbed into bed, and fell asleep.
“DO YOU HAVE TODAY’S newspaper?” Kubu asked the receptionist at CID headquarters as he arrived on Monday morning. The man nodded and pulled it from under the counter. Kubu went to his office and opened it to the classifieds section. Funerals. He ran his finger down the list until he found one by Funerals of Distinction. Eleven o’clock at the Gaborone Cemetery. Perfect! Rampa’s assistant was about to have a visitor while his boss was supervising a burial.
ROBERT TIBONE WAS SITTING behind his neat desk when Kubu walked in.
“Good morning, rra,” he said. “Rra Rampa is not in at the moment. I expect him back about one.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Kubu replied. “I’m sure you can help me.”
“Please sit down.” Tibone jumped up and dragged a chair in front of his desk. “What can I do?”
“I’d like some information about how you organize your records. For example, how would I know how to find the grave of a particular person you had buried?”
“That’s easy. You would go to the right cemetery and ask. They’d give you the location of the grave—which row and plot, etc.”
“If my father died, what documentation would you need in order to bury him?”
“Also easy. We’d need a letter from the city that all the formalities had been completed.”
“And how about, if I wanted to know who was buried on a certain day?”
Tibone frowned. “Why would you want to know that?”
“It’s just hypothetical. I’m trying to understand how everything works.”
“Why’s that?”
“We’re trying to trace someone who may have died recently. We don’t know if he had any family and we don’t know his name.”
“Ah, so you would be interested in indigents and unknowns buried on a certain day?”
“Yes. Or perhaps between two dates. Say between the seventh and tenth of May.”
“Hold on a second.” Tibone tapped away on his computer. A few seconds later he continued, “I can tell you only who we dealt with. There are several other funeral services. So you may be better off going to all the cemeteries. They could tell you about everyone who’d been buried. Amongst our clients, we had three funerals on the seventh, but they were all regular people. On the eighth there was a man from the Broadhurst area and one unknown male. On the ninth there were two brothers who were hit by a train two weeks earlier. And on the tenth a female, Agnes Taung, who died from AIDS.”
“And where was the male of the eighth buried?”
“I can tell you which cemetery, but you’ll have to go there to find out which plot.”
“May I see the documentation that came from the city?”
Tibone stood up and went into a side room. Kubu could hear filing cabinet drawers being opened and shut. A few minutes later, Tibone returned with paper in hand. Kubu glanced at it. It seemed genuine.
“Do you remember how the body got here?”
Tibone shook his head. “When I came to work on the eighth, the body was already here. Rra Rampa said it had been dropped off the evening before, after I left.”
“Did he say where it came from?”
“I assume it came from the morgue. That’s where a body like that would end up before being buried.”
“Rra Tibone, you’ve been very helpful. Thank you. Could you make a copy of this document, and then I’ll be off.”
KUBU CLIMBED INTO HIS car and slumped in the seat. He’d hoped that his insight the previous evening would have yielded some dramatic results, but that hadn’t happened. He felt like returning to his office.
If I’ve come this far, I’d better follow up, he thought without enthusiasm. So he headed for the city offices. When he arrived, he explained that he was trying to find more information about the man whose documentation he had. The receptionist was obviously displeased with the interruption, but disappeared, clutching the copy. Kubu sat down and waited.
About ten minutes later, the woman returned with an elderly man, who walked over and introduced himself.
“I’m manager here. May I ask where you got this document?”
“Why do you want to know that?” Kubu asked. “Is there a problem?”
“Well, it’s not genuine. We have no record of such a person.”
Kubu jumped to his feet and snatched the document. “Are you sure?”
The man nodded. “No doubt about it. We send out duplicates of records we keep here. There’s no original for that one.”
“Is it possible that it’s been misplaced?”
The manager shook his head. “Of course, mistakes are possible. But the number on the document isn’t in the right sequence. It doesn’t match with the date. That document’s forged!” The man was offended, as though it were a personal insult. On the other hand, Kubu was ecstatic.
“That’s wonderful news! Thank you. Thank you. I’ll see you later.”
With that, Kubu almost ran from the building, leaving the manager staring after him, open-mouthed.
KUBU HAD PHONED AHEAD, asking that Mabaku and Samantha meet him on his return. So when he burst into the meeting room, they were already there.
“This had better be good,” Mabaku grumbled. “I’ve got five reports to write today.”
“It’s better than good,” Kubu exclaimed. “I think we may have him.” He sat down, then jumped up again and told them about Coffin Major and Coffin Minor and his realization that the albino had to have been buried alone in a coffin. He explained how he’d obtained a copy of the burial documentation from Rampa’s funeral parlor for an unknown person buried just after the albino died. He finished by saying that the city told him that the certificate was not genuine. It was a fake; a forgery; they had no record of such a person.
“Now we have reason to exhume the body! The state needs to know who it is! In the meantime, I’m going to interview Rampa.” Samantha had never seen Kubu so revved up. It was quite endearing.
RAMPA WAS BUSY PREPARING for a funeral the next day, but Kubu insisted that they talk in private. Once they were in Rampa’s office, he passed him the copy of the document he’d been given by Rampa’s assistant.
“What do you make of this, Rra Rampa?”
“It’s a burial document from the city. Where did you get it?”
“It’s a copy of the certificate for one of your clients. He was buried on the eighth of May.”
Rampa looked at the certificate again more carefully. He was quiet for a few moments. “Oh, yes. Identity unknown.” He shrugged.
“How was he brought here?”
“By ambulance. I accepted the body and the paperwork.”
“Did anyone help you with this?”
“The ambulance man brought the body in.”
“Rra Rampa, that document is a forgery. What do you say to that?”
“It’s a forgery? I’m very surprised.”
“Didn’t you check that everything was in order? You told me last time that you do everything by the book.”
“An ambulance delivers a body with what appears to be genuine documentation. What am I to do?” Rampa was clearly agitated. “I can’t go to the city every time and check. That’s plain nonsense. I’ve a business to run.”
“Did you recognize the ambulance or the driver?”
“No. I don’t pay attention to those things. All I’m interested in is the body and the documentation.”
“Where do you think the body and the ambulance came from? They had to come from somewhere.”
“From the state mortuary! Where do you think they came from?” Rampa was beginning to raise his voice.
“I don’t think there was an ambulance. And I think you know very well where the body came from.”
“What are you saying? That I killed the man? You’re crazy.”
“Rra Rampa, we have a report of an albino who’s missing. And we have a man who says he helped abduct an albino. During the abduction, his partner sent a text message to your phone. We know that’s true. You say it wasn’t meant for you. How convenient! A couple of days after the albino was last seen, a mysterious ambulance delivers a body to you, and you claim you obtained a burial document. Yet there’s no such record at the city. What do you want me to think? That all of these things are unrelated? I don’t believe in coincidences, Rra Rampa. I think you are using your business to make muti from human body parts. Sometimes you take them from the people you are burying, sometimes you kill people for them.”
“You’re crazy! Get out of my office.”
“Rra Rampa, we are going to exhume the body that you so conveniently buried. I expect a positive response tomorrow. In the meantime, I have a constable stationed at the grave to make sure you don’t disturb it overnight. And I have two others patrolling the cemetery to ensure nobody does anything else to disturb our case.”
“Get out!” Rampa screamed.
Kubu got to his feet and leaned toward Rampa.
“Your spells aren’t going to help you now, Rra Rampa. You’re not an invisible witch doctor anymore. I see you very clearly!”
With that, Kubu turned on his heel and walked out.
FIFTY-TWO
IT WAS 6:30 A.M. on Wednesday, and the sun was still below the horizon. Although the air temperature wasn’t really cold, an unpleasant wind was coming from the west, and the three men standing around the grave were wearing sweaters.
“Reminds me of Scotland,” said Ian MacGregor, the pathologist. He wasn’t keen on early rising or cold weather, and wasn’t used to either in Botswana. Kubu grunted and returned his attention to the two cemetery workmen who were digging open the grave in front of them. They had used a backhoe to dig down the first three feet, but now couldn’t use it, for fear of disturbing the remains. At least the burial was recent so the ground was relatively soft. Screens had been erected around the grave for privacy and to prevent any inadvertent disturbance to the neighboring graves.
“I hope this is necessary,” the cemetery officer said. “I don’t like this sort of thing in my cemetery.” Kubu didn’t think it was worth responding.
The digging continued, and the only sound was of the spades going into the ground and the earth being added to the pile at the head of the grave. Slowly the pit deepened until the workers were in it up to their chests. Then came a different sound.
“We’ve hit the coffin,” one of the diggers said. “We’ll have to dig around it so that we can get the ropes underneath to winch it up.”
Kubu felt a twinge of excitement. Detective Thibelo had the undertaker under surveillance. If the body in the coffin was the albino, he would arrest Rampa at once. The witch doctor would be in custody, Mma Gobey would be spared the embarrassment of further questioning, and the news of the arrest would even overshadow the Marumo case, especially if Rampa could be made to confess to being the source of Marumo’s muti and the murderer of the missing children. And, no doubt, Mabaku would get the deputy commissioner position he deserved. Kubu brooded about that. We’ll miss him, he thought.
After some effort, the workers in the grave had hooked up the coffin, and one was guiding it as the other winched it to the surface. The rough pine exterior was stained, and the box wasn’t sealed well enough to stifle the smell. Kubu was glad of his mask. Ian didn’t seem to notice; he watched the coffin rise with interest.
At last it was brought to rest on the dolly, which would be used to wheel it to the waiting vehicle for transportation to Ian’s mortuary.
“Can we look into it here?” Kubu asked.
“Certainly not!” the cemetery officer responded. “We’ll be opening to the public soon. There’ll be dreadful disturbance if you lift the lid of this coffin now. You have your body; get it out of here.”
“He’s right, Kubu,” said Ian. “I think we should do this at the mortuary. Whoever’s in this coffin, I’m going to need to do an autopsy. We may as well deal with everything there.”
Kubu had no option but to be patient a little longer.
IT WAS AN HOUR later by the time they wheeled the coffin into the pathology laboratory at the Princess Marina Hospital. Kubu wanted to be present when the coffin was opened, but as the lid was removed and the stench of putrefaction filled the room, he regretted it. Ian looked into the box. “Certainly not an albino,” he said. “Look at the hair.”
Kubu looked for himself and saw black curly hair and dark skin broken up by decay.
He pulled back. “I was so sure,” he said.
Ian glanced up at him, then immediately back at the body as though he resented being distracted from his new interest. “Well,” he said. “Your undertaker’s still in deep water. Very deep, I’d say. This is a normally pigmented black male, and he looks pretty well fed to me—even overweight. I doubt he’s an indigent or unknown person. What was he doing in a pauper’s grave? Well, we’ll know more when I’ve done the autopsy.” He glanced up at Kubu again. “Do you want to stay?”
Kubu shook his head. He thanked Ian for his help and left to find fresh air.
Who was the man in the coffin? A well-fed individual, who was secretly buried in a pauper’s grave? Was this another murder, and if so, for what motive? Or was a body indeed delivered to the funeral parlor in an ambulance as Rampa insisted?
They needed to search for an appropriate missing person. He started to call Samantha on his cell phone to do that, when he realized how he’d been had.
“HE SWITCHED THE BODIES, Samantha,” he told her. “He knew there was a chance the extra grave would be discovered, so he swapped the murder victim with one of his clients. Of course, after a few years it wouldn’t matter anyway; there’d be no evidence of the murder left.”
Samantha asked what they should do next, and Kubu took a few moments to think about it.
“He won’t have kept an extra body for long. We should check all the burials Rampa did around that time. I’m going to ask his assistant, Robert Tibone.”
KUBU FOUND TIBONE MUCH less cooperative than he’d been on the Monday before.
“Rra Rampa is not in, Assistant Superintendent. He may be some time. I don’t think you should wait.”
“That’s okay, Rra Tibone. I think you can help me.”
Tibone shook his head. “Rra Rampa was very angry about the help I gave you before. I thought I was going to be fired. He shouted and screamed at me. And his orders were quite explicit. If you have a search warrant, we cooperate; otherwise nothing.” He folded his arms.
Kubu pulled up a chair and sat down. He wasn’t going to be brushed off that easily.
“Rra Tibone, when I took that photocopy from you, I thought I was getting a copy of the city documentation for the burial of an unknown man. Did Rra Rampa tell you that the document turned out to be a fake? The city has no record whatsoever of that person. The document was forged.”
Tibone’s mouth hung open as he digested the implications. “That’s impossible.” He paused, and then added, “He didn’t tell me that.”
“So, you see, your boss is in very big trouble indeed. Now the question is whether you want to be associated with that trouble—when you’re looking for another job, for example—or whether you want to be the person who helped the police get to the bottom of the matter.”
Tibone swallowed. “I can’t help you. He’ll kill me if he finds out.”
Kubu shook his head. “I just want some information. You don’t have to give me anything, just answer a few questions. And it’s information I could find out by other means anyway, so no one can trace it back to you.”
“What do you want to know?”
“I just need the names of other men whose funerals you handled on the seventh, eighth, and ninth of May. You told me about them on Monday anyway.”
Tibone hesitated, then turned to his computer and read out the names and the dates of the funerals. If he was curious about why Kubu wanted the information, he gave no sign of it. He breathed a sigh of relief when Kubu had what he wanted and left.
BACK AT HIS OFFICE, Kubu phoned the appropriate department at the city and asked for the manager who’d helped him before. Soon he had the information he wanted—the ages and causes of death of the five men whose funerals Rampa had handled over the key three days. All he needed now was information from Ian. As if on cue, the pathologist phoned.
“I’ve just finished the autopsy, Kubu. I thought you’d want my preliminary findings.”
“Very much!”
“Natural causes.” Ian sounded almost disappointed. “He died of a massive heart attack. It’ll take longer to check for drugs and whatnot, but I’m pretty sure there was no foul play. He was overweight and smoked. Heavily by the looks of his lungs.”
“How old was he?”
Ian had to think about that. “I’d say mid to late fifties. Early sixties at the latest.”
“Fifty-nine?”
“That would fit.”
“Well, Ian, our friend is Aka Ndode, late of Broadhurst. Died of a heart attack on the twenty-fifth of April, 2012, buried by Funerals of Distinction on the eighth of May, 2012.” Kubu quickly explained Rampa’s deception. “One of the other deceased men died of heart failure, but he was seventy-eight.”
“Get me Ndode’s dental records, and we’ll be sure.”
Kubu thanked him and mused about the protocol of what he should do next. In his own mind he was certain that Owido was buried in Aka Ndode’s elegant coffin with, no doubt, a fine headstone on order. So he was within his rights to open Ndode’s grave without reference to the family. But he felt that was the wrong thing to do. The wife’s grief was still fresh. What if she came to the grave to be near her departed loved one and discovered an open hole with her husband gone? It was out of the question. His next visit would have to be to the widow.
THE NDODE RESIDENCE WAS a middle-class house on Kgame Street. The garden was neat, the house recently painted. Kubu knew that his visit, so soon after the funeral, would be a most unwelcome intrusion.
A neatly dressed woman answered his knock.
“Mma Ndode? I’m Assistant Superintendent Bengu of the Botswana Police. I phoned earlier and asked for a few minutes of your time.” He showed her his identification.
“Oh, yes, rra. Please come in.” She led him to a sitting room where the furniture was carefully positioned, the cushions plumped, the side tables clean and polished. Neat, thought Kubu, is what seemed to characterize this couple. Even the funeral would have fitted with that. Until now.
Once they were seated, and he’d refused refreshment, Kubu started to explain the matter as best he could.
“Mma, I’m very sorry to disturb you when you are in mourning for your husband.” The woman nodded, idly playing with the black-cloth mourning strings she was wearing round her neck. “It’s in connection with your husband’s funeral that I wish to speak to you,” Kubu continued. He hesitated, trying unsuccessfully to find a gentle way of breaking the news. “I’m sorry to tell you that a terrible mistake occurred at the undertaker’s premises. Two bodies were switched and buried in the wrong graves. Your husband was one of them.”
The woman sat for several seconds trying to digest this. “You mean I didn’t bury Aka? How can that be? That very morning I saw him in the coffin that Rra Rampa helped us choose. How could there be a mistake?” He could hear the growing tension in her voice.
“It’s very regrettable, mma,” Kubu said. “A very strange story indeed. But all is well. Your husband’s remains are absolutely safe, and as soon as the whole matter has been cleared up, he’ll be placed in the correct coffin and restored to his proper resting place. If you and your family would wish to be involved with that, it can be arranged, of course.”
Mma Ndode thought about that. “Why are the police involved? Why haven’t I heard from Rra Rampa? He was so helpful before . . .” She was close to tears.
“Mma, you can appreciate that when such a serious event occurs, the police have to be brought in. To ensure that the remains are safe and properly treated.” He thought it tactful not to mention Ian’s activities of that morning. “I’m sure Rra Rampa will speak to you in person. He’s very busy trying to discover exactly what happened, and he’ll want to tell you himself when he finds out.”
“Who . . . who is in Aka’s grave?” Tears filled her eyes and started to run down her cheeks.
“We’re not sure at the moment. We’ll know soon.”
“And you’re sure he’s safe? I’ve heard terrible things. Things about witch doctors . . .”
“Yes, mma. His remains are absolutely safe.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “I’m sorry. This has brought it all back to me. Would you leave now?”
Kubu nodded and rose. “There is just one more thing, mma. Could you tell me who your husband’s dentist was?”
“Why do you want to know that?”
“We’ll be able to get an absolutely definite identification from his dental records.”
“I could identify him.”
Kubu shook his head. “I don’t think that would be wise.”
She understood and gave him the details of the dentist. Then she showed him out.
Before he drove off, Kubu phoned Samantha and asked her to contact the dentist and get the records to the pathologist right away. He also asked her to contact Broadhurst cemetery and arrange another exhumation for the next morning. That would be definite as soon as Ian confirmed the identity of the body in his laboratory.
AT 8:30 A.M. ON Thursday, a much more imposing coffin rested on the table in the pathologist’s mortuary. When the lid was levered off, Owido’s sightless eyes stared up at Ian and Kubu. Even before the autopsy, there was no doubt about the unpleasant and violent nature of his death. Even Ian’s face registered shock.
Although Kubu had kept the second exhumation quiet, Rampa had got wind of it somehow or had simply realized that Kubu would quickly see through his ruse. Detective Thibelo, who’d been keeping a careful eye on him, followed him to Tlokweng and arrested him as he tried to cross into South Africa. Thibelo treated Rampa with nervous respect, and carefully handcuffed him to the passenger-seat armrest. He’d heard a rumor that Rampa could make himself invisible.