Director Mabaku was so frustrated at the lack of progress that he called Thursday’s meeting for seven in the morning. He hoped that would send a strong message of urgency.
He looked very tired as he brought the meeting to order. “Well?” he asked. “I hope someone has made some progress. Zanele, what about you?”
“As I expected, the boot print we found is from boots that are sold in every Chinese store in town. They sell hundreds a year. But the interesting thing is that they are not sold in any of the ordinary shoe or clothing stores. The manager of one told me that they would like to carry them because they are so popular, but the distributor always tells them that it is out of stock. He’s convinced that it only sells them to Chinese stores.”
“That doesn’t help us at all,” Mabaku said. “I assume that they do not have a list of all their customers?”
“I asked about that. I was told most sales are for cash.”
“And probably not reported on their tax forms either,” Mabaku growled.
“We’re not making much progress with all the hairs we found at Mma Bengu’s house. So many people were there after her husband was killed. We’ll just keep at it.”
Mabaku turned to Samantha.
“I have a lot of information, but I’m not sure I’ve made any progress.” She opened her notebook. “I went to Mahalapye yesterday and spoke to Mzi Bengu—Kubu’s half uncle. He’s a surly, unhelpful man. He lives near one of the pay phones but denies knowing anything about calls to his half brother. He claims he hasn’t spoken to Kubu’s father for years.”
Mabaku grunted. “Do you believe him?”
Samantha shrugged. “I met him at his favorite bar. He was there last Saturday too. He left when they threw him out. He definitely wasn’t in Mochudi.”
“What about the pay phone itself? Maybe someone saw him use it.”
Samantha sighed. “There are no CCTVs in the area. I asked some people who live around there, but nobody can remember anything out of the ordinary.” She shrugged.
“On Tuesday, I spoke to all of Rra Bengu’s friends. He told them he was going to meet a relative from Tobela—that’s a small village close to Shoshong. They had some sort of disagreement, and Bengu stormed out of the shebeen, calling the man a fraud. Anyway, they came back, talked for a while, and when Bengu left, he said something about it being for Kubu. Nobody knows what that means.”
“Does Kubu’s mother know anybody in Tobela?” This time it was Zanele who asked.
“She told me that she doesn’t but that it’s Rra Bengu’s ancestral home, so maybe it could have been some distant relative. She also had no idea what it could be that Rra Bengu was referring to when he said it was for Kubu.”
She paused. “I spoke to Kubu and asked if he knew. He also said he had no idea what his father was talking about. There is one small piece of information I’ll follow up on—the bartender saw the man drive away in a silver Toyota. I’m sure there are plenty around, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Mabaku grunted. “It’s probably nothing, but ask the newspapers to say that the police want to interview a man who visited Rra Bengu last week, who came from the Tobela area and drove a silver Toyota. Maybe the man will come forward, and then we can close the issue. Or maybe someone recognized him.”
Samantha glanced nervously at Mabaku. “I’m sorry I haven’t made any useful progress.”
“This is how most investigations go,” Mabaku said. “It’s slow work gathering information. We hope suddenly a pattern will emerge that will lead us to the killer. It’s always hard work. Keep on it.”