Free The Death of the Mantis by Michael Stanley Page B

distinct pattern. This one is
smooth.”
    “So there was someone else here,” Kubu said, pulling a
camera from his pocket.
    “You know prints can stay in the desert for a long time,” Lerako
growled. “We’ve no idea whether they are linked to the murder.”
    “True,” Kubu said.
    “And why weren’t any of these prints close to the body? My
tracker didn’t find prints like this anywhere.”
    Kubu shook his head. “If you look carefully, you can see there
are long ridges of calcrete on either side of the prints. Someone
could walk all the way to the edge of the donga where the
body was found, without leaving a trace. We’re lucky there was this
patch of sand.”
    Lerako clenched his teeth. He knelt on the edge of the sand and
examined the prints carefully. After a couple of minutes, he stood
and shook his head, but said nothing.
    He walked back to the Land Rover and settled behind the steering
wheel. Kubu climbed in, not looking forward to the upcoming
journey. Khumanego followed.
    “You’ll let the Bushmen go now?” Kubu asked Lerako as they
pulled away. Eventually, Lerako gave a curt nod. “What do two
footprints by themselves mean? I still believe they did it. But I
don’t have the hard evidence to hold them.”
    Kubu turned to Khumanego. “Your brothers will be freed tomorrow.
Detective Sergeant Lerako will arrange for them to be dropped back
near here.”
    ♦
    Back at the ranger station, they splashed their faces and
rapidly downed several tepid cold drinks. Then Kubu prowled around
looking for something to eat. It was well after lunch, and he was
getting desperate. Eventually his hunger overcame his judgement,
and he poured pula into a vending machine, ending up with a pile of
junk food.
    Not what I’d call lunch, he thought. And I’d better not tell
Joy.
    He found an empty desk and settled down to appease his hunger.
Lerako was not a happy man, and he paced while Kubu methodically
worked his way through the rustle of wrappers. Khumanego sat
silently, shaking his head at offers of the junk food. When Kubu
had finally consumed everything, he and Lerako went to talk to the
head ranger, Vusi, and the office manager, Ndoli, leaving Khumanego
staring out at the desert.
    Despite Kubu’s thorough probing, Vusi added nothing to what they
already knew. However, it was obvious that he wasn’t greatly upset
that Monzo was dead.
    “Monzo could be difficult,” he said when pushed. “Did whatever
he liked, when he liked. Problem was, he was good at his job.
Otherwise I’d have fired him.”
    Kubu wondered whether that was the only reason Vusi didn’t like
him.
    He turned to Ndoli.
    “How did you find Monzo? He was quite far from the road.”
    “I saw his bakkie and stopped to take a look. He wasn’t
there, but I found his footprints. I followed them to the top of
the donga . Then I saw him with three Bushmen.”
    “Was the engine of Monzo’s bakkie running?”
    Ndoli frowned. “I don’t think so. Why?”
    “Well, if it was running, he didn’t expect to be away for
long.”
    “So he thought he would be away for a while?”
    “Looks like it. How did the Bushmen react when you
appeared?”
    “No reaction. One was squatting next to Monzo, trying to get him
to drink. The others were watching.”
    “That doesn’t sound as though they were trying to kill him.”
    Lerako interrupted, his frustration showing. “But he wasn’t
giving him water when you arrived at the top of the donga ,
right? When they saw you, they probably decided they needed to look
friendly. Water was the only thing they could do.” He glared at
Ndoli.
    “They weren’t hostile at all.” But now there was a shade of
uncertainty in Ndoli’s voice.
    Kubu asked Ndoli a few more questions, but learnt nothing new.
He turned to Vusi.
    “Rra Vusi, before we head back to Tsabong, can you take us to
Monzo’s wife? I’d like to talk to her.”
    Even though the house was several hundred metres away, Kubu
thought it preferable to walk