A Death in the Family (6 page)

“Where do you normally keep the keys?”

“There is an old clay pot on the table in the living room—”

“The one with the piece missing? I know it,” Kubu interrupted.

Amantle nodded. “It was a gift from my parents when we got married.”

“I'll be back in a minute.”

Kubu heaved himself out of his chair and walked next door to his parents' house. Before he went inside, he walked slowly around the building to see if there were any signs of a break-in. It would be ironic, he mused, if the intruder had broken in instead of just walking through the unlocked front door. However, there were no signs of anything having been forced.

When he reached the front again, he climbed up on the veranda and pushed the front door open, making sure not to touch anything. He picked his way through the debris on the floor, and then, using his handkerchief, he lifted the pot and turned it upside down. It was empty.

Kubu put the pot back in its place, carefully left the room, and returned next door to his cup of tea.

“I'll arrange to have the locks changed today,” Kubu told his mother. “The key is missing, and I don't want you worrying when we go back home. I'll get both outside doors changed.”

Amantle nodded. “Why are they doing this to us?” she asked. “We have nothing valuable.”

“Are you sure Father didn't say anything about a person he was meant to meet or an arrangement he was making?”

Amantle shook her head. “He never said anything to me.”

*   *   *

WHEN HE'D FINISHED
his second cup of tea, Kubu took his leave and went to speak to the people Mma Ngombe had suggested. He learned absolutely nothing, drew a complete blank. Nobody had heard or seen anything. Mostly, they wanted to talk about the funeral arrangements and were concerned that Amantle would have to get a move on to complete the rituals in time.

As he was walking back to Mma Ngombe's house, he noticed that Director Mabaku's car was parked in front of his parents' house, but Zanele's wasn't.

He'll have to wait for her before he can take a good look around, he thought. But when he walked into Mma Ngombe's house, he was surprised to find Mabaku there, also having tea.

“Sit down, Kubu.” This was a command rather than an invitation. Kubu settled himself on the sofa, mentally bracing himself for a typical Mabaku tirade.

“Where have you been?” Mabaku snapped.

“I just went to see if Father's front door key was in its usual place.”

“You did what?” Mabaku jumped to his feet.

“I went to see—”

“I told you to stay out of the house!” Drops of saliva flew out of Mabaku's angry mouth. “What don't you understand about what I told you?” Mabaku was close to shouting. “You could contaminate the crime scene and wreck the whole investigation! What makes you so important that you don't have to listen to me?”

“The door was unlocked…”

“So what? I told you not to get involved.” Mabaku took a deep breath. “And what were you talking to the neighbors about? I saw you. From my car and from this window.”

Kubu squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. “I just wanted to know if they had seen anything last night. I was just trying to save you some time.”

“What did I tell you?”

“You said I should keep well away from the investigation into my father's murder.”

“And don't you think this break-in is linked to your father's murder? And don't dare say no!”

“But, Director—”

“This is my final warning, Kubu. One more time, and you'll be stationed in Tshane or Kang. For five years! With no chance of an appeal. Do you understand?”

Kubu decided discretion was the better part of valor and nodded. “Yes, Director. I understand.”

Mabaku turned and thanked a shocked Mma Ngombe and stalked out.

As Kubu watched through the sitting room window, Mabaku strode toward Amantle's house and Zanele Dlamini, who had just arrived.

I hope she finds something, Kubu thought. If she doesn't, Mabaku's going to rip her to shreds.

*   *   *

KUBU STOOD UP
and thanked Mma Ngombe. Then he turned to Amantle.

“Come on, Mother,” he said. “We'd better go home. I'll phone Joy and tell her we're going to be there for dinner.”

“I am not going back to Gaborone.” Amantle's voice was firm. “I need to prepare for your father's funeral on Saturday. And now I have only four days left to do it. You go home, and I will stay here and arrange everything.”

“But, Mother—”

“I have made up my mind, David. I am staying. If I cannot use my own home, Mma Ngombe will let me stay here, I am sure.”

Mma Ngombe nodded.

“Then it is settled. When will you return to Mochudi, David?” his mother asked.

Kubu sighed. He couldn't argue with his mother over something as important as her husband's funeral.

“All right, Mother. You win. We'll both stay as planned. And we'll stay in your house. We'll just have to wait until they've finished with all their work. I'll see you in an hour.”

With a nod to Mma Ngombe, Kubu turned and walked out, hoping he could persuade someone at the hardware store to come and install the new locks.

 

CHAPTER 11

When Mabaku and Zanele left Amantle's house, Kubu took his mother back. They found the house in far better shape than it had been earlier in the day. His colleagues had tidied things up.

“Director Mabaku is such a nice man,” Amantle said as she saw what had been done. “And Detective Khama is very nice too.”

“How do you know Detective Khama, Mother?”

“While you were sorting out the locks, she came and said she would pray for your father's soul. And for me as well.”

Kubu frowned. That didn't sound like the Samantha he knew. “Is that all she said?” he asked.

“Oh no. She also asked about your father's friends. She wanted to talk to them. She was very kind.”

Kubu felt a flash of resentment that a junior detective was trying to find his father's murderer rather than himself. What experience does she have? he thought bitterly. It should be me on the case.

He took a deep breath and set to work putting everything back in order, while Amantle stitched the mattresses and pillows so the stuffing wouldn't come spewing out when they lay down. The sofa would have to wait until the next day.

Among the papers that had been stacked on the dining room table, Kubu came across the funeral policy that his mother had mentioned. He opened it and found what he had expected. The policy was twenty years old and paid a mere five thousand pula—barely enough for a coffin at today's prices and certainly not enough to cover the costs of the food. At least it is something, he thought.

Another thought struck him as he sifted through the papers. “Mother, did Father have a will?”

Amantle stopped sewing. “Yes, he did. I remember he got one of the elders to help him with it when you turned twenty-one. He said it needed to be changed. That seems a long time ago now.”

Kubu knew it was a long time, over fifteen years. “Do you know where he kept it?”

Without a word, Amantle put aside the cushion and walked to the bedroom. He heard her open the cupboard and pull something out. “They are gone!” she exclaimed. “All his papers!”

She returned to the lounge carrying a metal lockbox with rust around the hinges. “He kept his private papers in here, like his will and his identity document and his savings book from the bank. It is all gone! These
skelms
have stolen it. They kill him and then they come and steal his things…” She collapsed into a chair and started to weep.

Kubu went to comfort her. “Mother, that may not be it. I found his identity card on the table with the other papers. Maybe the detectives just picked the things off the floor and put them here for us to sort out. Don't worry. I'll go through everything.” But Amantle shook her head and continued to cry.

Kubu returned to the table and sorted the papers. “Ah!” he said, pleased. “Here's the savings book! I'm sure the will is here too.”

But it wasn't. And although they searched the whole house, they could find no trace of it.

I should really let Mabaku know, Kubu thought. But let's see how long it takes them to
ask
us if anything's been taken.

 

CHAPTER 12

The meeting at the CID the next morning was not pretty. Mabaku was in a foul mood because there had been little progress, and Zanele had found nothing at Amantle's house that she could use.

“There were no signs of a forced entry,” she said. “I think the murderer must've taken the front-door key from Kubu's father.” She glanced nervously at Mabaku. “We have nothing to go on,” she continued, exasperated. “We've picked up a lot of hairs and will start going through them today. But I doubt they'll be any help. There've been dozens of people there over the past few days. And the same goes for fingerprints—lots of them, but we'll have to eliminate them one by one by checking on everyone who's been at the house. Even then, it's unlikely we'll get a match. Whoever broke in was pretty careful.”

She looked at her notebook. “We've also been trying to identify the maker of the boot that left the partial print near the crime scene. The tread is very unusual and doesn't match any of our records. We sent a print to Interpol so see if they could help. They responded very quickly for a change. It's a common boot made in China. I have one of my people going to all the Chinese general stores in Gabs to see if they carry them.”

Then it was Samantha's turn. She reported that she had just received information from Mascom about the calls on Wilmon's phone.

“The three calls not from Kubu came from pay phones in Mahalapye. Two from the same phone and the third from a different one.”

“Mahalapye?” Mabaku interjected. “Kubu's father's half brother lives there. They didn't get on apparently. Go on.”

“I also made a list of Rra Bengu's closest friends,” Samantha continued. “I'm going back to Mochudi later today to talk to them.”

She closed her notebook and leaned forward.

“There is one other thing, though,” she said. All heads turned toward her. “It's just an idea that I had. When the director, Zanele, and I were going through the house, everything had been searched—cupboards, drawers, pillows and mattresses, you name it. Including books. That got me thinking. If the intruder was looking inside books, he had to be looking for something flat, like a photograph or piece of paper. It couldn't be something with bulk.”

There was silence in the room.

“That's a very good idea,” Zanele said.

“I agree,” Mabaku chimed in. “I'm not sure how it helps at the moment, but let's keep it in mind and see if it leads anywhere. Check with Kubu's mother if anything like that is missing.”

He stood up to leave, but Edison put up his hand.

“Director, I have an update on what I reported yesterday.”

“Yes, Edison. What is it?”

“I told you about the unrest in Shoshong. My friend now thinks that there could be real trouble at a
kgotla
they're going to have at the end of the week. Apparently, the chief is going to make some people move to another part of town, and they don't want to.”

Mabaku grunted. “Well, what the chief decides has nothing to do with us. But give the station in Shoshong a call, Edison, and make sure they're on top of it. They may want to have some constables at the
kgotla
. Now, let's go and find who killed Kubu's father.”

 

CHAPTER 13

At the same time that the meeting at the CID was in progress, Kubu was finishing a small breakfast of bread and jam accompanied by a cup of strong tea. Not enough, he thought. I'll have to go into town for a little more.

His mother was making a list of things to do to ensure her husband's funeral was a success.

“I am going to the church, David,” she said. “I have to make sure that the priest is available for the funeral, as well as the church hall for the meal afterward. And I want to use their kitchen on Friday—it will be a big funeral, so we will have a great deal to prepare.”

“Let me take you, Mother. I'll drop you off while you talk to the priest; then I'll come and pick you up afterward. I'm sure you'll want to visit the butcher too—you'll have to order a huge amount of meat. I'll tell him that I will be paying. And the supermarket, of course. And we should have lots of drinks. It will be hot, and people will be thirsty. Will cold drinks, beer, and a little wine be okay?”

No wonder it takes a week to prepare for a funeral, he thought. So much food to prepare, so many people to socialize with.

“Thank you, David. That is very kind of you,” Amantle responded. “I will be ready in fifteen minutes.”

*   *   *

KUBU WAS FEELING
pleased with himself that he'd finessed a chance for a real breakfast without upsetting his mother. He knew that her visit to the priest would be prolonged, so he'd have time for a substantial portion of eggs, bacon, sausage, and fried tomatoes, followed by toast and marmalade. But when he arrived at the restaurant and considered the menu, he realized that he wasn't really hungry. The thought of the food had occupied his mind but not whetted his appetite. “I'll just have a large cappuccino,” he told the waitress.

To pass the time he read the latest copy of
Mmegi
but found little of interest. Just as he was about to leave, his phone rang. It was Samantha. A wave of irritation hit him.

“How are you doing,” she asked softly.

“I'd be a lot better if I was helping.”

There was a silence. Then Samantha continued. “Did your mother notice anything missing from her house after the break-in?”