‘Would you like tea or coffee while you wait?’ the nurse asked.
‘Coffee, no milk or sugar, please,’ Jed said.
The policeman ordered tea. The nurse returned a few minutes later, a tall, thin grey-haired man in tow.
‘How are you?’ Ncube said as he extended his hand in greeting. ‘Mr Banks, this is Doctor Leslie Reynolds.’
Jed shook hands with the man, surprised to find a European vet working in such austere surroundings. Reynolds wore a frayed white lab coat over grey trousers that stopped at his ankles.
Jed wondered if they were second-hand. He also wondered how much a vet working for the Zimbabwean public health system made in a year.
‘Please, sit down, Mr Banks,’ Doctor Reynolds said as he took a cup of tea from the nurse and pulled up a chair.
‘Apologies, everybody,’ Chris Wallis said as she came in through the door.
‘Christine, how nice to see you again, though I’m sorry it’s in such difficult circumstances,’
Reynolds said with a forced smile.
Chris shook hands with the vet then turned to the other two men. ‘Sorry about that, but I have a friend who drives a tour bus in Tanzania and I was worried he may have been hurt in the bomb blast. He’s fine, thank goodness.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Doctor Reynolds said. ‘Terrible business. Now, Mr Banks, first let me say how sorry I am for the distress your daughter’s disappearance must be causing you and your family.
I’m afraid my findings won’t give you the closure you need, but you should -’
‘Have you already opened the lion up?’ Jed’s voice rose in annoyance.
‘Mr Banks, I can assure you that the business of dissecting an animal such as a lion is not something anyone would wish to sit through. The carcass was starting to decompose, so I had to act quickly. The job was done last night.’
Jed noticed the older man’s hand shook as he raised the chipped china mug to his thin lips. He had a ruddy face and a bulbous nose that marked him as a drinker.
‘What did you find?’
‘Some fragments of clothing, Mr Banks.’ Reynolds paused and no one spoke.
Jed found himself suddenly short of air. He took a deep breath and a shot of coffee. The liquid burned his tongue and the roof of his mouth. ‘Please go on.’
‘There is no doubt this lion feasted on a human being, Mr Banks. I can show you the material fragments. The fabric appears to be green, lightweight. Possibly a shirt, or a woman’s blouse. Bush clothing. Very common around here, of course. The animal’s digestive system would have processed and passed any skin and flesh by now, assuming the consumption happened around the time your daughter disappeared. However, the fabric would have taken longer to pass.’
Jed swallowed hard. ‘Tell me about the remains that were found at the scene. I want to see them.’
‘There isn’t much to see, Mr Banks. A hand and part of the attached forearm, and part of a skull.’
‘Show me.’
The doctor looked at Superintendent Ncube, who nodded. ‘Come this way, please. Will you be joining us, Christine?’
She looked at Jed.
‘You can if you want,’ he said.
They followed Reynolds down a corridor with an even stronger smell of disinfectant. The vet opened a heavy sealed door and they stepped into a coolroom. Jed’s rubber-soled boots squeaked on the white tiled floor. There were a dozen drawers with enamelled metal doors set into the wall.
Reynolds checked the cardboard tag slotted into a holder on one of them, opened it, and slid out a long tray. The plastic bag took up a pitifully small portion of the space normally occupied by a body.
He untied the rubber band holding the bag closed and rolled down the sides. ‘I’m afraid this is it.’
Jed felt as though he were outside his body, watching from a distance. He’d seen body parts before, thought he was numbed to the sight. He was wrong. He barely heard his own words as he spoke. ‘Any rings, a wristwatch, or anything else at the scene?’
‘No. Did your daughter wear a ring?’
‘Nothing special that I can recall.’ He didn’t touch the hand. Couldn’t run his fingers over the cold skin, didn’t want to feel the smoothness of the cleaned-out skull pan. There would be no closure in this macabre trove.
‘There’s been some decomposition, as you can see, but you notice the skin is white, and it certainly looks like a woman’s hand,’ the doctor said.
‘Were there any other European women in the area?’ Jed asked.
Ncube, who was standing away from the group, spoke up. ‘We questioned everyone in the lodges and the camp ground. No visitors have been reported missing.’
‘But how can we tell for sure if it’s … if the remains are Miranda’s? What about DNA testing?’
Jed asked.
‘This is Zimbabwe, Mr Banks, not the United States, and a far-flung corner of Zimbabwe at that, but I did anticipate your question. I’ve spoken to a former colleague who is now a professor at the university in Harare. He can perform a DNA test but, of course, we require some sort of sample from your daughter.’
At first the idea sounded ridiculous, as his daughter was missing presumed dead, but then Jed recalled something he’d seen on a TV cop show. ‘Like hair, you mean?’
‘Precisely.’
‘Where are Miranda’s personal effects?’ Jed asked.
‘They were collected by the National Parks people once our investigators had finished at your daughter’s campsite. I made sure all her belongings were stored under lock and key in the park armoury,’ Ncube said.
‘I was planning on collecting them for you,’ Chris said.
Jed recalled that the professor wanted to get her hands on some work Miranda had been doing for her. The woman’s businesslike interest in Miranda’s belongings grated on him.
‘I’ll be collecting my daughter’s stuff myself,’ he said to Chris. To Reynolds, he added, ‘I’ve seen enough, thank you, Doctor. And I’ll find a hairbrush or pillowcase or sleeping bag or something you can use as a sample for the testing.’
‘That’s good, Mr Banks, but I think you should prepare yourself for a positive match. There have been no other reports of Europeans, male or female, being attacked by lions in Mana Pools recently and, again, all I can tell you is that in my best estimation the remains probably came from a white woman.’
‘I understand, Doctor.’ Despite the evidence, Jed wanted so much to believe in the impossible. But in his heart of hearts he was beginning to realise that he had lost his daughter.
Jed sat on the concrete stoep of the police station smoking a cigarette and reading a report of how his daughter had died.
He was in the shade, but he figured the mercury had topped a hundred. Sweat rolled down his forehead into his eyes, forcing him to blink every now and then. A passer-by, although there weren’t any at this hottest time of the African day, might have thought he was crying. He wasn’t, but the lump in his throat got bigger as he read on. The police station’s photocopier was broken and Superintendent Ncube would not let him take his only copy of the investigation report away, so Jed was forced to read it on the premises.
The victim’
s tent was found to be open and there was evidence a single lion had entered, in the
form of muddy paw prints on the nylon floor. The camping stretcher inside the tent was on its side
.
Jed reread the section of the report and made a note on the sheet of A4 paper he had liberated from the broken photocopier – much to the chagrin of the cranky policewoman at the charge desk.
The victim’
s mosquito net was outside the tent. It is believed the net became entangled with the
victim and/or the lion as it removed her
.
He closed his eyes tight and tried to imagine the horror of being seized by a massive cat and dragged along the ground. Huge jaws clamping down on her slender body, piercing her smooth skin.
Blood flowing from her.
He scanned the page again. No mention of blood in the tent. He imagined he would see it for himself when he recovered Miranda’s effects.
Outside the tent a number of different footprints were observed. These were believed to belong to the victim, several National Parks officers who were first on the scene, and another female person –
possibly a National Parks maid who occasionally visited the victim’s campsite.
Jed lit a second cigarette from the first, something he hadn’t done for many years, and continued to read.
A large bloodstain was found in the grass eleven metres from the tent. Drag marks and lion paw prints continued from this point to a location forty-three metres further away, towards the Zambezi River, at the foot of a large tree. Another bloodstain was found here. It is believed that this was where the victim’
s body was consumed.
Consumed. Jesus Christ, Jed thought. It was the twenty-first century and his daughter had been raised in suburban USA. People didn’t get
consumed
by wild animals any more. Even warfare was more understandable, to him at least, than being preyed on by an animal. He wished it had been him and not Professor Wallis who had shot the man-eater. He wanted to hunt down this beast as it had hunted his baby girl.
Hyena tracks were also discovered at this site, leading off in several directions. It is believed that these animals disposed of the victim’
s bones after the lion had finished feeding.
Jed felt sick to his stomach.
‘Are you OK?’
He looked up. Chris Wallis stared down at him. He couldn’t think what to say.
‘I’m sorry I had to leave so quickly before, but I had some urgent errands to run in town. I’m glad you haven’t left yet. I thought it’d be better if we travelled together.’
He didn’t care about her errands or her plans. The woman seemed to alternate between wanting him out of the country and trying to spend every waking minute with him. ‘Whatever,’ he said, then stubbed out the cigarette and coughed. At least talking to her would take his mind off the vision of Miranda’s bones being ground up by a pack of scavenging hyenas.
Chris saw the pain in his eyes and said, ‘Jed, I know this must be heartbreaking for you. Take your time. I’ll wait while you go to town, get organised.’
‘Thanks. Actually, I need to look for someone.’
‘Oh? Maybe I can help. I know Kariba pretty well. Who is he – or she?’
‘A guide. A tracker. He was recommended to me. I want to do some looking around while I’m at Mana Pools.’
‘There’s a National Parks ranger I’ve been working with. He knows the area better than anyone and I’m already paying for his services as a guide. You can tag along with us if you like. It’ll save you money.’
‘I’ve been in Afghanistan for six months with nothing to spend my money on so I’ve got cash to spare. Anyway, I wouldn’t want to tie you up or distract you.’
‘No bother.’
‘Look, I’m not trying to be rude, but I like to do things my way, OK?’ Jed stood and collected the pages of the investigation report, which he had spread around him on the stoep.
‘Do you still hope she’s alive, that the investigators got it wrong and she’s lost in the bush somewhere?’ Chris shook her head.
‘I don’t know what I’m hoping for. I won’t know until I start. I don’t expect she’s lost and, from what I know of this place, if she did get lost she probably wouldn’t have survived. Until we know for sure that it was Miranda’s remains the doctor found, you can’t blame me for wanting to at least check out the place where she disappeared.’
Chris nodded and bit thoughtfully on her lower lip. ‘But please, let me help you into the park. The bureaucracy can drive you crazy, and at least I can take you and your tracker straight to the spot where Miranda’s camp was. Might save you some time.’
Jed realised it would be hard, if not impossible, to shake the professor now, so, somewhat reluctantly, he nodded his head.
The soundtrack to Mahombekombe township was African music played at full bore from a car stereo, a lively mix of plinking percussion backed by a solid beat. People chattered around Jed. An urchin in ragged clothes tugged at his trousers and asked him for a ballpoint pen as he walked from the supermarket. A minibus taxi piled high with luggage and cardboard boxes buzzed past him, leaving a fog of blue smoke. On the unpaved roadside women sold lace tablecloths, printed fabrics and basket ware.
‘That looks like a bachelor’s shopping trolley,’ Chris said with a smile as he returned to his Land Rover.
‘Thanks,’ Jed said to the young African who had wheeled the trolley out for him. The man unloaded Jed’s supplies – four dozen bottles of Zambezi Lager, a few packets of steak, a bag of potatoes, cornflakes, milk, three loaves of bread, a few packets of crackers, peanut butter and a bag of assorted condiments.
‘I see you have all of the food groups covered.’
‘Except for red wine. They were out. So I bought Scotch instead. Not bad for two bucks a bottle.’
‘Don’t be too pleased with yourself, you haven’t tried it yet.’
It was afternoon, and still oppressively hot and muggy down near the lake shore. A little boy pushed a carved wooden Land Rover along the ground and looked up enviously at Jed’s and Chris’s vehicles.
‘Hello, Mister,’ said the boy.
‘Hello yourself.’
‘Jason,’ the boy’s mother called from her stall. She nursed a baby in the crook of one arm and carried a white doily in her free hand. ‘Come here, boy. A present for your lady friend, boss?’ she added, catching Jed’s eye and waving the intricate piece of lacework.
Jed was surprised by the greeting. Black people didn’t call white people ‘boss’ where he came from. ‘She’s not my friend,’ he said.
‘Oh.’
‘Thanks,’ said Chris.
‘I mean that in the nicest possible way.’
‘I bet.’
Jed turned back to the stall keeper. ‘I was wondering if you could give me directions. I’m looking for someone.’ He produced the piece of paper from his pocket on which Eveline had written the name of her former employee.
The woman took the paper from him, read it, then threw back her head and laughed long and hard.
‘Ah, sah! What do you want this man for? Does he owe you money?’ She laughed again.
Jed smiled politely. ‘No, he was recommended to me as a safari guide.’