Deadly Harvest

by Michael Stanley

  “I am the head of the diamond division of the Botswana Police,” Joshua said angrily. “I am—­”

  “I said I know who you are.” The words were said softly, but Joshua subsided.

  “How are you with women?”

  The question was so unexpected that Joshua stammered. “I . . . I . . . I’m strong. With my wife. And there are others. This is not my problem.”

  The witch doctor seemed satisfied. He thought for a moment. “We need something very rare and very special. A leswafe.”

  Joshua sucked in his breath. “An albino?”

  The witch doctor nodded. “Yes, there is great power there. We will take that power for you. Then you will be strong. Not just with women.” The last was said with contempt.

  “Will I become deputy commissioner?”

  “For that answer, you need to find some old man squatting in the street to throw the bones for you. I offer you real power, not empty promises sold for a few pula. Don’t waste my time.”

  Joshua swallowed. “When will it be ready?”

  “I must find the right one. These things are difficult. When I have him, I will call you. You will come at once, and we will take the power you desire from him.”

  “I must be here when you do it?” Joshua was horrified.

  “Not here. But, yes, you will do it with me. The power is much stronger that way.”

  Joshua was silent. He realized what the witch doctor was saying. He was to participate in a murder. I will leave now, he thought. I will tell no one this happened. He stood up so that he was looking down at the witch doctor. That made him feel a bit better. Then he sank back into the chair.

  The witch doctor nodded, satisfied. “It will be fifty thousand pula.”

  “That’s a fortune! How will I explain the payment of all that money?”

  “You are still not understanding! You do not explain. After this you will have power. And you walk that road from this point on with me as your guide. It is very little money. I do it so cheaply as a favor to your uncle.”

  “I’ll need to think about it.”

  The witch doctor shook his head. “You need to decide now. I won’t waste my time with a man who cannot make up his mind. I will give you power, but you must use it.”

  Joshua decided to leave. He wanted to escape this evil man with his cold snake-­voice. Again he got to his feet, but he realized it was too late. It had been too late once he opened the door of the shack, too late once he’d spoken to his uncle. Perhaps it had been too late after the first time he’d gained something he didn’t deserve.

  The witch doctor seemed to know all this. “I will tell you when I want the money.”

  “All right,” said Joshua.

  THIRTEEN

  IT WAS NEARLY MIDDAY on Wednesday, and Kubu was contemplating lunch. Perhaps the café at Game City would have one of its specials—­generous and cheap. This pleasant contemplation was interrupted by a knock on his door, and Samantha appeared in answer to his shout. Because of their previous meeting, Kubu’s reaction was mixed. Still, he waved her to a chair.

  “How’s it going?” he asked. Samantha seemed excited. Was it possible that she was actually getting somewhere?

  “Well, I’ve found a few leads. Can I tell you about them? See what you think?”

  Kubu grunted, and she continued.

  “First, I think Lesego was abducted for muti, not as a sex slave. She had something special that may have made her attractive to a witch doctor.” She gave Kubu a brief account of her interview with Van der Meer.

  “So you think it was her name? She was killed for her name?” He was shocked. Samantha nodded. “Maybe. Then I went to see the family. There wasn’t much—­nothing they hadn’t already told the police. But the girl’s sister had something. She’d found Lesego’s shopping list discarded at the bottom of the hill leading up to her house. She was sure that Lesego threw it there when she was abducted. If that’s so, then we know exactly where she was taken.”

  “Why didn’t the sister take it to the police at once when she found it?”

  “She did. They weren’t interested.”

  Kubu grunted again and waited for her to continue.

  “I decided to go to each house in the immediate area and tell them that we knew Lesego was abducted there that day—­to see if I could get them to remember something.” She paused.

  Kubu thought this over. Samantha shouldn’t have told potential witnesses that the police knew something that they did not. This was hardly police procedure by the book. But Kubu wasn’t exactly renowned for going by the book, either, as Mabaku was fond of pointing out. He let it go. “That’s a pretty long shot,” he said mildly.

  “I know. But it paid off. One man I spoke to yesterday said he saw a red car stop at the bottom of the hill. He remembers because it was an odd place to stop—­on the curve at the bottom of the hill—­and he thought perhaps it had broken down. But when he went out to look, it started up again and headed up the hill.”

  “Was he sure it was that day? It was four and a half months ago!”

  Samantha hesitated. “He thought so. He has a very good memory and remembered other things from before Christmas. But no, he wasn’t sure.”

  “Did he remember seeing the girl?” Samantha slowly shook her head. “Why didn’t he tell the police at the time?”

  “Well, he didn’t see anything suspicious. Anyway, they didn’t ask him. The police didn’t do much at all. They should react at once when someone goes missing, especially a child. They don’t take these cases seriously.”

  “Maybe so.” Kubu was beginning to agree with her sentiments.

  “So, I think that she was abducted in a red car that evening. I’m trying to work out how to check up on red cars in Mochudi.”

  “You realize, of course, that there could be hundreds of other explanations for the car and everything else?” Samantha started to object, but Kubu held up his hand. “Let me finish. Suppose that your whole theory is right. Let’s see where that takes us. So, if the abductor wanted her specially—­for her name, as you suggest—­then he must’ve known her and where she’d be that afternoon. Perhaps she knew him, too. That would explain why he found it so easy to get her into the car.”

  “Yes, I also thought of that. That’s why I want to try to find red cars in Mochudi.”

  “Good. But if I were going to abduct a child, I wouldn’t use my own car. I’d borrow one, or rent one, or—­best of all—­steal one. I suggest you take a look at cars reported stolen around that time that turned up a while later, probably undamaged.”

  “That’s an excellent idea, Assistant Superintendent! I’ll start with cars reported stolen in Mochudi.”

  Kubu shook his head. “Probably not there. I’d steal a car somewhere in Gaborone. Much less obvious. And it’s only half an hour drive to Mochudi anyway.”

  Samantha was thinking ahead. “The trouble is the man wouldn’t have to know her. Maybe he’d heard about her. Maybe someone tipped him off.” She hated the idea of a gang earmarking suitable children for dismemberment, but it was a possibility.

  Kubu nodded. “Of course that might be the case. But someone knew her or knew of her, so that makes a personal connection. Did she have a lot of friends? Maybe she had a weekend job? Check if anyone was asking about her at the school—­who she was, where she lived, and so on.” Samantha was making notes, obviously excited. Kubu realized she was very likely to be disappointed. All this was speculation and would probably lead nowhere.

  “Any luck with unidentified bodies?”

  Samantha shook her head. “Nothing that fits a girl of that age.”

  Kubu hesitated. “That suggests that she was abducted to be sold. A witch doctor would have to get rid of the body once he had taken the body parts he wanted for muti. So maybe the name is just a coincidence after all.”
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  Samantha bit her lip but didn’t argue.

  Kubu checked his watch. “Well, it’s lunchtime.”

  Samantha was already on her feet. “No time now. I’ll get something later. I want to check up on any car thefts and then start a list of Lesego’s friends and acquaintances. I’ll need to go back to Mochudi. Thanks, Assistant Superintendent.”

  Kubu watched her go and heard her hurried progress up the corridor. He’d tried to be encouraging, but her theory was based on a set of flimsy connections. Well, he thought, at least she’s keen.

  He decided to walk to Game City. The exercise was good for him, and he’d work up an appetite. Not that that had ever been a problem. He chuckled as he locked his door.

  IT WAS FRIDAY AFTERNOON, and Kubu had his feet up on his desk. Although he had eaten a paltry lunch of salads, lovingly provided by Joy, he had managed to invite several of his colleagues for tea in his office. This, of course, enabled him to delve into his tin of mixed cookies without guilt. His eyes were closed, and he was contemplating with pleasure a weekend with his family—­time alone with his wonderful wife, and playtime with the always effervescent Tumi. Even Nono was slowly coming out of her shell and was joining the games with some enthusiasm.

  As a smile spread across his face, there was a banging on his door. Kubu hurriedly put his feet on the floor and opened a folder on his desk.

  “Come in!” he shouted.

  Samantha rushed in, obviously upset.

  “Assistant Superintendent, it’s completely unacceptable!”

  “Detective, please sit down. Let me get you a cup of tea. I was just going for one myself. Problems have a habit of shrinking over a cup of good tea and a cookie.”

  Kubu walked out of his office and returned a few minutes later with two cups of strong tea.

  “Here, have a cookie.” Samantha took two from the offered tin, and Kubu matched her.

  “So, tell me what’s happened.”

  Samantha took a deep breath. “When I started on the Lesego case, I sent a memo to all police stations to let me know whenever someone young went missing. Well, someone from the Broadhurst police station phoned yesterday and told me that a girl had disappeared on the thirteenth. That’s nearly two weeks ago!” She took a deep breath. “How will we ever stop these terrible crimes if the police do nothing?”

  “Calm down, Samantha. Just because they only phoned yesterday doesn’t mean they’ve been doing nothing. When ­people go missing, and this is particularly true for kids, they’ve often just forgotten to tell someone.”

  “Well, why didn’t I hear of it sooner?”

  “You should’ve been told right away, but the reality is that everyone is busy, things fall between the cracks. Maybe they don’t like the CID interfering in their missing-­persons case. Who knows? Overall the police do the best they can, but like everyone else, they’re not perfect.”

  “Aren’t you just condoning incompetence?”

  “Calm down, Samantha. So, what do you want to do about this new case?”

  Samantha leaned back in her chair, and Kubu noticed her shoulders relax a bit.

  “Well, I want to interview the family. I’d like to get to it right away. I’ll go and see if they are home tomorrow or Sunday. It’s not far from here, so it should be quite easy. I don’t mind working on the weekend.”

  “Good. Following up soon will improve the chances of making some progress. Please keep me informed.” Kubu wriggled in his chair to find a more comfortable position.

  Samantha checked her watch and rose to leave. “I must go and vote. I live in the Gaborone North constituency, and I think the Freedom Party might actually win this by-­election. Maybe Rra Marumo will help make things change.”

  Kubu grunted. He wasn’t convinced.

  FOURTEEN

  WITNESS WAITED WITH WHAT patience he could muster for the election. He didn’t vote. What would be the point? But he went to the school—­Tombi’s school—­where the result would be announced. Although the constituency was small and less than a thousand ­people had voted, the count took longer than expected.

  It was nearly midnight when the electoral officer led the candidates and party dignitaries onto the platform. The BDP candidate looked shocked. But Marumo had a huge smile, and the young ­people who’d worked for him erupted into cheering and dancing even before the result was announced. Their man had won by a handful of votes.

  Witness stood silently, his fists clenched. At last, he was certain. He was looking at a man who came from nothing to become a man everyone knew. A man whose party had won an unbelievable victory. A man who said he was going to be president. And Witness was sure, too, that Tombi was dead, murdered to give that man the power for this impossible win.

  He slipped away and drove home, tears running down his cheeks. But he now knew what he had to do.

  IT HAD BEEN EASY to find where Marumo lived—­a house on Pela Crescent. The telephone directory listed his address. It was that simple.

  Late on Saturday afternoon Witness drove across town, found Chuma Drive, and a few moments later saw Pela Crescent on his left. He turned in and followed the road as it circled to the right. And there it was. Marumo’s house, surrounded by a high, concrete wall, with a heavy gate blocking the driveway. Witness looked around at the surrounding houses. This is a rich area, he thought. The properties are big, and the houses are set far apart. He was confident he would not be seen after dark if he was careful.

  He turned left on the frontage road adjacent to Chuma Drive, drove past the Falcon Crest Suites, and parked a few hundred yards away under some trees alongside Julius Nyerere Drive. There he waited. The sun was setting and purple hues filled the western sky. Soon it would be dark.

  Once night had fallen, Witness walked back to Pela Crescent. He had no real plan but hoped that Marumo would return home in the evening. Then he would confront him. He walked to Marumo’s house and peered through the gate. There were lights on, but there was no car in the driveway. He moved a short way down the street and slid behind a large bush. Nobody would see him there.

  It was less than an hour later when a car drove down the street and turned into Marumo’s driveway. Witness heard the heavy gate sliding open. He jumped up, pulled a knife from his pocket, and slid toward the car. As it went through the gate, so did Witness. The gate trundled shut behind them.

  Witness waited while Marumo turned off the engine and got out of the car, briefcase in hand. The car beeped as it locked, and Marumo turned to go inside. Witness stepped forward, grabbed Marumo from behind, covering his mouth with his hand, and pressed the knife against his throat.

  “I’ll kill you if you call for help. Understand?”

  Marumo nodded.

  “I need answers. I’m going to take my hand off your mouth. Don’t make a sound except to answer. Otherwise I’ll kill you. Understand?”

  Marumo nodded again.

  “If you tell me the truth, I’ll let you live. Understand?”

  Another nod.

  Witness pushed Marumo against the garden wall. He pressed the knife harder against Marumo’s throat and took his hand off Marumo’s mouth. Marumo said nothing, but he was shaking.

  “Turn around slowly.” Witness kept the knife at Marumo’s throat.

  Witness could barely see Marumo’s face. Only the whites of his eyes were clearly visible. He pushed the point of the knife against Marumo’s throat. Marumo flinched and stifled a cry.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “No!” gasped Marumo.

  “I am Witness Maleng.”

  Marumo said nothing, then flinched as Witness pushed the knife harder.

  “You know who I am! Don’t lie to me!” Witness hissed, jabbing the knife even harder. “Do you remember the girl you stole from the road near Motswedi School? She was my daughter. My lovely daughter, Tombi.”


  Marumo’s eyes darted from side to side, but he said nothing.

  “You stole her for muti! That’s why you won the election yesterday. The witch doctor told me.”

  “You’re wrong. You’re wrong! I don’t know what you are talking about. I didn’t steal your daughter! It’s not true!”

  Witness pushed on the knife again. Marumo winced, and blood trickled down his neck. “You’re lying! My daughter disappeared just before your party wins? When nobody thought it would? I understand these things! You used her for muti! The witch doctor told me.” Witness’s voice was louder now.

  “He’s lying! I didn’t get anything from him!”

  “Mma Gondo is a famous witch doctor. She doesn’t lie!”

  Marumo took a deep breath.

  “Listen, she’s wrong. I never harmed anyone. Please believe me! Please.” Marumo’s voice and eyes pleaded with Witness.

  “You lie! Tell me the truth, or I’ll kill you!” He pressed the knife even harder.

  Marumo gasped and pushed at Witness.

  “Help!” he shouted, flailing his arms.

  Witness lunged forward, slashing at Marumo’s face. Marumo screamed, and Witness plunged his knife into his throat. The scream died, and Marumo collapsed, gurgling. Witness fell on him and stabbed him repeatedly until there was no more movement.

  “You killed my daughter!” he sobbed. “You killed my Tombi!”

  Part Three

  POWERFUL TROUBLE

  “For a charm of pow’rful trouble,

  Like a hell-­broth boil and bubble.”

  MACBETH, ACT 4, SCENE 1

  FIFTEEN

  KUBU ARRIVED AT MARUMO’S house with his hastily swallowed dessert—­Joy’s special fried bananas with cinnamon and brown sugar—­turning to indigestion. The street was again blocked by police cars, and a uniformed constable demanded identification before letting him through. There was no sign of reporters yet, but it was only a matter of time. And then all hell would break loose. Kubu was glad that Mabaku was on his way.