Kubu woke with a start to the Grand March from Aïda. As he grabbed for his cell phone, he checked his watch. It was after eight! He had a vague recollection of deciding on a few more minutes in bed when Joy rose to manage the kids. That had been over an hour ago.
“Hello?” he croaked. Then he cleared his throat and tried again. “Assistant Superintendent Bengu here.”
The voice on the other end was respectful almost to the point of obsequiousness. “Assistant Superintendent, this is Constable Kanye here. I was sent to the Princess Marina Hospital to provide security, sir. Thank you for trusting me with that assignment, sir.”
Needless to say, Kubu had had nothing to do with the assignment other than phoning the previous night to request a constable to keep an eye on Newsom. “Yes, Constable. Get to the point. I’m very busy this morning.” Kubu had meant to report on the Newsom matter to Mabaku first thing.
“Yes, sir. Of course. Sir, I was sent to provide security for a Rra Newsom. But he’s not here, sir. I thought I should let you know at once.”
Kubu sat up. “What do you mean he’s not there?”
“Well, the nurse said he left early this morning. He’s not here.”
Kubu was now fully awake. “Let me talk to her.”
Kanye put the nurse on the line. “Yes, Assistant Superintendent, Mr. Newsom checked out early this morning. It was just after my shift started.”
“Nurse, please give me the details. When exactly did he leave?”
There was a pause as she consulted her records. “Quarter past six this morning. He signed all the documents and paid his account with a credit card.”
“Did he leave alone?”
“No, two people came to fetch him. Not Batswana. Americans, I think.”
“And where did they go?”
“I’ve no idea. Maybe to his home. I have the address he gave us.”
Kubu knew where Newsom lived, so he brushed that aside. “He looked pretty bad when I saw him last night. Was he well enough to leave the hospital?”
The nurse sniffed. “I can’t tell you anything about his injuries. It’s patient privilege.”
“He was cut up with a knife. Anyway, that isn’t what I asked you.”
“He left in a wheelchair. They brought their own.”
“Please put Constable Kanye on the line again. And tell him to hold on. I’ll be right back.”
Kubu put down the cell phone and scrabbled in his wallet for Newsom’s card. He dialed his number on the landline and waited, but it went to voice mail immediately: “Hello, this is Peter Newsom. I’m returning to the United States. I will check my e-mail, but for urgent issues you can contact me at my office number 00-1-212-555-0188. Thanks.” The phone cut off without the option of leaving a message. Kubu jotted down the number, obviously a US one.
Kubu switched phones. “Constable Kanye? Are you there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why did it take you till now to get to the hospital?”
“I only came in to the station an hour ago, sir.”
Kubu cursed under his breath. It was his own fault. He should have emphasized that he wanted the protection immediately, but he hadn’t imagined someone would try anything with Newsom in the few remaining hours of the night.
“All right, you can leave now. There’s nothing more to do there.”
Kubu hung up and tried to clear his mind. Why had Newsom left? Concern about Batswana doctors? He didn’t think so. His injuries apparently weren’t that bad. He recalled Newsom’s reluctance to talk the night before. Either Newsom was spooked by the knife attack, or maybe he had done something illegal and felt that Kubu was getting too close. It was all very unsatisfactory. Kubu cursed again, aloud this time.
He picked up the cell phone and dialed the US number. After two rings, he heard a recording.
“This is Newsom Consulting. Please call during business hours, eight a.m. until six p.m., Monday through Friday, or leave a message at the tone. Thank you.”
The phone beeped, and Kubu left a message asking Newsom to contact him, giving his cell phone number.
After a moment’s thought, Kubu guessed who Newsom would ask for help. He phoned the US embassy and asked to be put through to Ms. Connie Olsen. He reached her immediately, and she responded without hesitation to his questions.
“Yes, Assistant Superintendent, that’s correct. Mr. Newsom has returned to the US. His wife was understandably upset about the attack on him, and he preferred to be at home to recuperate.”
“You make it sound as though he’s there already! He was here in Gaborone two hours ago.”
“He’s in South Africa and will be leaving for the United States from Johannesburg later today.” Olsen’s voice betrayed no emotion.
“Damn it, Ms. Olsen, are you aware that he’s an important witness in a murder case here? I believe that may have been connected to the assault last night.”
“Exactly, Assistant Superintendent. He felt he wasn’t safe in Botswana. That’s why we assisted him with arranging the trip home.”
“I need to speak to him immediately!”
“Assistant Superintendent, Mr. Newsom is a US citizen. There is no question that someone attacked him last night and injured him seriously. It’s our responsibility to assist our citizens in danger in foreign countries. Have you found his attacker?”
“It’s only been a few hours.”
“Mr. Newsom hasn’t been arrested or accused of anything, has he?”
“I asked him not to leave the country without informing me.”
“I wasn’t aware of that, but he’s the victim here, Assistant Superintendent. Keep that in mind.”
Kubu wasn’t sure what to say. How had this matter got out of hand so suddenly? “How can I contact him? I need to speak to him urgently.”
“Hold on a minute. I have phone numbers for him. A local cell number and a number in the US. I’ll give you those.” She read off Newsom’s Botswana cell phone number and the same US number Kubu had picked up from Newsom’s phone.
“I’ve tried both those numbers but just get recorded messages.”
“Well, he’s in transit. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
“Do you have an address for him in the US?”
She hesitated for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry, Assistant Superintendent, I’m not allowed to give you that information.”
“I can get the information from Interpol.”
“Well, of course, Assistant Superintendent. Please go ahead with that.”
Kubu thanked her as politely as he could manage and hung up. He would alert the border posts and the airport, but he didn’t think Olsen was lying to him. They must have driven Newsom through the Tlokweng border or flown him out of the country in a private plane. And he had no hope of getting the South African authorities to hold Newsom on a few hours’ notice; he wasn’t accused of any crime and had presumably left Botswana legally. He cursed again. He should have insisted on holding Newsom’s passport, but there’d been no justification for that at the time.
He dressed quickly. He was going to have to explain the whole mess to Mabaku, but he doubted that the director would be too upset. As far as Mabaku was concerned, the Kunene issue was already history, and with Newsom gone, the knife attack would decline in importance.
Kubu had an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach that he’d just lost his main connection to the Kunene murder and any hope of understanding how it linked with the attack on Newsom the night before.