Deadly Harvest

by Michael Stanley

  “Yes, Uncle.”

  “Yes, Deputy Commissioner!”

  “Yes, Deputy Commissioner.” Without another word, Joshua got up and left.

  Gobey started to cough again. The medicine that the witch doctor had given him helped. But then he thought about what might be in it, and he felt his gorge rise. He gasped for breath. What had Joshua come to ask him, or to tell him? He didn’t care anymore.

  Suddenly he thought about the money. The witch doctor would want a lot of money. Had Joshua come for a loan? But Joshua and his wife lived well, too well. Suspicion overwhelmed him. He knew a senior man at Joshua’s bank, someone who would help him without waiting for all the formalities. Someone he could trust.

  BY THE TIME HE reached home, Gobey had come to a decision. Partly it was based on self-­disgust, a desire to divorce himself from unsavory aspects of his past while he still had time. Partly it was based on anger at Joshua, the nephew he had treated like a son and spoiled, and who now had let him down so badly. He hadn’t become deputy commissioner of police by prevarication; once he came to a decision he would see it through. It was in this mood that he accepted a generous hug from his wife.

  “Tebogo, something’s wrong. You look upset.”

  He nodded. “It was a tough day. I’ll tell you about it after dinner.”

  She smiled. “We’re having one of your favorites. Beef seswaa.”

  Gobey tried to be enthusiastic. He loved the slow-­cooked beef stew, and Maria made it for him with extra chili, exactly the way he liked it. “I’ll have a beer with it,” he said. “But I’m going to shower first. It’s really hot outside.”

  It had been a sticky day, but he needed the shower to feel clean after a day wallowing in muck.

  Once in the bathroom, he pulled the large bottle the witch doctor had given him from the back of the cupboard. He’d believed it contained herbal remedies, things to make him better. Or he’d persuaded himself of that. And he had to admit that it worked. It relaxed him, eased his chest, stopped the coughing. He wanted a swig right now. It contains some sort of opiate, he thought. Maybe morphine. It may make me feel better, but it does me no good. And what else might it contain? Only God and the witch doctor knew. Again he felt the twinge of self-­doubt. He’d never asked the witch doctor what was in the potion. No one did that! He shuddered and emptied the contents of the bottle down the toilet.

  “Hurry, dear!” Maria called through the door. “It’s nearly ready!”

  “I’ll just be a minute.” He discarded his clothes in a heap and let the hot water spray over him. He used plenty of soap from head to toe. Then he dried himself vigorously, wheezing slightly from the exertion. He looked at his naked body in the mirror. Still pretty good. He’d lost fat, which was good, but also lost muscle, which wasn’t. Once he retired, he would exercise again. Long walks. Then he would feel better. That was what he needed, fresh air and exercise, not drugs and potions. He was sure of it.

  THE DINNER WAS DELICIOUS, and he ate well while he heard about Maria’s day and her friends’ activities. She was patient and didn’t ask him again what was on his mind. And after a token second helping, he was ready to tell her.

  “I have to face it,” he began, not looking at her. “Joshua’s corrupt.”

  Maria drew in her breath sharply and started to say something, but Gobey went on. “Since his father died in that shoot-­out, Joshua’s been like a son to us. But somehow it’s never been enough for him. He’s made the wrong choices, married the wrong woman, always wanted more and got it. And I’ve been blind to it. Until now.”

  “What do you mean?” Maria asked, shocked.

  “I’ve been looking at his bank records for the last few years. Looking very carefully.”

  She waited.

  “I found nothing. No big payments, no big deposits.”

  “There you are then.”

  Tebogo shook his head. “He’s too clever for something obvious. But where’s the payment for his car? I phoned the dealer. Turns out he bought it for cash. A 3-­series BMW! I mean cash. The dealer took stacks of pula.”

  “Perhaps it was from his mother’s estate. She left some money.”

  Tebogo shook his head again. “They used that for the deposit on their house. That big expensive house in Phakalane. That doesn’t have a single cent owing on it anymore, by the way.”

  “But where would he have got the money?”

  “God, Maria, he’s head of the diamond division! Where do you think the money came from?”

  She shook her head, unwilling to accept it.

  “There’s more. He’s got a witch doctor helping him now. I think he’s one of the really bad ones, killing ­people for muti.” He didn’t say what had led him to guess that. “He wants my job when I retire.”

  “What are you going to do?” Her voice was very quiet now.

  “I’m going to stop him. And the witch doctor. No child is going to die to make a corrupt man deputy commissioner. And then I’m going to force him out of the police. But I’m not going to push the corruption charges—­for his late parents’ sake, and for our sake, too. He won’t go to jail. I probably couldn’t get enough evidence for a conviction anyway, but he doesn’t know that.”

  Maria was silent for a few moments. “The witch doctor? Is it that man you go to? For the medicine? And those times before?”

  Gobey hesitated, anguished. “Yes, but I didn’t know . . . I threw the medicine out. I’m going to arrest him. He’ll pay for his crimes!”

  Maria’s shock was replaced by nervousness.

  “Tebogo, leave this thing. Please. You’re retiring. The past is past. The future belongs to others. Forget about Joshua. The ­people who gave him all that money—­they’ll be dangerous. They won’t want it to come out.” She hesitated. “And forget about the witch doctor.” Now there was fear in her voice.

  Tebogo thought about it, tempted. But then he shook his head.

  “I have to stop them,” he said. “I don’t have much time left anyway.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  BY THURSDAY WITNESS WAS conscious and out of danger, so Kubu drove to Jwaneng to interview him. He hoped that Witness would confess and offer the missing motive for Bill Marumo’s murder. Then they could put this case behind them.

  The receptionist called the doctor who had been keeping the police up to date. When he arrived, he looked harried and busy.

  “Dr. Baku, I’m Assistant Superintendent Bengu from the CID. I spoke to you on the phone about Witness Maleng. I need to interview him as soon as possible about a very serious case.”

  “Oh, dumela, Assistant Superintendent. You want to see Maleng? He’s conscious now, but very confused. Half the time he doesn’t know where he is, and he has no recollection of the accident at all.”

  “Will he get back to normal?”

  The doctor hesitated. “It depends what you mean by normal. Will he be able to function properly physically? I think there’s a good chance, despite the severity of the head wounds. Will he recall what happened to him? Remember all his past? I’m doubtful.”

  “You mean he has amnesia?”

  “He needs psychiatric help. We’ve just been trying to keep the physical stuff going so far.”

  “May I talk to him?”

  “I don’t see why not, but I doubt you’ll get much sense out of him at the moment. Now I must get on with my patients. Good luck.” He nodded and hurried off.

  KUBU FOUND HIS WAY to the intensive care unit. A police constable sat at the door with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Kubu thought he might be asleep, but he glanced up as Kubu approached and jumped to his feet, blocking the door. Kubu showed him identification, and he immediately became respectful and apologized. Kubu smiled, told him he’d done exactly the right thing, and then went in. He greeted the duty nurse, and she pointed out Witness Mal
eng.

  Witness was lying in bed connected to the paraphernalia of intensive care, drips running to his arms, cables running to monitors, screens blinking and chirping. He was awake, eyes open, staring at the ceiling, apparently lost in his thoughts. There was nowhere to sit, so Kubu dispossessed the constable of his chair and pulled it into the room.

  “Rra Maleng, I am Assistant Superintendent Bengu of the Botswana CID. I would like to ask you some questions. I warn you that you are a suspect in a serious crime and that anything you say will be noted and may be used as evidence.”

  Witness looked around and frowned. “You’re from the police?” He tried to sit up, but the connections stopped him. “Have you found Tombi? Is that why you’re here?” The heart monitor raced, but then he shook his head and relaxed and things returned to normal. “No, no . . . I’m sorry. What is it that you want?”

  “I want to ask you some questions about the murder of Bill Marumo.”

  “Marumo is dead?” Witness’s face was a mask of surprise. “Well, I can’t say I’m sorry. He was not a good man. He was an evil man.”

  Kubu was rather nonplussed by this reaction. “Rra Maleng, I think you know very well that Rra Marumo is dead. I think you know, because you killed him!”

  Witness appeared to think about this but then shook his head. “No,” he said calmly. “I only saw him once. He was with Tombi in the park by the school. It was quite wrong for him to be alone with such a young girl. I told him off, and he ran away. Then I drove home with Tombi.”

  Kubu was interested at once.

  “How long was this before your daughter disappeared?”

  “Disappeared? What do you mean? She’s at home. She’ll be here to visit me soon.”

  Kubu sighed. “What day did you see Marumo with your daughter?”

  “It was about three weeks ago. Saturday. I was at the school looking for someone . . .” He seemed to lose the train of his thoughts, and the sentence petered out.

  “Rra Maleng, where were you on the evening of the twenty-­eighth of April? Last Saturday night?”

  “Last Saturday?” Witness thought hard. “Why?”

  “Please just answer the question.”

  “I was at home. Tombi wasn’t there. Maybe she was staying over with a friend. So I stayed at home, had some supper. Maybe I had a beer. I don’t like to drink in front of my daughter.”

  “Where was your car?”

  “In front of my house. Where else would it be?”

  Kubu hesitated. All his instincts told him this man was telling the truth, but the truth as he believed it to be. Everything else seemed to have been wiped away.

  “I think you are having trouble remembering things. Do you remember that Tombi went missing three weeks ago? She did. You phoned lots of ­people. You went to the police, the church, all the neighbors. Do you remember?”

  Witness frowned and was silent for almost a minute. “I remember we were looking for someone. I helped. Then I went home with Tombi.”

  Kubu tried a more circuitous tack.

  “Rra Maleng, did you have a briefcase when you drove here? Perhaps you found it somewhere? Or someone gave it to you? I’m very keen to take a look at it. May I do that?”

  Witness looked at him blankly. He seemed to have absolutely no idea what the detective was talking about.

  “A briefcase? Where would I get a briefcase? I’m not a rich man who carries around a briefcase. What would I do with it? If I need to carry something, I put it in a cardboard box.” He shook his head.

  A young nurse bustled in with a cup of soup and sat on the corner of Witness’s bed.

  “Here, Rra Maleng, drink this. You’ll feel better.” She shared her smile between Kubu and Witness.

  “Ah, Tombi! You look after me so nicely.” Witness took a sip. “This man is from the police. He tells me Rra Marumo is dead.” He shook his head. “I’m not surprised. A man like that. But we must pray for his soul.” He concentrated on the soup while the nurse helped him.

  “Is your name Tombi?” Kubu asked her.

  She shook her head, pointed at her name badge, and gave the charming smile again.

  “Aaii, he calls all the young nurses that! Tombi is his daughter, but she never comes to see him. I don’t know why. Maybe she’s far away. But there’s no harm in it, and it makes him happy.”

  “Does he have a wife?”

  “He says she left him long ago, but that it doesn’t matter because he has Tombi.”

  Witness finished the soup and coughed a little. The nurse squeezed his shoulder, smiled again, and returned to her station.

  Witness turned back to Kubu. “Was that all, Rra Bengu?”

  Kubu decided to try shock tactics. “No, Rra Maleng, that is definitely not all. You know very well that your daughter, Tombi, was abducted and murdered. You decided that the culprit was Marumo. You drove to his house on Saturday night and stabbed him to death. We are quite sure of this. Your car was seen nearby. Then you went home, cleaned up, and fled. We found human blood in your house and lots of other clues. And you tried to run a roadblock. You must stop this nonsense now and tell the truth.”

  For a moment Witness’s face expressed surprise and shock, and Kubu thought he had broken through. But suddenly Witness laughed with delight and pointed at the ceiling. Patterns spread out around the neon light. Witness tried to follow the shapes with his hands, and knocked over his water glass, which rolled to the floor with a clatter. Witness laughed again.

  The nurse hurried over and retrieved it. “I think he’d better rest now,” she told Kubu. He wanted to argue but gave up. There was no point in continuing until Witness regained his senses, and interviewing him now might do more harm than good. He climbed to his feet.

  Witness ignored him but said to the nurse, “Now, Tombi, you mustn’t neglect your schoolwork. It’s very important. I’ll be fine. I can look after myself.” Then he smiled and closed his eyes.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  AS SOON AS KUBU returned from Jwaneng, Mabaku summoned him, Samantha, and Zanele to his office. Mabaku sat at his desk with his hands behind his head, seemingly relaxed, but the stiffness of his body indicated tension.

  “Okay, Kubu. What have you got?”

  Kubu drained the tea he’d grabbed on the way. “Well, in a nutshell, Witness Maleng is insane, at least for the moment. He denies killing Marumo but says that Marumo was with his daughter, Tombi, on April the fourteenth, and he was upset about it. He says he chased Marumo away. But that’s all nonsense. Samantha checked. Marumo was in Lobatse that day addressing a meeting. There’s no way he could have been in the area where Witness Maleng said he saw him. He’s obviously making it up. He’s confused about his daughter as well. He thinks she’s still alive and comes to visit him. He calls every young nurse in the ward Tombi and treats each as though they’re his daughter.”

  Mabaku frowned. This wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “No confession?”

  Kubu shook his head. “He expressed surprise that Marumo had been murdered but seemed to think he deserved it.”

  “Do you think this madness is genuine, or is he just pretending?”

  Kubu thought for a moment before he answered. “If he was acting, he’s better at it than most actors. He missed his calling if he was faking it.”

  Mabaku turned to Zanele. “What have you come up with on the forensics side?”

  “Director, I think we’ll have him on the forensic evidence.” She counted off on her fingers. “One, the blood in his house is probably Marumo’s. It’s the same type. We’re waiting for the DNA tests to confirm it. Maleng’s blood type is different. I got it from the hospital. Kubu also brought back all his clothes, and we’ll check those for blood later today. Two, some of the hairs we found on Marumo’s clothes match ones we found at Maleng’s house. We’ll confirm that they are Maleng’s. And three, his foo
t size matches the prints we found in the driveway. Now we have his shoes and boots, we’ll test those too for soil and blood.”

  Kubu nodded. “Add to that the circumstantial evidence. From what he told his friends and Big Mama at the shebeen, he hated Marumo. He tried to attack him at a public meeting. Then a blue Volkswagen Golf was seen near the murder scene, and Maleng owns a blue Golf. Finally, for no obvious reason, two days after the murder he abandons his house, he moves to Jwaneng, and he runs a roadblock—­nearly knocking over an officer—­before racing at a mad speed into a cow.”

  “Well, we’ll get him with the forensic evidence,” Mabaku said. “Zanele, we need to exploit that and make it absolutely iron-­clad.”

  Kubu looked pensive. “But—­” he began, but Mabaku cut in.

  “We’ll charge Maleng with the murder but, from the sounds of it, he isn’t fit to stand trial. It may be months before the psychiatric reports are in. And our problem is motive. If we can’t show a clear motive, Freedom Party troublemakers will say it’s all a setup. Find a madman with a grudge against politicians, fake some forensic evidence, and pin the murder on him. Or, worse, a government agent exploited him and egged him on, telling him where Marumo lived, telling him he had muti made from the daughter.” Mabaku shook his head. “And he did have muti. We mustn’t forget that.”

  Kubu sighed. “They’ll say government agents planted it. To discredit him and to persuade Maleng to commit the crime.”

  “It doesn’t add up—­” Samantha began, but Mabaku interrupted again. “No, of course it doesn’t add up. They didn’t need to actually plant the muti if they told Maleng that Marumo had it. But that’s how conspiracy theories work.”

  “How would they get to him? Why would he believe them?” Samantha asked. Then she had another thought. “Oh, no, they could be working through that awful witch doctor he consulted, that Gondo woman.” She looked shocked.

  “I think Gondo just made the sort of general statement that can be interpreted in different ways, and Maleng twisted it to mean what he wanted it to mean,” Kubu said.