Deadly Harvest A Detective Kubu Mystery - By Michael Stanley Page 0,8
I see you’ve got an electric gate across the driveway. Was it open?”
“No. We always shut it at night. If the government spread the wealth around a little more, there wouldn’t be so much car theft.”
“So, whoever left it must’ve climbed over the wall.”
“That’s what the lady detective said this morning. They found footprints as well, next to the tree at the gate. She thought whoever it was scaled the wall to get in and used that tree to get out.”
Kubu frowned. “Lady detective?”
“Very attractive woman. Didn’t ask many questions, but poked around and took a lot of photos . . .”
“Oh! You mean Zanele Dlamini. She’s not a detective. She’s from Forensics.”
Bill shrugged.
“Well, thank you for your time, Rra Marumo. We’ll be in touch if we learn anything.” Kubu struggled out of the low sofa. It’s like a sports car, he thought. Nice to be in, hard to get out.
“I think it looks like something that a witch doctor would do—or someone imitating a witch doctor. You know, a spell for bad luck,” Kubu said. “Do you believe in that sort of thing?”
Marumo smiled. “No, Superintendent. I do not. We live in the twenty-first century now. That’s stuff of the past. The country would be better off if it paid more attention to accurate information than to the rantings of old men and women who think they’ve got special powers. Have you been to a kgotla? Chiefs and their advisers—all ancient—invoking the spirits to help them mete out justice.” He shook his head. “No, we must move our country into the present. Make it energetic. Make our people energetic, not lazy as they are now. Then the country will prosper. Everyone will improve their lot. Have a roof over their heads, and food on the table.”
He can’t get off his soapbox, Kubu thought. I wonder if he’s still on it when he’s in bed with his girlfriend.
“Rra Marumo, please call me if you are suspicious of anyone. Or if you remember something you’ve not told me.” Kubu shrugged. “But on the basis of what you’ve said, I don’t have anything to go on—unless Forensics found something useful, like fingerprints that we can match. But I doubt they will, unfortunately.”
Marumo nodded.
“And you may want to hire a night watchman. That may be enough to scare off anyone who wants to do this again. Or put barbed wire on the wall and the gate, like your neighbors.”
Kubu handed him a business card and shook his hand. “I hope something like this doesn’t happen again.”
He started to leave, then stopped. “Please ask your lady friend to call me as soon as possible. I’m sure I won’t learn anything new—but you never know.”
As he walked back to his car, Kubu thought the chances of finding who’d left the dog’s head were slim. He shook his head. He remembered when politics in Botswana were clean. And that wasn’t long ago.
“I hope this isn’t a sign of things to come,” he muttered to himself.
FOUR
BY THE TIME HE’D navigated around the crowd of reporters and was heading back to Millenium Park, Kubu was ravenous. Mabaku would just have to wait for his report; Kubu needed lunch. He settled for the Wimpy at Game City and had steak, eggs, and chips, but skipped dessert because he was pushed for time. Then he rushed to see Mabaku and was glad to find him free. He had to fetch Joy at 3 p.m.
Mabaku glanced up from the paperwork that seemed to be swallowing his desk and waved Kubu to a chair. “What did you find out?”
“Not much. I haven’t had a chance to check with Zanele, but there are no obvious clues.”
“Do you think it was political?”
“It was political all right, but not necessarily the BDP. The smaller parties fight even more bitterly between themselves.” He hesitated. “Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if Marumo set it up himself for the publicity.”
Mabaku’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Decapitate a dog and leave it for his girlfriend to find? That’s pretty extreme.”
Kubu shrugged. “He’s a born showman. He was performing for the reporters when I arrived. And we only have his word that his girlfriend, Jubjub, found the thing. I want to question her about that. He’s not at all worried, either. Apparently he’s destined to be president of Botswana. No one can stop him. Can you believe the arrogance of the man?”
“Kubu, I know you dislike him, and I can’t say his politics appeal to me much, either, but he could