A Death in the Family (19 page)

Kubu thought the question a bit unfair given how little sleep they'd all had. He started to reply, but Mabaku brushed it aside. “Never mind. Another man died last night from a gunshot wound. We're going to get to the bottom of this, Kubu. Who was behind it, who led that riot, who joined in. I'll get every policeman I can lay my hands on going door to door, finding out who was at the
kgotla
, and finding out what they saw. We'll get the bastards who killed our policemen and those elders.”

Kubu started to comment, but again Mabaku interrupted. “What I want you to do is find out who or what was behind all this. It wasn't spontaneous. Some group must have set it up. Those are the people I want to get my hands on.”

Kubu was relieved that he wasn't to join the door-to-door brigade. “Any idea where I should start?”

Mabaku nodded. “I've been talking to the station commander.
He
was here early. Good man. He knows what's happening in his town. It turns out one of the elders on the chief's council didn't go to the
kgotla
yesterday. Apparently, he's not well. Anyway, he should have some insight into what was going on between the chief and the different interests involved, if anyone does.” As an afterthought, he added, “You'd better talk to the mine manager too.”

Kubu nodded. It seemed like a sensible place to begin. “What's the elder's name and where can I find him?”

“It's Rra Nwako. I'll get a constable to show you where he lives. It's in the old part of town, and it's hard to find anything there.” Mabaku sighed. “Kubu, this is a very big deal. It could affect tourism and the stock market—good thing it's closed today. And the commissioner just phoned me to say that the president wants to come and address the people at the very same place where everything blew up yesterday! That will be a security nightmare. He's agreed to wait a few days, but the commissioner knows him. He says the president won't back down once he's made up his mind.”

A constable bustled in with some papers for Mabaku. He glanced at them and said, “Please take Assistant Superintendent Bengu to Rra Nwako's house right away.” Then he turned his attention back to Kubu and added with a touch of sarcasm, “You'd better hurry, Kubu, or you'll miss your lunch.”

It didn't seem to be the moment to mention the Tobela visit, so Kubu just nodded and followed the constable out to the car park.

*   *   *

RRA NWAKO'S HOUSE
looked as though it had been built in the glory days of Khama III at the end of the nineteenth century, when Shoshong was a trading post for travelers from all points of the compass. It was large with a view of the hills, but it had fallen on hard times and needed plastering and a good coat of paint.

An old man was sitting on the veranda eating porridge and drinking black tea. He greeted Kubu but didn't interrupt his breakfast.

“Would you like tea, rra? My daughter will make you some.” Without waiting for a reply, he called out, “Funeka, will you come out here, please.” Raising his voice was too much for him, and he started coughing. A woman appeared and watched the old man with concern.

Once he caught his breath, Nwako introduced Kubu to his daughter, adding, “The assistant superintendent would like a cup of tea. And I would like another myself.” The woman nodded and left, and Nwako started coughing again.

“Funeka says it is the smoking. Maybe she is right. She will not let me smoke in the house. Do you have any cigarettes with you?”

“I'm sorry, rra. I don't smoke.”

“It's a terrible thing that has happened here, rra.” Nwako shook his head and swallowed another spoonful of porridge. “All these people dead. Young people with lives before them. Old people with much wisdom. This town will never be the same again. The trust is gone.” He shook his head again and finished his breakfast in silence.

After a short while, Funeka brought the tea. She looked at her father with concern. “Emphysema. That's what the doctor called it,” she said. “I know it's because of the smoking, but he won't stop.”

“Just as well, is it not?” Nwako said. “If I did not have the excuse of being ill, I would have been at the
kgotla
yesterday, and you would be arranging my funeral this morning like the families of the others.” His voice caught as he said it.

“He's completely impossible,” she told Kubu, but it was said with affection. Then she left them to talk.

“Rra,” Kubu began, “we're trying to understand what happened yesterday. We're hoping you can help us with that.”

The elder met Kubu's eyes and said nothing for a few seconds. “It is impossible to understand what happened yesterday. But I can tell you what happened before.” He paused. “You know about the mine and the jobs?” Kubu nodded. “Traditions are important, Assistant Superintendent. Our culture is based on our traditions. History is important too. Shoshong has a very long history. Many years before the days of Khama the Third, there were Tswana people here. Thousands of years before that, there was an Iron Age settlement in these hills. There are important relics from those people in the museum in Gaborone, pottery, iron tools. Perhaps you have seen them?” Kubu shook his head.

“You see,” the old man commented, “people these days are not interested in such things; they live for the present.” He paused. “But sometimes old people think that the past is all that is important. Our chief, rest his soul, was like that. He knew the town needed jobs, that the young men wanted to work—at least those who were not content to lounge around the shebeens all day—but his mind was always on the past, preserving our traditions and our history. That was what was important. He said that the young men could go to Francistown for work.” He shook his head. “If that happens, the town will die.”

“So you supported letting the mine expand?”

Nwako nodded slowly. “It was the only way. But I was the only elder who thought so. Of course, the chief's son, Julius, supported it too. Very strongly.”

“But that made no difference?”

Nwako shook his head. “Julius went to the mine management. He told us he was negotiating with them. That made his father very angry. It is the chief's role to do that; Julius went behind his back. I think it hardened the chief's resolve to turn down the mine's offer.”

Kubu brooded about that. So there was tension between Julius and his father, and Julius had now all but declared himself chief. And presumably if Julius did become chief, the mine would get its way. So both Julius and the mine had much to gain from the chief's death. Another mining issue, Kubu thought. Newsom had come to Mahalapye to visit a mining company on the day he was attacked. Could there be a connection?

“I'm confused, rra. Why was this even an issue for the chief? It is the director of mines in Gaborone who decides on mining licenses and so on.”

Nwako nodded. “Yes, but here people are living on the land the mine wants. The mine has to get our agreement. Julius told us the mine would get approval from the director if we gave our permission. I do not understand how he knew that.”

“I suppose you will support him to be the new chief?”

Nwako raised his eyebrows. “In Shoshong, the chief rotates between groups, Assistant Superintendent. It doesn't automatically go from father to son.” He shook his head. “As for Julius, I agreed with him on this issue, but I do not trust him.” He coughed again, hawked, and spat into his handkerchief. “Rra, you must excuse me now,” he said when he'd caught his breath. “I am old and much saddened by all this. Now I must go and visit the families of my late friends.”

“Of course, rra. Thank you for your help. I may come back again if I need to know more. But I have just one more question for now. What sort of car did the chief drive?”

Nwako looked surprised. “The chief? He did not have a car. He did not know how to drive. Why do you ask that?”

“I was just curious. Someone told me the chief drove to Tobela to speak at the
kgotla
there.”

Nwako nodded. “A group of us went to visit their elders. It was about a month ago. Julius drove us in his car. It's a silver car. A Toyota, I think.”

Kubu took a deep breath. Now he recalled that the Mochudi bartender had told Samantha about the age difference between Wilmon and his visitor. Although he had no real evidence, Kubu's gut told him that it was Julius Koma who visited his father in Mochudi the week he was killed.

 

CHAPTER 34

Kubu sat in his car and wondered what to do next. He was itching to challenge Julius about whether he'd been to Mochudi, but should he rather show the bartender Julius's picture first? That would be the cautious strategy, probably the right strategy. But Kubu felt time was getting short, and everyone was tied up in Shoshong trying to discover what had happened at the riot and preparing for the president's visit. Also, if he told Mabaku about his hunch, he would be sidelined again—perhaps even on the Shoshong case. Kubu shook his head. He needed to do something. But what exactly? He couldn't very well question Julius about the car. Mabaku would have a fit.

While he was thinking about it, he scratched through his notes and found the details of the manager at Konshua Mine. At least he should fulfill Mabaku's instructions. He dialed the number, and just when he was about to give up, the phone was answered by someone speaking Chinese.

“Good morning. This is Assistant Superintendent Bengu of the Botswana CID. Can I speak to the mine manager, please?”

“I am Shonhu. Mr. Hong is not available. It is Sunday.” The English was accented but easy enough to understand.

“There's been a lot of trouble in Shoshong. I need to speak to him urgently.”

“He is available tomorrow, not today. I have an announcement from the mine. I will read it to you.” There was a pause and the rustling of papers. After a few moments the man came back on the line and read, “The Konshua Mine management and staff express great regret at the sorrowful events in the historic town of Shoshong. The Konshua Mine had great respect and affection for Chief Koma. It is regrettable that a misunderstanding led him to believe that the mine was not concerned about the traditions and history of the great town of Shoshong. In fact, China has a great heritage and greatly respects the heritage of others. Once a period of mourning is past, we look forward to engaging with the new chief to resolve all misunderstandings to the benefit of the people of Shoshong and the Konshua Mine. The mine will be closed on Monday as a gesture of respect to those injured and killed. All workers will receive full pay.”

There was a pause. I suppose I'm expected to clap, Kubu thought. They obviously have a good spin doctor there, but I could have read that in tomorrow's
Daily News
. “I need to speak to Mr. Hong at once,” he reiterated.

“I regret. It is not possible.” The connection was cut. Kubu immediately phoned back, but this time the phone just rang.

Kubu sat in his car and fumed. He started the engine and switched on the air conditioner. Who do these people think they are? They come to our country, exploit our resources, cause a riot, and then tell us they are not available to the police on Sunday. Perhaps Mr. Shonhu needs a call from the commissioner. Or, even better, Director Mabaku. In the meantime, I'm getting nowhere and still have no idea what to do about Julius Koma. Then, his problem was solved in an unexpected way. His phone rang and it was Samantha.

“Hello, Kubu. I'm so glad we're working together again. I mean … Anyway, I've been talking to bartenders in the shebeens around Shoshong, and I've picked up something you should know.”

Bartenders seem to have become her specialty, Kubu thought grumpily. “What's that?”

“On Friday, Julius Koma—the chief's son—visited a number of bars and chatted to the locals. His message was that they must push the chief and elders hard at the
kgotla
. Threaten them, if necessary.”

“You're saying Julius was behind the riot?” Kubu said, amazed.

Samantha hesitated. “No. He was very clear. No violence. No one gets hurt. But still! He was the chief's son, and he was stirring up the people against him. He must've known that if the chief ruled against the mine there could be trouble.”

It seems that Julius isn't the good guy he's cut himself out to be, Kubu thought. And suddenly he knew what he needed to do.

“We need to talk to him, Samantha. Julius said nothing about this in the interview last night. We need to hear his side of the story. I have his cell number, so I'll call him and set up a meeting. I want you there; this is your lead. In fact, I want you to question him.”

“You do?” Samantha was pleased.

“I'll call you right back.”

*   *   *

IT WAS JULIUS'S
choice to meet at a coffee shop. He said his mother couldn't cope with anything more at the moment, and the house was full of relatives arranging the funeral. Kubu remembered how large Wilmon's funeral had been and imagined that the whole of Shoshong would turn out for the chief's. Old and young—even if they'd helped strike him down. In other circumstances, he would have felt a lot of sympathy for Julius.

When Kubu reached the coffee shop, Samantha was already outside, admiring a display of cakes in the window. “I can't eat these things,” she said regretfully. “They're full of calories.” Kubu thought he might manage a slice. Breakfast had been tea and a piece of toast.

“Samantha, you question Koma. But there's one extra question I want you to work in. Ask him about his car.”

Samantha frowned. “His car? What's that got to do with anything?”

“You'll find out. Look, here he is now.”

“Good morning, Assistant Superintendent. This better be quick. I'm glad to get out for a while, but I've got lots to do.”