Frederick Ramsay_Botswana Mystery 01 Read Online Free Page B

personal; he just felt that being a game ranger was not a suitable job for a woman. This opinion he shared with the local police superintendent, Inspector Mwambe. Even though the police force had employed women constables for several years, the police superintendent rankled under this government decision. If the dikgosi, ifthe chiefs, were still in charge…well that wasn’t true anymore either. There was that Kgosi Mosadi, that woman chief…well.
    When queried as to what jobs these two important persons considered appropriate for women, they had no answer. Out in the north, acceptance of change lagged behind the south. Gaborone had many women in big jobs, even on the High Court and in the National Assembly. Mr. Pako and his friend despaired at the direction their country seemed to be headed. If it were up to them, this Sanderson would be tending goats.
    Mr. Pako shuffled papers at his desk. Sanderson stood still, waiting for him to speak. He looked up at her. What to do? The request from the village subchief for an investigation into the disappearance of a young boy topped the pile of papers on his desk. Why had they waited so long?
    It would be a futile task. No good could come from it. He would send Sanderson. He authorized the use of the old Land Rover and sent her away. Good riddance. The phone rang. He straightened his uniform, slicked back the scant hair on his nearly bald head, and answered. The district superintendent had a position to fill. Did Mr. Pako have a reason not to accept a transfer? He thought a moment. No he did not.
    ***
    Sanderson met with the subchief and then with the men in the village from which the boy disappeared.
    “Why did so much time go by before this reporting?” she asked.
    “That boy was a bad boy,” he said. “When he ran, we waited for him to return. What kind of a foolish person will run into the bush at night? Surely the Kalanga taught him sense in Zimbabwe. We believed he went to the road and on to Kasane, so we went to our houses to sleep. In the morning, things were busy with the cattle being herded to the kraal for transport to the abattoir and then there were other things…” His voice trailed off.
    Sanderson understood “other things”…she had passed the bottle store and bar hut on her way in.
    “He is a bad boy,” the old man repeated. “We thought, well, he has gone to another village to be bad. He will not return here. Then Rre Amanzie sees the vultures and we are then thinking, maybe this boy has not gone to another village after all.”
    “Which way did he run?”
    The old man pointed up the hill, toward the bush. Sanderson walked back to the Rover and unsheathed the rifle. It was not likely that she would have trouble in the daylight, but she wouldn’t take that chance. She loaded it, got behind the wheel and drove off the road and slowly into the bush.
    She found the scant remains of Lovermore Ndlovu four hundred meters in. He had been dragged some distance, it seemed. After studying the broken bones and bits of clothing she guessed a big cat had taken him. After it had finished, other animals had cleaned up. She inspected the ground. Too many sets of spoor to reveal much. She noted the larger set, those of the cat, and squatted in the dust to examine them more closely. An old leopard might have done it. But she’d heard no reports of a leopard this close to the town. Although leopards hunt at night and would not be averse to taking down a man if they happened on one like this, they were shy and rarely ventured this close to civilization. Too much time had elapsed to be sure of anything. She put her finger in the paw depression. Time had blurred its edges and even size. Still it looked more like a lion, probably an immature rogue or nomad. The owner of those paws was not heavy enough to be full grown and probably too heavy to be a leopard. There were always young lions about this time of year, raiding kraals and stealing cattle. So, a lion, not a leopard.