Deadly Harvest A Detective Kubu Mystery - By Michael Stanley Page 0,4
Marumo’s on time—fifteen minutes late at most.
He shook his head. He knew it was wishful thinking. The doctor liked to talk about criminal behavior with Kubu and always dragged out Tumi’s appointments when he was there. If Marumo was on time, and he, Kubu, was late, Mabaku would banish him to a distant village like Tshwane or Shakawe, where he’d be far from his family and the food would be inedible.
No. He’d better reschedule Tumi’s appointment for later in the week. Joy would not be happy.
He sat down behind his desk with its orderly piles and picked up the phone.
“Joy Bengu, please. It’s her husband speaking.” He held the phone away from his ear to minimize the noise of shouting children. Joy worked at a day-care center.
After a few minutes, she came to the phone.
“Hello, my dear,” Kubu said in his most loving voice.
“Don’t tell me you can’t take Tumi to the doctor!” Joy’s voice was not loving.
“Something’s come up, and the director’s made an appointment for me at noon. There’s nothing I can do.”
“Since when has the director made your appointments? You know I can’t take Tumi today.”
“I feel terrible about it, my darling. I hadn’t forgotten.” He paused. “Confidentially, a threat was made against Bill Marumo this morning. Mabaku’s given it top priority. I’m sure the commissioner is worried that people will accuse the BDP of intimidating the opposition. It could all blow out of control if it’s not well handled. I’m sure that’s why he wants me involved.”
“Is Marumo all right?”
“Yes. It was just a threat. I’ll tell you about it later. Promise me you won’t tell Pleasant. It’s really confidential at the moment.” Joy and her sister Pleasant were inseparable. They shared everything, sometimes to Kubu’s embarrassment.
Kubu sensed the reluctance in her voice as she promised.
“I’ll call the doctor and reschedule.”
He heard Joy sigh. “I’ll do it,” she said. “And you’d better make sure that nothing happens to Marumo. He’s going to save this country, if anyone can. And don’t forget the funeral. You’d better pick us up at three. And you promised to think about the little girl. Will you do that?”
“Yes, dear. I will. Thank you, dear.” Kubu was indeed grateful.
BEFORE KUBU COULD SETTLE down, there was a knock, and a short, thin woman walked in, her police uniform hiding any hint of femininity.
“Good morning, Assistant Superintendent,” she said. “I’m Detective Khama.” She extended her arm to shake hands, touching her right forearm with the fingers of her left hand in the respectful way.
“Ah, yes. We met the day you arrived.” He was surprised by the firmness of her grip. “Please sit down. How are things going?”
“Thank you for seeing me. It’s been a hard two weeks—so much to learn. So much bureaucracy. I’m glad I took all those computer courses. I can see some of the older detectives really struggling.”
“I’m one of them!” Kubu smiled. “So how can I help you?”
“Rra, I’ve been assigned—”
“Please call me Kubu. Everyone does. I’ve had the nickname since I was about fourteen. A friend of mine told me that I wasn’t a David—my real name—but a Kubu. I was really upset at first at being called a hippopotamus, but soon everyone was using the name, and it actually made me feel a little special. I came to like it. Now I barely know my real name.”
“That’s a nice story. As I was saying—”
“You’re older than most of our new detectives. What did you do before coming here?”
“Ever since I was a teenager, I wanted to be in the police. But my family is poor, so I couldn’t go to university. And I’m small, so they didn’t want to take me as an ordinary constable. So I worked for seven years as a secretary in a law firm so I had enough money to get a degree through the University of South Africa.”
Kubu nodded, impressed. UNISA was a correspondence university, and the degrees were challenging. Samantha must have been very focused.
“That’s impressive. But how did you get into the CID?”
“I made an appointment with the commissioner of police and told him I wanted to be a detective. He wasn’t very helpful at first, but when I pointed out there were no women in the CID, and the constitution gave women equal rights, he changed his mind.” A glimmer of a smile flitted across an otherwise impassive face.
I’m sure the conversation didn’t go quite like that, Kubu thought. Maybe that’s where the rumors started. Taking on the commissioner of