Blood Trail

by Tony Park

  Sara used her mouse and cursor to trace a line of intercept dots. It was dead straight and moving fast – too quick for Sara to lock on to it and focus with a camera.

  ‘Human.’ Mia felt a jolt of adrenaline. ‘Has to be. Keep trying.’ She got her phone out.

  ‘Bourke,’ a groggy voice said.

  ‘Howzit, it’s Mia. Did I wake you?’

  There was a cough at the other end and Mia heard a female voice in the background.

  ‘He just fell asleep after being on the go for twenty-four hours,’ Sean’s wife, Christine, called.

  ‘Sorry,’ Mia said.

  ‘No problem.’ Sean sounded awake and alert now. ‘What have you got?’

  ‘Human traffic.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Coming in from the direction of Killarney, about five hundred metres this side of the fence.’

  ‘And you only just picked them up now?’

  Sean was probably tired, but Mia felt there was no need for the reproachful note in his voice. ‘Hey, we just came on shift, blame the guys before us.’

  ‘Sorry. I’ll talk to them. For now, keep a watch on him, or them. Any idea how many?’

  Mia checked the screen again. Sara was furiously clicking, trying to pick up the target. ‘Not yet, sorry. They’re moving fast and clever.’

  ‘No problem. WhatsApp me the coordinates and direction of movement. Shame we don’t have a bloody helicopter or pilot.’

  ‘Shame or convenient?’ Mia said.

  He paused. ‘Hmm, good point. Sannie is following up on that lead, Mia. For now, I’ll get a dog team out there and some guys. What’s their target? Any idea?’

  ‘Three white rhinos, on our concession, and probably leaving a trail a tourist could follow.’

  ‘Shit,’ Sean said. ‘Right, thanks Mia. Good work. Stay on them and keep me updated.’

  ‘Roger.’

  Mia ended the call then had a thought. She redialled Sean’s number, but he was busy, no doubt mobilising his forces. It wasn’t really her job, but she took Captain van Rensburg’s business card out of her top pocket and dialled the policewoman’s number.

  *

  ‘Van Rensburg,’ Sannie said.

  ‘Howzit, Captain, it’s Mia Greenaway.’

  ‘Yes, Mia. How are you?’ After the brief pleasantries, Mia told Sannie that she had intercepted a suspected poacher on the game reserve and where she thought the man had come from.

  ‘I’m actually at Killarney now,’ Sannie said. ‘Just by the fence line.’

  ‘I’m enlarging the map on the screen now, Captain, and shifting the view to an aerial photograph image . . .’

  Sannie paused, not wanting to lose phone signal, as it could be patchy in rural areas like this one.

  ‘Captain, you know where they’re doing the building work for the new lodge and school?’

  ‘Ja.’

  ‘I think they probably entered the reserve somewhere near there, not long ago.’

  ‘I’m close by.’ Sannie felt her heart rate pick up. ‘I’ll go and check now. Have you alerted your own people?’

  ‘Yes, Sean’s sending a team and a dog to check.’

  ‘When do you think they entered?’

  ‘They’re now about seven hundred metres inside the reserve and look to be moving at a good pace, on a mission, so maybe fifteen or twenty minutes?’

  ‘Good work. Call me if you see anything else. Leave a voice message if you can’t get through.’

  ‘Affirmative,’ Mia said.

  When Sannie got to the fence, she scanned the ground in front of her. Legally, there was nothing to stop people on the Killarney side of the fence from walking on the pathway, and here and there she picked up footprints, though they seemed to be old.

  Sannie looked for any sign of the wires on the fence having been cut. A skilled poacher might take the time to bend any severed strands back into place, so that a breach might not be visible to a casual observer, or a patrol driving past.

  As well as checking for poachers, she told herself that she must find and interview the sangoma, a task which had already slipped down her list of priorities.

  Sannie carried on for about three hundred metres, checking the fence and pathways either side of the barrier, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. At one point she came to a culvert, a likely place for someone to try to crawl under. She also got down on one knee to inspect the lowest part of the fence, where it crossed the dry watercourse. This was the sort of spot where even a warthog or other animal might try to burrow through the soft sand. A pile of bricks had been laid in the stream bed to block the gap beneath the razor wire fence. Sannie checked it and looked for tracks – there was no sign of disturbance.

  She stood, wiped her hands on her blue uniform trousers and turned and retraced her steps. Sannie carried on another three hundred metres along the fence in the opposite direction, but, again, found no sign of disturbance. She took out her phone and called Mia.

  ‘Yes, Captain?’

  ‘Nothing this side of the fence,’ Sannie said. ‘What’s your system showing?’

  ‘We’ve lost him again.’

  ‘Him?’ Sannie said. ‘Just one man?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mia replied. ‘We got a few seconds of video of him and he appears to be alone, masked and armed with a hunting rifle and silencer. He’s using dead ground – riverbeds and dongas – to keep out of sight of our cameras and sensors.’

  ‘Can you pick up his trail?’

  ‘Yes, Captain, Bongani and I are certainly going to try. We’re going to leave Sara here to watch the system while we try to pick up his spoor.’

  ‘Good,’ Sannie said. ‘And good luck. Give Sara my number and if you catch sight of him turning and making a run for the fence let me know and I’ll try to intercept him on this side. He’s got to have crossed over or under it somewhere.’

  Sannie turned back towards the settlement of Killarney, once more cutting through the sparse trees of the buffer zone. A cow mooed nearby. She found the track she had been on and followed it to the right, in the direction she had originally been heading.

  The sangoma’s house was an older-style rondavel, a roundhouse built in the traditional style of mudbrick and a grass thatch roof. The satellite dish and solar panels on the roof were a concession to the twenty-first century.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  Sannie turned to see a plump, elderly woman in a neatly pressed floral dress and blue canvas tekkies, simple sneakers. The woman had a basket made of woven reeds over her left arm.

  ‘I’m looking for the sangoma,’ Sannie said. ‘Do you know if he’s in?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘Tsk, tsk, tsk.’

  ‘Do you know where he is?’ she asked again.

  ‘He was never here.’

  Sannie was tired. She had not been sleeping well, generally, and she’d had precious little rest the night before. She was not in the mood for riddles or jokes.

  ‘The truth is, he never existed,’ the woman said before Sannie could rephrase her question.

  Sannie looked at the woman and opened her mouth to speak. Again, she was beaten to the punch.

  ‘You are troubled.’

  Sannie sighed. She didn’t have the energy to pretend. ‘More than you can imagine, but can you –’

  ‘Come inside. I will make you a cup of tea, Captain van Rensburg.’

  ‘You know my name?’

  ‘My old eyes are not so bad that I cannot read a name tag, and I’m not so senile that I can’t recognise police ranks. Police is one thing I know about.’

  The woman went to the door of the hut and opened it. Sannie followed her inside.

  ‘You’re the sangoma?’

  The woman looked back at her as Sannie crossed the threshold. She raised her eyebrows. �
��You’re surprised? And you a female senior officer?’

  Sannie shrugged. ‘Not really, I know that many izangoma are women.’ Sannie did recall, however, Sonto saying the local children had been warned to stay away from this particular sangoma. Right or wrong, that had made her assume the healer would be a man.

  The woman gave a little chuckle and set down her basket on a carved wooden table. She had a kitchen, of sorts, and some old laminate-topped cupboards that looked like they had come from another house, propped against the wall. The woman placed a black kettle on a gas cylinder and lit the burner.

  Sannie looked around. The walls of the hut were decorated with brightly printed fabric wraps, many with motifs of animals – there were several lions, but also a rhino with his horned head held high, and a sneaky leopard. Another wall hanging was of the sun, with a face in the middle.

  The hut smelled musty, and faintly of decaying meat or skin. Old death. Home-built shelves of rough timber followed the curve of the wall wherever there was space. Hundreds of boxes and old Cremora and coffee jars contained a variety of ingredients and medicines, made, Sannie guessed, of both plants and animals. The windows were also blocked with wraps.

  The woman further busied herself, though taking her time, lighting a paraffin lamp. The smell of sulphur in the air came from the Lion match the woman had just struck, but all the same, Sannie couldn’t help but recall some scary Sunday School stories of hell from her youth.

  ‘I save my solar electricity for the television. Rhythm City, my favourite soap and my one vice each night.’ She gave a small laugh.

  Sannie smiled politely, but she was impatient. ‘I need to ask you some questions.’

  The woman blew out the match and put it back in the box.

  ‘I can see you are troubled,’ the woman said again.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’

  ‘I am Virtuous Mathebula.’

  ‘Captain Susan van Rensburg, from the Stock Theft and Endangered Species unit, based at Skukuza.’

  ‘You must be proud to have attained such a senior rank, though I know it has come at a cost to you.’

  Sannie frowned. She was used to suspects trying to put her off a line of questioning, even immune to it, but she felt this woman was doing her best to annoy her. ‘If I may –’

  ‘Is it a loss?’

  ‘Is what a loss?’ Sannie asked.

  ‘Is that what you are suffering from, the death of a loved one, perhaps?’

  Sannie closed her eyes for a moment, to compose herself. ‘Ms Mathebula . . .’

  ‘Mrs. My husband is no longer with us, but I retain the title.’

  ‘Mrs Mathebula, I need to ask you some questions, not the other way around.’

  Virtuous waved her hand in the air. ‘Suit yourself, but if you don’t mind me saying so I think you’d be better able to do your job with a clear mind and a clear conscience.’

  Sannie felt a flash of anger. ‘Clear conscience?’

  Virtuous opened one of the old kitchen cupboards, its chipboard door swollen with damp, and took out two chipped mugs. She had her back to Sannie as she unscrewed the lid of an old jam jar. ‘You look tired, my dear. I have something that will help you.’

  Sannie started to stand up, worried the woman was going to slip her some strange concoction.

  Virtuous turned to her, smiling, holding up two tea bags. ‘Rooibos?’

  Sannie sat again. ‘Fine, thank you.’

  Virtuous laughed. ‘Did you think I was going to drug you with one of my potions?’

  ‘No, no, of course not,’ Sannie said quickly.

  Virtuous chuckled. The kettle whistled to a boil and she turned off the gas and poured for them both. Sannie took out her notebook and pen. ‘You’re aware of the missing girls?’

  Virtuous handed her a cup. ‘Be careful, it’s hot. Yes, I am aware of the missing girls. Ah, but this is a terrible business.’

  ‘What do you think happened to them?’ She was tired after being up most of the night; she’d snatched an hour of sleep in her car. The tea was a godsend.

  Virtuous picked up her own cup and sat down on an old tubular-framed kitchen chair. She blew on her tea. ‘This country happened to them, Captain.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘You are a policewoman. You must know the evils of mankind.’

  Sannie sipped her tea. She certainly did. ‘Specifically?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘You of all people must know of the problems of violence against women and children. Lord knows it is in the news media enough, but our menfolk are not getting the message. I fear for those children.’

  Sannie made a note and looked up. ‘Did you know the girls?’

  Virtuous nodded. ‘Yes, but not well. The second girl to go missing, Lilly, was not the type to be easily led astray, even by her friends. She was smart, with an enquiring mind. I had spoken to her – she was interested in studying medicine one day.’

  ‘A competitor?’

  Virtuous smiled. ‘Not at all. I don’t seek to persuade people to ignore science or the benefits of modern medicine. People come to me for a different kind of healing.’

  ‘Poachers?’

  She arched her eyebrows. ‘If a poacher came to me with an ailment, or a problem, should I turn him away?’

  Sannie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It probably depends on what he wants from you. What if, for example, a man came to you asking for umuthi that would protect him from bullets, or make him invisible?’

  Virtuous regarded her for a few long seconds. ‘I hope you’re not mocking me or my beliefs, Captain?’

  ‘Not at all. I am sure the poachers who come to you believe in whatever it is that you’re selling them.’

  Virtuous set her cup down on the table. ‘I am not in the business of sending young men to their deaths with false notions of their own immortality, Captain. I am one of a number of traditional healers who signed a memorandum of understanding with South African National Parks a couple of years ago agreeing not to aid or abet poachers. I can show you the article from The Lowvelder, if you wish?’

  ‘Thanks, but I’m sure I can find it online.’

  Virtuous took up her cup again and sipped her tea. ‘I can tell you that this poaching business worries me, Captain. Too many of the young men from our community have been corrupted by greed and have found themselves either in prison or an early grave. I want nothing to do with something that kills my people. I do, where I can, try to counsel the people who come to me to not break the law and to respect the environment and the wildlife that lives on our doorstep.’

  Sannie glanced around at the jars and containers on the shelves. ‘Yet many of the ingredients in your medicines come from wildlife, don’t they?’

  Virtuous shrugged. ‘Some yes, some no. You’ve heard of umuthi markets?’

  Sannie nodded. ‘I have.’

  ‘There is a big one in Faraday, in Johannesburg. I go there two or three times a year to buy what I need. I am assured that any animal products I buy have been sustainably sourced.’

  Sannie kept her face passive, but she was sure Virtuous had bought illegally poached products among her ‘sustainably sourced’ ingredients. Now was not the time to threaten her, though, in case she stopped talking. ‘That’s good to hear.’

  ‘I can see you don’t believe me, but I rest easy at night, knowing I am not contributing to this problem of poaching.’

  ‘Of course,’ Sannie said, though she held on to her doubts. ‘The boy who was killed –’

  ‘Sipho.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sannie said. ‘He was selling snakes to a sangoma in Johannesburg, or to a middleman.’

  Virtuous shook her head. ‘Ai, ai, ai, that boy. I told him he would get into trouble, and look what happened to him.’

  ‘More than jus
t “trouble”, don’t you think?’

  ‘He was dancing with the devil, that one.’

  Sannie made a note. ‘You don’t sound very remorseful.’

  Virtuous shrugged. ‘You ask me if I buy animal parts, if I help poachers – that boy Sipho was keeping snakes illegally and dealing with criminals. He is fuelling the myths about my calling, that we are in bed with poachers and thieves. I warned him about those snakes and I warned him not to deal with those men from Johannesburg. They are bad news.’

  ‘You know them?’

  ‘They came to me looking for umuthi to protect their gunmen. They sell it to the hijackers who steal cars and hold up the cash in transit vans. It’s them you should be chasing, not me or the likes of Sipho.’

  ‘Tell me about these men from Joburg,’ Sannie said.

  ‘Gangsters, every one of them. I’m afraid to say that pieces of a reptile, a young girl, even a young boy, are all just commodities like any other to the sorts of men we are talking about here as we sip our tea, you and me, Captain.’

  The thought chilled Sannie to her bones. She thought of her own children.

  ‘You are troubled,’ Virtuous said again.

  ‘So you said.’

  ‘You know, that is something a sangoma can help you with.’

  ‘Loss?’

  ‘Loss . . . guilt?’

  ‘I’m not guilty,’ Sannie said, too quickly. How did this woman know so much about her? It was unsettling, and not a good position to be in when conducting a police interview.

  ‘Not of a crime.’

  ‘There’s nothing you can help me with, apart from my investigation.’

  Virtuous set her teacup down. ‘May I make a suggestion, Captain?’

  Sannie shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘You might see more clearly, in your investigation, if you were not carrying around so much sadness. It is, I feel, clouding your view, and perhaps your judgement.’

  Sannie took a deep breath. This woman was trying her patience and Sannie was smart enough to know that one of the reasons she felt her own annoyance – anger, perhaps – rising, was that there was an element of truth in what Virtuous was saying.

  ‘You read people.’ Virtuous said it as a statement, not a question.