An official with the Namibian government forensic unit said “The perpetrator is a professional who knows what he is doing. The legs and arms were cut off was done in a way that you would think it was done in a butchery or a science lab.”
Namibian president Hifikepunye Pohamba has made an impassioned appeal to law enforcement agencies to trace the murderer and ensure that he faces the wrath of the law.
And now the discovery of Rosalee Khumalo leads police to suspect that the killer has struck again or a copycat has emerged. Sources have revealed that there are differences in this killing to the others; while the body was neatly dismembered, as in the cases of the other victims, and the head was also missing, there appeared to be evidence of a muti murder: the woman’s genitals had been cut off which had not been done to any of the other victims. Also, the breasts had been removed and fat sucked from the abdomen which is considered to bring good luck in muti.
Rosalee Khumalo is survived by her elderly mother, 83, and her two children, a girl, 8,and a boy, 5. The investigation will continue.
Kate folded the paper, appalled. Despite the heat of the day, she cold and covered in goosebumps.
She was convinced that Rydell had killed Rosalee Khumalo. She glanced over at him; he was fast asleep, still wearing his bloodied clothes, with his head leaning against the window.
While she was certain it was him, what could she do? She could not tell Jono; he would not believe her.
She decided to put the newspaper away so none of the others would see it. She was rearranging her bag when she spotted André’s phone and she grabbed it with relief.
There was a message: mornin sunshine! Where r u? did u forget me yet?
She smiled and replied; near Uis. I remember evrything! Can I phone u 2nite? Smthing wryng me.
She sent it and did not have long to wait.
Problms? With? U ok? Tell more
u know jack serial killer? I think he’s on bus
no! 4real?
yes, 4sure. Cant talk now, call l8r?
yes. going 2 ask frnds 4 intel 2day. I know pep in know. r u safe?
yes I’m fine, don’t wrry
where r u 2night?
aba huab
thats not far. I can b there in 3hrs if u need me. Try2 need me.
I’ll be fine. But good to know
will fone u 6pm. b safe
I will, talk later
She signed off and put the phone back in her bag, exhaling a huge sigh of relief. At least she had André for an ally.
The road had become a series of supersized bumps and she hung on to her seat, glancing furtively around the bus. Her companions were lost in their own worlds and Rydell woke up and was rubbing his eyes.
Kate could not shake the sick feeling in her stomach that the worst was yet to come.
They arrived at Aba Huab mid-afternoon. The campsite, set under immense acacia trees, was picture-postcard Africa with a traditional low pebble-stone wall and a thatched rondavel bar. The veldt and bush were quiet in the afternoon heat, with only a few birds and crickets calling out lazily.
Kate thought about telling Jono about Rydell and the death of Rosalee Khumalo but before she could open her mouth, Lena distracted them all with an announcement.
“I’m sharing with Gisela now,” she called out to Stepfan. “Put up your own tent.”
“I had better help him, eish,” Jono said in an undertone to Kate and trotted over to Stepfan who was standing helplessly, looking around.
The tents assembled, Jono called everyone over. “Tonight the locals will dance for us,” he announced. “There is no fee, but contributions are welcome as this is a poor area and it is very tough for people to make a living.”
“Dancing!” Mia gave a loud whistle. “That’s bleedin’ brilliant! The Marula, here I come.” She whooped, shook her shoulders and stamped her feet. Mia’s antics threw aside the heavy cloak of gloom that had shrouded the group since breakfast.
“My girl always wants to party,” Richard said theatrically with a sigh.
“She certainly parties enough for two,” Lena whispered to Kate.
Kate was startled. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“She’s pregnant,” Lena said. “I heard her telling Jasmine like it was something funny.”
Kate stared at Mia who was still practicing her dance, her bruised face horrifying. A thought occurred to Kate and she looked at Richard whose face still bore the deep tracks of fingernails.
Kate sidled closer to Mia who had stopped dancing and was standing with her hands on her hips. Mia’s nails were bitten to the quick and Kate frowned, thinking that the story of Richard and Mia’s night of drunken debauchery did not ring true and she wondered what had really happened.
And now there was the news that Mia was pregnant.
“I wish I had a mask for the dance,” Ellie said. “Richard, are you going to wear yours?”
“Depends,” he said, “I was saving that for our trance dance, when it’s just us. We’ll see, Ellie, we’ll see.”
Later, Kate was not sure why she was not in a better mood. She felt tired and grumpy and out of sorts. She had lots of reasons to feel ill-tempered but still, it was not like her and she wished she could shake the mood off.
“It’s fifty degrees in the shade,” Richard reported, studying his portable barometer. “That’s 122 Farenheit.”
“I’m going to have a shower,” Kate said to the others. “It’s too hot for me.”
She stood under the cold water and felt her good spirits start to return. She pulled on the new African skirt she had bought with Eva and went up to the cool verandah. She settled into a lounge chair and closed her eyes, enjoying the fragrance of hot veldt grass and spicy thatch. Others from the group drifted up to join her and they were soon all dozing or writing in their journals.
Kate fell asleep and woke disorientated.
“What time is it?” Sofie asked in a similarly confused waking state, with deep sleep creases on her face.
Kate looked at her watch. “5:45,” she said and her heart skipped a beat. “I must get my phone,” she said and she dashed off.
“What phone?” Sofie called after her. “Wait for me.”
But Kate ran like the wind, her long African skirt whipping in the breeze. The air was hot and dry and filled with a rich mix of evening African smells: campfires, the cooling earth, a hint of the mysterious night to come. Kate rushed into her tent and grabbed her phone. Her heart was beating fast but there were no missed calls. She climbed out of her tent and zipped it up, thinking there was nothing she could do now but wait. What if he didn’t call? Should she call him? It occurred to her suddenly that she was more concerned about the possibility of André not calling than she was about Rydell being the copycat killer of the murdered Rosalee Khumalo.
She sat, uneasy in the shade on the stone wall. She was wondering whether she should go for a walk when she heard the unmistakeable sound of a car engine. She looked up in disbelief, and yes, there was André, spinning into Aba Huab in a bright green Porsche, whipping up a cloud of dust.
She ran up to the boma where he had parked and called his name.
“Don’t you look very lekker in your nice new skirt,” he said and she blushed. He was much better-looking than she remembered, and bigger too.
They stood awkwardly and then Kate advanced a step. “I, um, I’m glad you came,” she said.
He flipped his car keys around his fingers and looked around. “Sounded serious, thought I’d better check out what’s going on.”
“André,” she said suddenly, “I must tell you something…”
“Let me guess,” a scornful voice said, close to them, “your boyfriend has arrived all the way from Canada.” It was Stepfan. “It seems,” he continued, “that our good girl is not quite as good as she made herself ou
t to be. Miss holier-than-thou turns out to be quite risqué after all.” He smiled smugly and walked off.
André cocked an enquiring eye at Kate.
“I can explain, let’s go for a walk,” she said, and he nodded, his expression not particularly forgiving. They walked in silence until they had rounded a corner of the sandy road.
“When were you going to tell me?” he asked her.
Kate sighed. “There’s no boyfriend. There was — he’s the reason I’m on this trip. I thought he was going to propose marriage and next thing, I’m listening to him tell me all the advantages of an open relationship.”
“Ah, I see. He had someone in mind then?”
“Yes, he did. I left him and came on this trip and then, on the first night, Jono seemed interested in me and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings by not liking him and I told him I had a boyfriend. It seemed like the nicer thing to do. And I was right, Jono did, or rather does, have a crush on me, he told me so at dinner, the night before you and I met.”
“Goodness gracious,” André said, and the expression sounded quaint coming from him. “You have been having an interesting go of it. Okay, well, fine then. But now, listen, tell me about this serial killer.”
“It’s quite a long story if I start right at the beginning in Cape Town when our trip began.”
“We’ve got all the time in the world.”
“Not really, because it’s nearly suppertime and then some local dancers are doing a show for us — will you stay for that?”
“That and more.” He looked around Aba Huab. “I hate to see this. The campsite’s not nearly as busy as it should be, for this time of year. There should be three or four camps set up, meanwhile there’s only you guys. That’s not good, the locals will suffer badly.”
Kate was dying to grab André’s hand but she resisted, wondering if he thought he’d made a mistake in coming to see her.
“Mevrou Nwosu,” André exclaimed in surprise, when they got back to the bus, “Wat doen jy hier? What on earth are you doing here?” He ran over to Betty who was stirring a pot on the gas burner and he swept her up in his arms.
Betty responded like a giddy schoolgirl. “André Markus Bartaiah, I might ask you the same question, what are you doing here? And put me down, you naughty boy.”
“I’m here to visit my excellent new friend, Miss Kate,” André explained. “And you?”
“I’m here to help out my excellent and very old friend, Jono, who is the guide on the tour. I think you know him? He lost his cook who lost her heart to a man who got off the bus and she stayed with him.”
“You’re cooking?” André had a gleam in his eye. “You will not know this,” he said to Kate, “but this esteemed lady is not only a wonderful teacher, but also a great cook. Her skills are in high demand in Swakopmund. I’m very glad I’m staying for dinner.”
“You’re staying?” Betty laughed. “Thank you for giving me good warning, because now I must double my ingredients — I know how much you can eat.”
“André, my man, what are you doing here?” Jono walked up and offered a traditional African handshake.
André swung around. “Hey, Jono,” he smiled broadly, “howzit my bru?” He grasped Jono’s hand and pumped vigorously.
“You know everyone,” Kate commented.
“Just in my corner of the desert,” André replied, “which in reality, is only a very small piece of the world. Jono, I’m here to visit this gorgeous woman who I had the pleasure of meeting yesterday, the lovely Kate.”
“Yes, she is lovely, I could not agree more.” Jono sounded slightly strained. “You are going to stay for supper? Did you fly up in your green Porsche?”
“Ja, man, of course I did. The super green flying machine.”
“Supper’s ready,” Betty announced and as if by radar, people had already gravitated to the side of the bus where the food was laid out. “Vegetable curry, mielie pap and curried meat in that dish there. Enjoy.”
“The famous mielie pap,” Kate said. “Marika told me about it. It’s a pity she didn’t get to enjoy it.” She prodded the stiff white mound on her plate. “It looks like Cream of Wheat made without enough water or milk.” She sniffed it. “It doesn’t have much smell.”
“It’s ground maize,” Betty explained, “made from white corn kernels. It is a staple of my people, good for breakfast or supper. Foreigners sometimes find it a bit dry, so add more sauce if you need to.”
The group fell on the food as if they had not eaten for a week.
“Hey, Jono, my china, have you been starving your crew?” André laughed. “I’ve never seen such a hungry lot in my life.”
“We need energy to dance later,” Sofie said.
“Are you going to stay for the dancing tonight?” Helen asked flirtatiously.
“I wouldn’t miss it.” André tucked into his plate of food and waved his fork at Betty in appreciation.
“We are going to do the Marula,” Mia declared. “I’ve only been waiting the whole bleedin’ trip to learn it.”
“You’ve even got me interested in it.” Gisela had decided to put her misgivings about Mia aside for the evening.
“I’ll try too.” Lena announced.
“That I must see,” Stepfan said.
“And you shall, tonight.” Lena said, smoothing down her long skirt. She had managed to remain polished and fashionable throughout the entire trip; it was as if she had access to a hidden ironing board and a secret washing machine.
“I’m on dish duty tonight,” Sofie said. “Don’t start without me.”
All the men and women were flirting with André and Kate was amused to watch them succumb to his charm and she thought that he was the kind of man who, with little effort, could cause a woman to throw caution to the wind. She reminded herself that she had already had that opportunity; she could have had dinner with him that last night in Swakopmund but she had resisted. But he was here now and she was dying to touch him, kiss him again.
She finished her supper and took her plate to the bucket.
“Where did you find him?” Sofie and Helen joined her and asked in an undertone. “he’s totally awesome.”
“My God, girl,” Sofie added, “you are a quiet one but when you come out with it, you don’t just do half the job.”
“I met him in the town,” Kate said, unable to hide the delight in her eyes. “He dazzled me.”
“I’m sure he did.” Sofie said, “and from the look of it, you dazzled him too!”
Kate helped Sofie and Helen wash the dishes, and then they trooped off to the boma to watch the local dancers.
The Ninth Night
KATE THOUGHT THE DANCING WAS WONDERFUL but she also knew she’d she would remember nothing none of it later because all she could think about was André. She was acutely aware of him: his touch when his skin brushed against hers, the feel of his hand caressing her back, the warmth of him as he leaned into her, and the heat of his breath on her ear.
“Will you teach us the Marula now?” Mia leapt to her feet as soon as the dancing ended and the dish on the ground was filled with money.
The women found her request funny and they giggled and chatted in Xhosa.
“Please,” Mia pleaded, “give us lessons. We really want to learn.”
The dancers soon had the whole group on their feet to learn the Marula, including Rydell and Stepfan.
“Come walk with me,” André whispered to Kate and they slipped away.
“Let’s go to the camp,” he said, “I’ll light a fire and we’ll be able to see if anyone’s coming and you can tell me everything.”
He built a fire in one of the small pits that faced the boma and Kate pulled up two camp chairs.
“Ag nooit bokkie,” André said, “No way, my angel. I want to fill my arms with you. Come sit here with me, against
the tree, ja, like so. That’s better, né? So now, Katie, tell me about this serial killer idea you have and everything that goes with it.”
Kate told him the story from the beginning, starting with Rydell’s oddities, his theories about African women, his search for a Bushman wife and his desire for Treasure. How Richard seemed so obsessed with witchcraft, drugs and muti. How Stepfan and Charisse had carried on an affair right in front of Lena, Stepfan’s wife. She told him about Sofie and Stepfan’s constant political arguing; all the in-fighting, flirting and aggression that had been rife since the start of the trip. She described how Harrison’s cleaning fetishes had led him to hang around Treasure, which incited Rydell to poison Harrison’s water which and had then mistakenly killed Charisse. She told him about her trip to Walvis Bay with Brianna and everything that happened right up to the loss of Enrique, Eva and Marika. She told him about Stepfan breaking Rydell’s nose because of his snoring and she explained why both Richard and Mia looked as if they’d they had gone several rounds in a heavyweight fight, and finally, she wrapped up with Treasure staying to take care Harrison in Swakopmund, hence Betty being their new cook.
The only part Kate judiciously left out was her attraction to Thaalu.
“My goodness gracious me,” André said, stroking her hair, “with all that poison and intrigue, no wonder you wanted to buy a switchblade. I’m surprised you didn’t rush to my shop and demand an AK47. Why didn’t you bail and stay with me in Swakopmund? You could have, you know. You still can. I could give you a real holiday. You know, the kind, with fun, laughter, good times, things like that. Tough concept I know, but you never know, you might like it.”
“I have to do this,” Kate explained. “I started this tour and I’m going to finish it. I finish things and not only that, I try to do them right. I don’t leave off halfway because the going gets tough, although in this case, given that lives have been lost and threatened, perhaps not finishing would be the more sensible thing to do. But this is my adventure, my holiday, and I won’t give up on it.”
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