Detective Kubu Investigates Boxed Set: Detective Kubu

By Michael Stanley

In this BOXED SET of all the Michael Stanley short stories included in the successful Detective Kubu Investigates 1 & 2 and African Mysteries collections, there are thirteen twisty cases from Botswana and elsewhere. There's also an interview with Kubu himself, and exclusive excerpts from the new Kubu novel A Deadly Covenant to be released in 2022.

A man is killed while rhino poaching, but is it as straightforward as it appears? A garbage collector makes a horrifying discovery in a bin. Is he the culprit or a victim? A witch doctor sets out to solve crimes with the help of the spirits. How does that work out? A man is stabbed outside a bar. Is it just a jealous fight or is there something much more sinister behind it? A writer at a weekend party is writing a noir short story set in the house where he's staying, but it seems to be coming true.

In seven of the stories Kubu investigates murders in Botswana. Four detectives with very different styles and methods solve cases in South Africa, and there are two bonus stories set outside Africa.

Best-selling British mystery author Peter James wrote of Michael Stanley's work, "I was gripped and entranced from the first page. A wonderful, original voice—McCall Smith with a dark edge and even darker underbelly."

Michael Stanley is the pen name of two South Africans—Michael Sears and Stanley Trollip—who write fiction together. Their award-winning novels featuring Detective Kubu are A Carrion Death, The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu (A Deadly Trade, outside North America), Death of the Mantis, Deadly Harvest, A Death in the Family, Dying to Live, and Facets of Death. They also have a stand-alone thriller Shoot the Bastards (Dead of Night, outside North America).

• Language: English
• Publisher: White Sun Books
• Release date: Dec 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201972158

Book preview

An Issue of Women and Money was originally published in ONCE UPON A CRIME, edited by Gary R Bush & Chris Everheart, Nodin Press (2009), and is included here by kind permission of the editors.

Neighbours was originally published in BAD COMPANY edited by Joanne Hichens, Pan Macmillan (2009) and is included here by kind permission of the publisher.

The Haunting was originally published in STRAND MAGAZINE (2010) and is included here by kind permission of the publisher.

Parlor Game was originally published in CRIMESPREE (2010) and is included here by kind permission of the publisher.

Death of a Policeman first appeared in the DETECTIVE KUBU INVESTIGATES ebook (2013).

The Last Case of Inspector Fourie was originally published in STRAND MAGAZINE (2014) and is included here by kind permission of the publisher.

Spirits was originally published in SUNSHINE NOIR edited by Annamaria Alfieri and Michael Stanley, White Sun Books (2016) and is included here by kind permission of the publisher.

Three on a Trail was originally published in MYSTERY TOUR, a CWA anthology of short stories edited by Martin Edwards, Orenda Books, 2017.

Shoot to Kill first appeared as the cover story in DOWN & OUT: THE MAGAZINE Vol. 1 No. 4 (2018).

The Case of the Missing Tuba was first published in BLOOD WORK, edited by Rick Ollerman, Down & Out Books (2018).

The Con was originally published in COOKED TO DEATH Vol 3: HELL FOR THE HOLIDAYS, edited by Rhonda Gilliland, Obscura Productions (2018).

The Ring was written for TEN YEAR STRETCH, edited by Martin Edwards and Adrian Muller, No Exit Press (2018).

Serial Killer first appeared in the AFRICAN MYSTERIES ebook (2020).

Introduction

We published our first collection of short stories, Detective Kubu Investigates , as a small ebook eight years ago. To our surprise and delight, it was very popular, and since then we’ve released two more collections. In this special Holiday Boxed Set, we’ve collected the stories from all three together. We’ve rearranged them so that the first section of seven contains our Botswana stories, and the second section has the six stories from further afield – one set in the UK, one in the USA, and four in South Africa.

We’ve often wondered what Kubu thinks about his cases and what it’s like to be a detective in the Botswana CID, so we asked Michael Stanley to interview him. Since neither of them exists, we’re rather pleased to be able to kick off this collection with their discussion.

Finally, we’ve included two excerpts from A Deadly Covenant, the new Detective Kubu novel out in 2022.

If you are a follower of the Detective Kubu books, we hope you enjoy his shorter adventures.  If you haven’t met him before, we hope you enjoy the experience. You can find out more about us and our books at the end of the collection.

Michael and Stanley, December 2021.

My Detective Kubu Interview

By Michael Stanley

Icaught up with Assistant Superintendent David Bengu – Kubu to his friends – at the Wimpy in Gaborone’s Game City mall, conveniently situated near the Criminal Investigation Department offices.  We shook hands, and the detective immediately turned his attention to the menu.

I’ll have the Epic XL Cheddar Burger, Kubu told the waiter.  With an extra order of chips.  And a side salad. He turned back to me and commented, Joy, my wife, thinks that a salad at lunchtime is good for losing weight.

Kubu could certainly do with some slimming down.  He’s a big man with a big frame, but his 300 pounds certainly isn’t all bone and muscle.  I suspected that his wife had not included the hamburger and chips in her lunch advice, but it seemed rude to comment.  So I just nodded and ordered a toasted ham and cheese sandwich.

And a large milkshake, Kubu added.  A chocolate one.  I said I’d have coffee.

I’d prefer a steelworks, but they don’t have them here, Kubu grumbled.  Anyway, what do you want to know?  He seemed impatient to get the interview underway.  Presumably he didn’t want it to interfere with the meal.

What’s it like being a detective in Botswana? I started, rather lamely.

Michael, you have to understand that Botswana is a very big country.  The size of France.  Less than two million people though.  We have about twenty main police centers, but they all have a lot of area to cover, and lots of places for criminals to hide.  And the country’s very diverse.  We’ve got the huge Kalahari desert with very low population – mainly Bushmen.  There’s the lush northern area along the Chobe river with all that spectacular wildlife.  But, at Kazangula, Botswana has a joint border with three other countries – Zimbabwe, Zambia, and Namibia.  Think of the smuggling possibilities that raises.  Then there are the cities like Gaborone and Francistown, nothing like Johannesburg, but they have their share of crime.

What about diamonds?  Isn’t that also a big issue?  Botswana’s economy is largely built on the diamond mines, which are the richest in the world.

Kubu nodded.  We have pilfering – but even one uncut diamond stolen from a mine is a lot of money.  There are also attempts at big thefts, and smugglers trying to circumvent the Kimberley Process.  There’s a whole section of the police just focused on diamond issues.

I nodded.  I knew all about the Kimberley Process – a careful protocol to ensure that the world’s legitimate diamonds remained untainted by the illegal conflict, or blood, diamonds.

My first big case concerned diamonds, Kubu reminisced.  It didn’t start out that way, but diamonds – and some of Botswana’s other resources – were behind it.  Diamonds are beautiful, but they’re like gold.  People get greedy.  He looked hopefully towards the kitchen to see if the food was on its way.  Actually, it started with a body in the desert being eaten by hyenas.  They eat everything, you know.  Flesh and bones.  But we didn’t make much progress on the case until we asked why someone had gone to so much trouble to make that man disappear.  Everything that could’ve been used to identify him had been removed – teeth, clothes, fingertips.

It sounded pretty gruesome, and I was about to say so when the drinks arrived.  Kubu took a large gulp.  I had a case up on the Linyanti too.  Two people murdered at a tourist camp.  That was a big deal; Botswana is very safe for tourists and very welcoming.  Something like that could’ve hit the industry badly.  But it turned out they weren’t really tourists anyway.  It was all linked to the past in Zimbabwe, the Rhodesian bush war.  And the present situation there, too.  He took another sip.  It’s a long story.

Have you ever met Precious Ramotswe?  You’re sort of in the same line of work.

Kubu laughed.  No, not really.  She does private investigator cases, but I’m after murderers.  She’s very resourceful, but our cases don’t overlap much.  Maybe I’ll bump into her one day.

Tell me about the Bushmen.  You had a big case there too.

Kubu sighed.  It’s such a hard issue.  Some of them want to live a nomadic life in the Kalahari like their ancestors, but most want the comforts of modern life, education for their children, health care.  The government is bound by the constitution to supply those things, but they can’t do it if people are in a different place every day.  One needs a consensus from the people involved – particularly the Bushmen - as to how to move forward.  It ended up in the High Court and Judge Unity Dow gave the judgment.  He brightened.  She’s a novelist too.  You should meet her.  I said that I’d had that pleasure, and greatly admired her.

But it will take time for the Bushmen to find their role in modern Botswana, he ended sadly.  He spread his big hands open on the table.  As if on cue the waiter appeared with the food, and there wasn’t much more discussion until we’d eaten.

Once the inner man had been satisfied, Kubu looked at me expectantly.

So, how did you get the nickname, Kubu? I asked a bit tentatively.  Kubu means hippopotamus in Setswana, so I thought it might be a bit of a sore point.  But Kubu just laughed.

Well, I’m a big guy and a bit overweight.  When I was a kid, I was very lucky and got a scholarship to Maru a Pula school in Gaborone.  It’s one of the best schools in southern Africa, you know, and I learned about all sorts of new things.  Even opera, which I love.  But, anyway, I met a white boy there who was everything I was not.  Athletic, popular, good-looking.  When I said my name was David, he laughed.  He said, ‘You’re not a David.  You’re a Kubu.’  At first I was very hurt, and all the other boys laughed, but he added that I was big, but also focused and shouldn’t be messed with.  It gave me status.  From that day I was Kubu, and we became good friends.  He signaled to the waiter, and asked if I wanted another coffee.  I shook my head.

Any particular current issues causing trouble for the police here?

Kubu looked thoughtful.  "Well, because of the world recession, the economy is down, and that always encourages crime.  People are out of work.  Apart from that we’re very concerned about muti murders."

I raised my eyebrows.  "I thought muti was made from native plants.  Herbal medicines."

Yes, but a few witch doctors add animal parts – like the heart of a lion for strength.  And a very few – reputed to be the most powerful – use human body parts.  Children are abducted.  It’s terrible.  And the culprits are very hard to find because the victims aren’t related to their abductors.  Worse, everyone is too scared of the witch doctors to give information.  Even some policemen are nervous.  He shook his head.

Kubu was clearly uncomfortable with the subject and changed it.  What about you?  What made you write about Botswana anyway?

Well, there are actually two people who write the books, I replied.  Michael Sears in Johannesburg in South Africa, and Stanley Trollip in Minneapolis in the US.  I’m Michael Stanley, and I’m sort of parts of both of them.

Kubu looked puzzled.  Sort of a split personality?

I shook my head.  More like a gestalt.

Kubu abandoned that and got back to his question.  But why Botswana rather than South Africa?

Lots of reasons.  The body dumped in the desert for the hyenas to eat wouldn’t work in South Africa, because it doesn’t have the huge, uncontrolled wildlife areas that you have here.  Then I try to build each book around a societal issue in southern Africa, but I don’t want that to always be driven by South Africa’s crime statistics and the apartheid legacy.  But most of all, I love Botswana.  The people, the wildlife, the diversity.  This is simply a wonderful country.  I hesitated.  And, of course, you are here!

Kubu smiled.  Well, that’s true, he said.

PART 1

The Botswana Mystery Stories

An Issue of Women and Money

This was the first short story we wrote together, and we rewrote it with a darker and more interesting ending for the Once Upon a Crime anthology, which celebrated the wonderful mystery bookstore Gary Shulze and his remarkable wife, Pat Forvarp, built into a landmark for mystery and thriller lovers in Minneapolis.

This one is over a woman, Kubu thought, watching the silent faces around the body.

Whenever Kubu visited his parents and mentioned a case, his mother invariably had a strong opinion.  Remember, David, she would lecture her son, a senior detective in the Botswana police Criminal Investigation Department, murders are usually over women or money.  That is what you need to look for.  Kubu had learned not to argue with his mother.  I’m sure you are right as usual, Mother, he would say politely.  May I have another cup of tea? And, perhaps, another biscuit?

The onlookers kept their distance, perhaps because of the officious constable, or perhaps they awaited action from the senior policeman.  Joshua Madi was dead, lying on his back in the street with his fashionable clothes scuffed and torn, blood all over his face, and a knife sticking out of his chest.  What would the policeman make of that?

Kubu was not happy.  He had just sat down to a stew of young goat prepared with care and fine herbs by his wife, Joy.  A bottle of South African shiraz, slightly chilled against the heat of the Botswana summer, was breathing – but not for long, because Kubu joked that the best way to get a wine to breathe was with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.  Now his dinner dried in the oven, and the wine warmed, while he looked down at the unattractive remains of Joshua Madi.

Where’s the pathologist? he asked the constable, watching the silent crowd.

He hasn’t arrived yet, Assistant Superintendent.  The young man was at attention.

Relax, constable.  Kubu sighed.  We may have a long night ahead of us.  We’ll need to talk to all these witnesses.  Get their names.

As though this were a signal, the onlookers all started to speak at once.  Kubu held up a hand.  All of your stories will be heard, he told them in Setswana.  All in good time.  Thank you.  Turning back to the constable he asked, Where’s the culprit?

He’s in the car with Detective Tau.

Kubu nodded.  Going over to the police car, he opened the driver’s door, indicated to Tau that he should move to the back, and heaved himself into the seat.  He jerked the seat to its most backward position to allow his substantial body to squeeze into the small vehicle.  This elicited a yelp from Constable Tau, who had injudiciously chosen to sit behind Kubu rather than behind the prisoner.  As he rubbed his bruised knee, Tau speculated on how well the nickname Kubu – Setswana for hippopotamus – fit the large detective, though he would never dare say so.

The remains of a take-away that had been Tau’s dinner were now scattered by Kubu’s battle with the seat, and the car smelled of fried chicken.  Kubu tried to ignore it – it only sharpened his hunger – and concentrated on the man next to him.  He, too, completely filled the car seat.  A bull of a man, all muscle.  His shirt was torn and bloody – whose blood? – and he sported a black eye.  The fight had not been entirely one-sided.  Kubu nodded.  The loser of a fistfight might well resort to upping the stakes.

Kubu addressed the suspect in Setswana.  What is your name?

Peter Moroka, rra.

Now, Peter, did you kill that other man in the fight?  Kubu held his breath.  A quick confession of a punch-up that got out of hand, and the matter could be wrapped up in the morning.  Perhaps the goat would still be tender and succulent when he got home.  The wine would certainly be fine.  His mouth watered.

No, rra.

Kubu’s heart sank.  Tell me what happened then.

That man – Madi – he’s a pig.  He gets money and drink, and he goes looking for a woman.  Moroka shrugged indicating that this was a natural way for a Motswana man to behave.  But he looks for someone else’s woman!  Why does he do that?  There are lots of women.  Why does he go for my woman?

Kubu assumed this was rhetorical and nodded sympathetically, encouraging Moroka to embellish his motive.

"I found them together in the shebeen, at the bar.  He was giving her drink.  He had his hand on her leg.  He shook his head angrily.  He had it high up her leg!  Under her dress!"

So what did you do?

"I grabbed the bastard and made him come outside.  You don’t fight in Mma Toteng’s shebeen.  He shook his head again.  Everyone was scared of the bar owner.  Some people said she was a witchdoctor.  Moroka didn’t believe that, but why take a chance?  He’d already finished several beers.  He thought he could fight me.  Me!  Moroka made a fist that would shame no man, although it didn’t impress Kubu.  So he came with me!  Fool!"

And then?

Then I beat the shit out of the bastard!

What about your eye?

Lucky punch.  I was careless.  Bastard!

Is that when you thought he deserved to be cut a bit?  Teach him a lesson?

Moroka looked very solemn and shook his head.  I don’t have a knife.  I don’t need a knife.  A man fights with these.  He showed his fists again.

Suddenly there was banging on the car window.  A large woman, her head covered in a brightly colored scarf, glared at Kubu.  When will you get this body out of here, hey? she shouted.  You think I have all night?  You think I don’t work?  That people don’t need to drink?

Kubu sighed and climbed out of the car.  And who are you? he asked the woman.  She had an appealing figure in a generous way and wore a traditional Tswana dress in browns and oranges.  A necklace of beads, stones and purple seedpods hung round her neck.  Heavy frown lines marred an otherwise open face and belied the generosity of her figure.

"Gracious Toteng.  I own the shebeen.  What are you going to do with him?"  She nodded towards the police car.

Kubu ignored that.  Can you tell me what happened?

Moroka came into the bar and found Madi all over his girl, Bongi.  She works for me in the bar.  He was very angry and told Madi to come outside.  She shrugged.  Madi did, the fool.

Kubu wanted more details, but he spotted Ian MacGregor, the police pathologist, examining the body.  He headed over to him, dismissing Toteng with a nod.

Ian!  What have you got to tell me?

Kubu!  They called you out at dinnertime?  The wiry Scot smiled at Kubu’s sour look.  Not much as yet.  You can see for yourself the cause of death – stabbed in the heart.  But there may be several wounds.  Not a professional job, obviously.

Kubu grunted.  Stabbed in the fight?  Apparently he had a fist fight with the man we’re holding.

Ian examined the dead man’s knuckles.  Yes, looks like he landed a few good blows.  He stood up, looking puzzled.  "Not the way you defend yourself against a knife attack though.  You would expect gashes on the arms from trying to fend off the attacker.  Tell you what, let’s get this chap to the morgue and take a proper look at what’s under these clothes.