Ivory Nation, Andy Maslen [e manga reader .txt] 📗

we had to mislead you. My colleagues aren’t journalists, as you correctly deduced. And I don’t work for a private security firm, though Kagiso Group has provided us with some logistical support. May I?’ she said, gesturing to a patch pocket on her trousers.

‘Please,’ he replied, inclining his head.

She pulled out a black leather ID folder and opened it. She passed it across the desk to him.

His eyes widened as he looked at it, before handing it back.

‘Detective Chief Inspector Stella Cole. Of the Metropolitan Police. This is genuine?’

‘It is. You can call my office if you like.’

‘No need. Somehow I believe you. Why are you in Botswana, Miss Cole? And who are these people?’ he added, pointing at Gabriel and Stella.

‘I am part of Operation Birch. It’s the investigation of the murder of Princess Alexandra. No doubt you read of it. Perhaps in the Times?’

He nodded, allowing her mild flattery.

‘Go on.’

‘A lead brought me to Botswana. My colleagues are investigating the murders of the British soldiers here. But not as journalists. They are part of the British security apparatus. I regret I cannot tell you more than that and, once again, forgive me, us, for the subterfuge.’

Gabriel held his breath. Unlike previous encounters in similar situations, there was no question of fighting their way out. Major Modimo might have them arrested, but that would be a relatively simple matter to iron out. No, this was about not destroying a fledgling relationship that could be mutually beneficial.

Modimo drew in a breath.

‘We lost two good men out there,’ he said. He eyed Gabriel, Eli and Stella in turn. ‘Married men. With children. The British Paras lost their lives and I am truly sorry. They were doing good out here. But Moses and Virtue, they were my boys.’ He thumped his chest. ‘So do what you have to do. I will not stand in your way, although I cannot be seen to be helping you in an official capacity any longer. Find the people who committed this heinous massacre. Find them and deal with them.’

His meaning was clear. Gabriel nodded.

‘We will, Major. That’s a promise.’

‘Then go. And God be with you.’

‘That was a smart call,’ Eli said to Stella as Gabriel drove away from the barracks.

‘Thanks. He’s a smart guy. If we’d tried to lie or bluff our way out of it he’d have stuck the cuffs on us. I’m here on official business, but Don told me you two aren’t. Seemed like the best idea to keep things sweet with the major.’

‘Did he pinch your bum when we were having our picture taken?’

Stella snorted.

‘Oh my god, he did! You too?’

‘Right on the softest part. Cheeky bugger!’

Gabriel drove on, shaking his head

22

Stella placed the hardened lump of Plaster of Paris on the desk in her room. Using a complimentary toothbrush from the bathroom, she flicked away the particles of soil and grass that had stuck to the plaster. The treads were deep and sharp-edged. New tyres. It was a wide track, too, suggesting a 4x4.

Using the Canon, she took a series of shots of the tread marks from directly above and at a couple of different angles, laying a hotel ballpoint alongside the marks for scale.

She emailed the shots to Lucian back in Paddington Green with a short message.

Hey Luce,

Greetings from Botswana!

I took this cast in the national park. Any chance you could identify the tyre brand and/or vehicle?

I’m couriering you a paint sample, too. Hopefully the two will tie together.

Take care and say hi to Gareth for me.

Stel x

Using the tip of the craft knife she’d bought as part of her improvised forensics kit, she sliced away an inch-square piece of painted plastic for the trim piece Gabriel had found. She wrapped it in the shower cap provided by the hotel management then wound it round with a dozen sheets of toilet paper before sticking the whole thing in an envelope.

The hotel’s business centre turned out to have everything the would-be forensic analyst would need, including padded envelopes and an efficient young man called John, who promised Stella he’d have the packet FedExed to London that same afternoon.

She called Callie.

‘What’s up, wee girl?’ her boss answered, her crisp Edinburgh accent a sudden shock after all the African voices Stella had been listening to recently.

‘I’ve sent a paint sample to Lucian. It could be connected to the case. Can you make sure nobody bullies him into giving their work higher priority?’

‘Don’t you worry. I’ve got half the bloody top brass breathing down my neck back here, Stel.’ She paused. ‘And the other half are calling for my head.’

Stella felt a pang of guilt for misleading her boss. But the paint could be related to Operation Birch. Stranger things have happened.

‘I’m going out tonight, shake the tree a little. See if anything falls out. Judging by what I’ve seen so far, an Israeli physics teacher would stick out here like a vegan in a police canteen.’

‘Aye, well, get what you can and get back here, Stel. I’m not paying for ye to go on bloody safari!’

With Callie updated, that just left the soil sample. And Stella had an idea. She Googled ‘geology Botswana university’.

The very first hit returned the exact same search term, attached to the Geology department of Botswana University in Gaborone. She checked the address on her phone. 4775 Notwane Road was a five-minute drive or a thirty-minute walk. Stella ran to keep fit, and to keep her head straight. She’d once walked six hundred miles through America’s northern states in three months. She decided to walk.

First she needed to make a call.

Wearing a pressed white shirt over pale-grey chinos and trainers, she arrived at the Geology department feeling warm but not unpleasantly so. The breeze blowing east to west through the city kept her cool and the lack of traffic and openness of the landscape meant it was more of a pleasant summer stroll than a route march.

Trees grew everywhere, and every twenty yards or so a huge flowering