Kubu abandoned his Land Rover at the gate. He would probably be parked in, but he expected to be at the scene for quite a while anyway. With a sigh, he clambered out and joined the group gathered outside the taped-off area. A technician was setting up a portable floodlight, and a sergeant Kubu had known for many years was battling to write notes in the weak light of the half-moon. Apparently Zanele Dlamini and her forensics team hadn’t arrived yet, but the pathologist, Ian MacGregor, had. He was standing carefully inside the tape wearing latex gloves and shoe covers and shining a flashlight over the body.
Kubu greeted him, and Ian responded with a nod, his attention focused on the spot of light moving from wound to wound. Kubu turned to the sergeant.
“What do we know about what happened?”
The man shrugged. “Marumo’s girlfriend discovered the body.” He consulted his notes. “Jubjub Oteng. She spotted the car in the driveway. When Marumo didn’t come in, she came out to see what was holding him up. She found him here, saw the blood, and screamed her head off. A neighbor, a Dr. Jake Pilane, heard her and came over. He called us. That was about half an hour ago. He’s inside the house with her now.”
Kubu turned back toward Ian, who was leaning over the corpse to peer at a blood-crusted wound to the throat. The light spilled off the neck and leaked around the dead man, picking out the dried blood on the crushed leaves around him.
“Is that what killed him?” asked Kubu.
Ian shook his head. “I doubt it. Unless it went into the spine. Didn’t hit the carotid artery, either, so he didn’t bleed to death. Of course, the lungs could’ve filled with blood over time, and then he would have suffocated.”
Kubu frowned. He hadn’t liked the man, but the thought of him drowning in his own blood was unpleasant.
Ian was moving the light around the body. “Anyway, he’s covered in wounds by the looks of it. Several of them could’ve been fatal. I’ll know better when we’ve got some more light. So far I just checked that he was dead. The doctor did that also.” He shrugged. “But general practitioners aren’t used to this sort of thing.”
At that moment the technician connected the floodlight, and the sudden glare revealed Marumo covered in blood, staring. Momentarily blinded, Ian pulled back, but then knelt and settled to a more careful examination of the body. Without looking up, he said, “He’s got at least ten stab wounds. Could be more. I can’t distinguish them without removing his clothes. Looks like the work of a dagger or sharp-pointed knife.” He shook his head. “Whoever did this was in a frenzy.” He looked at the position of one of the chest wounds. “I’d guess this one hit the heart. I’ll know for sure after the autopsy.”
Kubu heard a car drive up, and moments later he was joined by Mabaku. He looked without expression at the dead man being examined by the pathologist.
“Do you think he set this up himself, too, Kubu?” he growled. “You’d better hope this isn’t the work of the dog killer. The newspapers will skin you like a duiker. And I’ll help them.” He shook his head. “Whatever happens we’re in for a media circus. And if the killer is somehow connected to the BDP, it will be a disaster for the government and for the country.” He shook his head again and, uncharacteristically, cursed.
“This looks like someone in a frenzy, Director,” Kubu responded. “Hardly the work of an assassin. He could’ve slit Marumo’s throat with the knife and been gone in seconds.”
“Politicians attract madmen,” Mabaku replied sourly. “Ian, how long ago did all this happen?”
McGregor stood up. “Greetings, Director. Now we’ve got some light, I can get to work. Give me five minutes, and I’ll be able to give you an estimate. But I doubt it was more than a few hours ago.”
Kubu turned to the sergeant. “Can you organize your men to go door-to-door? Try and find out if anyone noticed anything in the last couple of hours. A vehicle parked in the street, someone running off, shouting, anything.”
Mabaku nodded. “Yes, do that. Right now. And keep the damn reporters away!”
A police van arrived and parked behind Kubu’s vehicle. “That’ll be the forensics team,” Kubu said. “We’d better give them some space. I’m going to talk to the girlfriend.”
Mabaku turned back to the body. Night insects had been attracted by the floodlight. Some had settled on the drying blood or buzzed around Marumo’s open mouth. Mabaku grimaced. He knew he’d have little sleep and no peace until this case was nailed down and the culprit safely locked up in a high-security jail.
“I’ll come with you,” he said to Kubu.
JUBJUB WAS SITTING AT the dining room table. She had eye shadow smeared over her face, and her eyes were red and moist; she no longer looked the young consort of an aspiring politician. A half-full cup of tea cooled on the table in front of her.
She ignored the arrival of the two men, so Kubu walked around the table, sat down directly opposite her, and pulled out his notebook. “Mma Oteng, I’m very sorry to meet you again under these awful circumstances. This is Director Mabaku, the head of the CID.” Mabaku expressed his sympathies and sat to one side, out of the direct line of the questioning. “Finding Rra Marumo’s killer is the CID’s top priority now,” Kubu continued. “We need you to help us by answering some questions.”
She glanced up from the table. “What about the dog’s head? You didn’t find who did that.”
“I know, but we had nothing to go on. This’ll be different.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Just tell us exactly what you saw and heard.”
“I told the other policeman. I heard nothing. I came in here to set the table for supper. Billy was late, but he’s often held up at meetings and so on. No one seems able to do anything without him. Anyway, I glanced out the window here and saw his car in the driveway.”
“What time was that?” Kubu interrupted.
She thought for a moment. “It must’ve been around seven. The news program had just started on the TV.”
Kubu made a note and nodded for her to continue.
“I thought he’d just arrived and would be in in a minute, so I went back to the cooking—I was making roast chicken and vegetables for him. He likes that. But he didn’t come in, so I went outside to see what the matter was. And I saw him slumped against the wall. I thought he’d fallen or had a heart attack or something, so I ran up to him. But then I saw all that blood . . .” Her voice trailed off, and Kubu waited while she got control of herself. “I just started screaming and screaming, and Dr. Pilane came from next door. He called the police.”
“Did you see or hear anything before you found Rra Marumo? A shout, scream, anything?”
She shook her head. “I told you I had the TV on in the kitchen. I wanted to see the news because I was sure Billy would be on after the big win. You know. But none of it matters now, does it?” She covered her face with her hands and started to cry.
Again Kubu waited a few moments. “I asked you this before, but please think about it hard again. Can you think of anyone who would want to kill Rra Marumo? Someone who would hate him enough to kill him like this?”
“Billy had lots of political enemies. After the election, the government was really scared of him. He was showing them up for the bunch of self-important fat cats they are. I think they’re behind it.”
Kubu grunted. Jubjub had been calm and uninterested when he’d interviewed her the day of the dog incident. She’d added nothing to what Marumo had already said, confirming all the details he’d given almost word for word. But now she was deeply shaken.
“Mma Oteng, I’m sorry to raise this issue again, but it could be very important in finding Rra Marumo’s killer. Are you sure there’s nothing more you can tell me about that incident with the dog’s head? Anything you heard or saw when you found it? Please think about it very carefully.”
Kubu kept his eye
s on Jubjub’s face, and eventually she looked down. “Actually I didn’t find it,” she said softly. “Billy found it. He went outside, and a few minutes later I heard him shout. He didn’t want me to look, but I did. It was sickening. When I calmed down he said I should say I found it.”
“Why was that?”
“He said it was aimed at him, but we’d get a more sympathetic reaction that way. He thought it would help the election campaign.” Her voice was expressionless.
Kubu started to ask another question, but Mabaku interrupted. “Never mind who found it.” He sighed. “Mma Oteng, does Rra Marumo have parents, brothers, sisters? We need to let them know what’s happened.”
She wiped her eyes with a tissue and nodded. “I’ll give you their details,” she said.
MABAKU TOOK ON THE job of breaking the news to Marumo’s parents, but he had parting words for Kubu. “Get on with it, Kubu. Let’s get this wrapped up as quickly as we can. It’s obviously an amateur job; we should be able to catch the killer easily. And why pursue the dog head issue? Someone is running around out there with human blood all over himself.”
“Well, it established that Jubjub lied to us before, so she may do it again. We can’t rely on what she told us tonight. Actually, I think Marumo planted the head himself. That means that the two events are probably unrelated. I want to check his car for animal blood.”
“There’s no point, Kubu. If Marumo did it himself, then it’s no longer an issue. And if someone else did it, we haven’t been able to trace him. Drop it. Focus on the murder.” He turned to leave, but he had a final comment. “Get this business sorted out, Kubu. Otherwise we’re both going to have a hard time.”
Kubu sighed. At least it had become “we” now rather than “you.” He went back into the driveway and found the sergeant who was coordinating the house-to-house questioning.
“Anything turn up?”
The sergeant shook his head. “No one’s reported back yet.”
“Where’s the neighbor?”
“He’s in the house with Mma Oteng.”
“Well, he’s not with her now,” said Kubu testily. His indigestion was getting worse.
“I told him to wait. Maybe he’s in another room. Maybe he thought Mma Oteng was better left alone.”
Kubu pouted. Was he supposed to search the damn house now? He grunted, walked back into the house, and almost collided with a man coming out. He was of middle height, fit looking, and wearing a gray tracksuit. The pant legs were stained at the knees with mud and something else that looked like dry blood.
“Dr. Pilane?”
“That’s right. And who are you?”
“I’m Assistant Superintendent Bengu of the CID. I was looking for you.”
“Oh. Yes. The sergeant said someone else would want to talk to me.”
Kubu didn’t want to go back to the dining room; he wanted Pilane on his own. Off the entrance hall there was a side room, a study, the desk cluttered with papers and newspapers. He herded the doctor there, shut the door, and took the chair behind the desk, leaving Pilane to sit on a leather couch along a side wall.
“Please tell me what happened. Everything you can recall in the order it happened.”
The doctor hesitated, collecting his thoughts. “Well, I was just back from a run. That’s why I’m dressed like this. So I was catching my breath outside my house on the back veranda, where it was nice and cool. Then I heard screaming coming from here. So I ran over to see what was happening.”
“Brave of you.”
The doctor shrugged. “I didn’t think about it. A woman was screaming.”
“Do you recall what time that was?”
The doctor thought for a moment. “After examining Bill, I checked my watch to establish the legal time of death. It was seven-twenty-one. I must’ve heard Jubjub screaming about five minutes before that.”
“Did you hear or see anything before you heard her scream?”
Pilane shook his head. “I’d run farther than I meant to. It was late, and there weren’t many people about.”
“Go on.”
“When I got here the electric gate was closed, and Jubjub was standing in the driveway screaming her head off. I got her to calm down and go inside and open the gate. Then I came in and examined Bill.” He sighed. “He was stabbed all over his upper body. No pulse, no breathing. Pointless to try CPR.”
Kubu thought that Ian might have underestimated this general practitioner. He seemed to know what he was doing.
“Is that how you got the stains on your clothes?”
The doctor glanced at his soiled pants. “Yes. I’d like to get changed and showered as soon as we’re finished here.”
“We’ll want the clothes. I’ll send someone with you to collect them when you change.”
Pilane frowned. “Is that necessary?”
“We’ll be looking for traces of the killer on Marumo’s body. Forensics will find particles of material from your clothes. We’ll want to eliminate those. Also we’ll need your fingerprints—again for elimination purposes.” Kubu didn’t add that although the doctor’s story sounded reasonable, there could be other explanations. A murderer would want to have a believable excuse if traces of blood were subsequently found in his house.
The doctor looked somber and nodded.
Kubu prompted him. “What happened next?”
“I took Jubjub inside and phoned the police. Then I went back to my house, washed my hands, and got her some tranquilizers. She was in a pretty bad way. The police arrived just after I got back. You know what happened after that.”
Kubu nodded. “Thank you, doctor. I may need to talk to you again later, but for now let’s get your fingerprints and get you cleaned up.”
The doctor looked relieved. “Good,” he said. “And I could use a strong drink after that.”
KUBU LEFT THE DOCTOR with one of the forensics people and went to check if Ian MacGregor had any news or if the sergeant had heard from his door-to-door team. He found the forensics team going about their business and Ian packing up his tools. Kubu looked at him inquiringly.
“Rigor mortis hasn’t set in. Maybe a trace in the eyelids.” He shrugged. “And his temperature has only dropped about two degrees. There’s some lividity developing, though.”
“And that means?”
“I’d say he died sometime after half past six. Certainly not before six.”
Kubu thanked him and walked to the gate to look for the sergeant. From there he could see that a noisy crowd had gathered at the police roadblock. He felt another twinge of indigestion. The press had arrived. He tried to reach Mabaku on his cell phone, but there was no reply. He turned away. He wasn’t going to face this music on his own.
SIXTEEN
WHEN WITNESS EVENTUALLY WOKE up on Sunday morning, he was curled in a ball clutching the bedclothes, eyes tight shut. One pillow was near his feet, the other on the floor. He felt totally drained, despite sleeping for more than twelve hours.
The previous night was a blur. He remembered standing in the garden, the darkness broken by slivers of light from the house windows and streetlamps, and looking at Marumo’s body motionless on the ground. He remembered thinking that somebody must have killed Marumo, because there were dark stains on his shirt, a slash across his face, and a black stripe down his neck. Or had he killed him? He had a vague recollection of trying to stop Marumo from making a noise.
Witness pulled himself into a tighter ball. He lay still for some time, flitting in and out of sleep. Eventually he uncurled himself and opened his eyes for the first time that morning. The sun was already high, judging by the shadows of the windowpanes. He glanced at his wristwatch. It was noon. He looked again and caught his breath, shocked. His hand was covered with a dark brown stain. So was his arm. He looked down. He was still wearing his clothes, and his
shirt and trousers were covered in brown stains, too. He was still wearing his shoes!
He couldn’t remember getting into bed.
He couldn’t remember what had happened.
WITNESS LAY THERE FOR another hour trying to bring the previous night into focus. He decided he must have killed Marumo and felt some satisfaction about revenging Tombi’s death. The man was a murderer! But had he meant to kill him? A confession would have been enough, so he could take him to the police. Had he changed his mind? Slowly it came back to him. Marumo had pushed him and shouted for help even though he’d promised not to harm him if he kept quiet. He’d had no choice then.
IT WAS NEARLY THREE in the afternoon, and Witness was still in bed. He was no longer curled up but was lying on his back, hands behind his head, his brain now clear. Behind his closed eyes, he recalled Marumo’s terror. He was not Mr. Smiley Face when he had a knife against his throat. Oh no! He was like anyone else in that situation—terrified. Witness smiled. The man deserved to die. Tombi’s spirit would be happy.
But now he had to think about what to do, and for the next hour he pondered his options. He eventually decided that nobody could possibly know that he’d killed the smiling Marumo. Nobody had seen him; of that he was sure. He had no police record, so no one would suspect him. All he needed to do was wash his clothes and polish his shoes to make sure there was no blood on them. Just in case. Then he’d take a shower and clean himself. Finally, after dark, he would wash the seat in his car in case any blood had come off his clothes.
And if someone asked him where he was on Saturday evening, he’d say he had driven over to the Broadhurst Mall and walked around. He knew it well. He would be convincing.
He had a plan! He couldn’t see how it could go wrong.
Suddenly his reverie was shattered by a loud banging on the door.
“Witness! Witness! Are you there?” It was Big Mama. Witness didn’t move.
Deadly Harvest Page 10
