Ivory Ghosts (19 page)

We climbed down the bank as we watched a man standing in a
mokoro
pole his way through the dense reeds and paddle to shore. Jon called down to the man, “Need any help down there?”

The man jerked his head up to see us standing on the bank just above him. It was Alvares. “Oh, didn't see you there.” Flustered, he climbed out of the
mokoro
and approached us through the reeds. Behind him, bags of mealie meal lined the bottom of the boat. A woman sat on one of the bags at the back, holding her hand over her face.

“Ah, Alvares! Serenading the great gray greasy Zambezi at night, are you?” Jon said.

“Figured you for a Kipling fan.” Breathless, Alvares held his hand out. “Howzit?”

Jon shook his hand suspiciously. “Nothing less than. So, what brings you out here on this pleasant evening? Bit of sightseeing?” He waved to the woman. “Good evening, Chastity!”

The woman turned away, still holding a hand over her face.

“A fine night for a lullaby across the Zambezi!” Jon chortled. “How's the baby?”

The woman didn't answer.

“Had to take the guys back across the border.” Alvares nervously ran a hand through his slick thinning hair. “Got some new ones working at the deli.”

Jon assessed the bags of meal from afar. “Zambian cashiers? I hear they're remarkably diligent at their task.” He pointed at the bags. “Do rations come with the job?” he asked sarcastically. “I'm sure their wives are happy. Should throw in some of that U.S. aid cooking oil—God knows it's not being handed out for free. It goes right off the donation trunk and into the looters' hands. But it's pretty easy to get hold of for a small fee—it's all relative, really. Shame. Those Americans
do
have good intentions.”

Poking out from underneath the bags were black triangular shapes like the butts of automatic weapons.

Alvares shifted the bags to cover the cargo underneath. “It keeps their fingers out of the till, if that's what you mean.”

Jon laughed. “Right. Well, bloody good of you to escort them.”

“If I didn't, no telling what they'd get up to on this river.”

“No telling,” Jon spat under his breath and then changed his tactic suddenly. “Listen, gotta run, but cheers, hey?”

I hesitated, confused as to why Jon didn't ask what else was in the boat.

Alvares nodded in relief. “Cheers.”

Alvares watched us nervously from the riverbank as we got into Jon's truck and drove away.

“Christ!” Jon pounded his fist on the steering wheel in frustration.

“Why didn't you ask to see what was in the boat?”

“I've been through this a number of times, trust me. Weapons are not my jurisdiction, and just as they dropped our photos of Geldenhuis, if I make inroads outside of my jurisdiction, they could throw this out as well.”

“But arms are being traded for ivory throughout Africa. And anyway, aren't poaching weapons within your jurisdiction?”

“Can't prove they're poaching weapons, can we? This could easily be a drug or diamond case. We need to catch this guy properly.”

“So, who can you go to?”

“I'm going straight to the police and hope they catch him in the act. I'll drop you off at your car. Don't want them to see you tied into all this.”

“Okay.”

“See you at the house just now.”

It took about ten minutes to get to Jon's place, where I pulled into the driveway and waited for him to show up. I made a quick call to Craig to let him know that Jon had recognized Ernest as the man in the photo with Geldenhuis. I also told him what was going on with Alvares. Whatever the local jurisdiction was, I wanted WIA to know about it, and I wanted to make sure that others knew about Alvares being found on the road last night in case it turned out to be important to our case. Now that there were weapons tied into the mix, things were that much more complicated—and dangerous.

Twenty minutes later, Jon showed up. He got out and looked up and down the street like he was looking for someone, and then walked over to me.

“How did it go with the police?” I asked as I got out of my car.

Jon squinted into the darkness up the road. “Nigel here yet?”

I shook my head. “Haven't seen him.”

“I spoke to the guys,” he whispered. “They're on their way over there.”

I followed Jon through the dusty gray yard toward the house. Even in the dark, I could see that there was only a sprig or two of green within the entire fenced area.

“Don't mind the empty garden.” Jon touched his temple. “My gardener doesn't have much upstairs. I think the empty space soothes him—poor cretin.”

I laughed. I could tell he wasn't going to give me any more details about how it went with the police, so I let it go for now.

Jon walked me inside his large and very empty government-issue home. “Oh, and don't be alarmed at the lack of furniture. Courtesy of the Zambians. Took every damn thing I had but my prized fly that won me the largest tiger fish in the Zambezi. At least they showed me that kernel of respect.” He showed me to a small room with a bed. “Make yourself at home. Not that this is any kind of home for a sane person. The neighborhood dogs will ruin your night, I promise you.”

I laughed and put my bag on the bed. “I'm sure it will be fine.”

“Tea? Or perhaps at this hour you drinking types would prefer a beer. I'm sure Nigel would join you.”

“I'll have tea first. Sounds great.”

Jon led me through to the kitchen, where torn screens wafted through broken louvers.

I sat down at the table in front of a moldy pile of dried sausage.

Jon lit the stove under the kettle.

I couldn't help but ask one more question. “Do you think they'll get there in time?” I asked casually, staring at the rotting meat, wondering why it was there and whether it was evidence of some kind.

“Bloody better.” He held up a box of Lucky Strikes. “Do you mind?”

“Please, go ahead.” I nodded, amazed that I hadn't seen him smoke earlier.

Jon lit his cigarette, inhaled, and then exhaled discreetly upward and away from me. He started fidgeting as if all of the concerns of Katima were crashing back down on him. I had never seen him quite this on edge.

I turned my attention to the newspaper under the moldy meat. The headlines were several months old, so the meat had probably been sitting there for some time. I scanned a headline—something about the head of the game-capture division stealing sable antelope and selling them on the black market.

Jon nodded toward the sausage with a distant smile. “Wonderful
wors
. Made it on my mate's farm south of Windhoek. Can't get better than the flesh of a gemsbok.”

I didn't have the nerve to ask if he thought the grizzled green sausage was still edible. I didn't want to know, nor did I want to have to back out of a taste test. I was saved by a knock at the door.

“Come in!” Jon called from the kitchen through to the front door.

Nigel walked in with a six-pack of Tafel Lager under his arm. “Right, Jon, your place still looks as empty as Katima Hardware. I thought you were getting some furniture delivered today.”

“Despite Alvares's claim, the only thing a Zambian knows how to be thorough about is stealing. Who knows, maybe they stole my new furniture before it even arrived.”

Nigel laughed, cracking open a beer and handing it to me. “Cheers.”

“Thanks, but I'll have tea first. I'm a little dehydrated.”

“Smart.” Nigel held the bottle up to toast and then took a large swig while Jon went about preparing his kitchen for the roast.

I looked around for something I could do. “Can I chop anything?”

Jon took a cutting board and knife and placed them on the table in front of me. Then he took a large butternut squash that had been sitting next to the
wors
and placed it on the cutting board.

“How would you like this cut?”

“Cubes. We'll steam it with a bit of butter.” He put his fingers to his mouth and kissed them. “Beautiful!”

Nigel sat down with me while I started chopping. “Would you like some help with that?”

“That's okay. I got it,” I said, though chopping butternut had never been my forte.

Jon started rubbing garlic reverently into a large leg of lamb. “You can't believe it, hey, Nigel? Natembo drove in for a service at the government garage and when he went back in to pick up the vehicle, it was sitting on blocks with no tires.”

Nigel laughed. “Bloody typical.”

Jon giggled. “You should've seen the smoke coming out of his ears when they told him that his tires were on back order.”

I struggled with my chopping. “So, I gather he had tires going in?”

“Of course he drove in with four bloody tires. How else would he have gotten the vehicle there?”

Smiling, I shook my head. “How do you stay sane?”

Jon put on a ghostlike expression. “Don't get me started.”

The kettle whistled and Jon put down his garlic and poured me some rooibos tea. “Milk and sugar?”

“Sure.”

He brought the mug over with a teaspoon and put it down. “I don't know how long you like your tea to steep.”

I started stirring the tea, watching the red color from the rooibos leach out into the hot water.

Jon went into the pantry and came back with a sugar bowl and a carton of milk from his refrigerator and put them in front of me. “I thought you Americans liked everything straight up.”

“Just keeping you on your toes.”

He laughed. “That's bloody sensible of you.”

He opened the bowl and held out a spoonful of sugar. “One or two?” he asked intimately.

I removed the tea bag and looked at Nigel to see if he caught that tone. “One is fine.”

Jon emptied the spoon into my tea and touched my hand with his while he poured the milk, leaning into me for a moment. I tried not to look at Nigel, who I was sure was watching this exchange. I subtly leaned away from the overture.

Thinking about the possibility of moving in the direction of intimacy was one thing, but acting on it—and acting on it in public—was quite another. I suddenly got scared that I might have encouraged Jon down a path that I wasn't ready to pursue. Or, rather, I was curious about pursuing something that would most likely become a professional mistake, so I had to keep my distance.

Jon put the milk back in the fridge and went back to anointing his roast.

“Jon, when is the earliest we can do the census?” Nigel asked, taking another swig. “I need to schedule my game guards to make sure they are available for the transects outside the parks.”

Jon looked at me for an answer.

“The plane is ready when you are,” I said. “How soon can you get the avgas?”

Jon wiped his hands on a dish towel. “Not a problem. I'll have it delivered on the brewery truck tomorrow. Should be here Wednesday. I'll book the Popa Falls cabin for Friday, and Saturday to do the buffalo side of the Kavango. And then we'll stay at Susuwe Sunday, and Monday for the core area and outside the Mudumu core, and Tuesday we'll book Liadura to do the Mudumu-Mamili block.”

“Hold on,” I said. “I'm going to get a map.” I went into the guest room and grabbed the map out of my bag and returned to the kitchen. I opened the map of the region on the table. “I assume we'll do stratified counts in the low-density inland areas, and total counts in the high-density areas along the river?”

“That's right.” Jon pointed a garlic clove at Nigel. “The pachyderms are coming up from the delta. They're concentrating in and around Mudumu. Lots of men in gray suits along the Kwando right now.”

I laughed. “I'm looking forward to that.”

“I'll make sure to stock up at the butcher. This leg of lamb will be to die for, but my lemon rosemary lamb rib would bring a tear to a glass eye, I promise you.”

“Right.” Nigel took a swig of his beer. “I'll schedule the game guards for Monday then.”

“Sounds good.”

“Hey, have you been over to the prison this week?” Nigel asked. “Any update about the induna's son?”

Jon giggled. “Bloody crooked as a crocodile.”

“Seriously? His father says he's innocent. He insists that the three tusks were put in his son's yard—that he was set up.”

“He may have been innocent at birth, but he's now as innocent as the croc with a feather in its mouth.” Jon watched Nigel put his beer down. “Have you been down to Hippo lately?”

“Sure, coupla times, why?”

“How would you feel about taking a job there on the weekends? Geldenhuis has an ad up for a bartender.”

Nigel looked confused.

“I thought maybe if I had someone keeping an eye on him, I'd be able to see what he was bloody up to.”

“I'm no spy, Jon.”

“I'm not asking you to spy, exactly. Just let me know if there's anything suspect, and I'll come take a look.”

“I don't know. What does this have to do with the induna's son?”

“Not sure yet, but come on. Pretty swank place for a
braai.
Pop a couple of sundowners for the
bokkies
on the weekends, couldn't be too hard.” He looked at Nigel for an answer.

“Okay, I'll go down and have a look.”

“Thanks, Nigel, you're one of us.”

After eating the best leg of lamb I had ever tasted, I was exhausted and ready to turn in. I collected everyone's plates and put them in the sink.

Jon held out a hand as I was clearing. “Leave those for Chastity.” He hesitated. “On second thought, just leave them for now. I'll do them in the morning.”

Jon went into his pantry. “Would anyone like a bit of rooibos and chocolate?”

“Sure, that would be great.” I was looking forward to having something sweet for dessert.