Deadly Harvest

by Michael Stanley

  Owido lay like that for another interminable length of time. Every now and again, a muscle in his left arm would cramp. There was nothing he could do but try to relax it. That didn’t work, and he tried to call for help. All that came out was a muffled “Aaah.”

  Then he heard another car drive up.

  What was going on? he wondered.

  Again he heard the key in the door. He turned his head and saw two figures. He gasped. One had a baboon mask on his head and a leopard skin round his waist. Owido screamed—­he knew it was a witch doctor.

  The other man was shorter, nervous. “You are about to receive power you have not even dreamed about,” the witch doctor said to him as he opened a small suitcase.

  “I can’t do it.” The short man stammered. He was sweating and continually mopped his brow.

  “It’s too late. You can’t go back now.”

  The short man took a deep breath. He looked very frightened. He nodded his head.

  “I’ll do it,” he croaked.

  The witch doctor closed the suitcase and stood next to Owido.

  “Here,” he said, handing something to the short man. Owido strained to see what it was. It flashed in the light. He screamed as he saw it was a scalpel. He shook his head from side to side, trying to shout, “No!” All that came out was a muffled sound. He pulled and pushed as hard as he could against his restraints, to no avail.

  “Please!” he tried to scream. Again only a muffled call. “Help. Please.”

  THIRTY

  ON MONDAY AFTERNOON KUBU returned from lunch in a good mood only slightly tarnished by the fact he had a meeting with the director and Deputy Commissioner Gobey. He’d received a terse call from the director in the morning, telling him to be there at 2 p.m. As he headed to Mabaku’s office, he wondered if further political fallout from Marumo’s death had settled on the director’s desk after Friday’s press conference.

  It had apparently started smoothly, with the reporters excited about the arrest and wanting to know everything about Witness Maleng. It was when they questioned Mabaku about the motive that things became tense. The director told them that Witness had some idea of a connection between Marumo and the disappearance of his daughter, but Mabaku had to admit that the police had no evidence of such a connection and were unsure how Witness came up with that idea. This led to a flurry of questions that Mabaku wanted to avoid, and he closed the meeting with the journalists dissatisfied. Kubu thought it was this that had led to the deputy commissioner’s surprise visit. But he was wrong.

  When Kubu reached the director’s office, Deputy Commissioner Gobey was already there, standing in front of Mabaku’s desk. Kubu was disturbed to see that he’d lost weight; his clothes seemed to hang on his body rather than dress it. Obviously the rumors that the deputy commissioner was retiring because of ill health were correct.

  “Come in, Kubu. You know the deputy commissioner, of course.” Mabaku dispensed with the pleasantries as quickly as possible. Nothing unusual there. Gobey sat down, and Kubu took the more solid, but less comfortable, chair in front of Mabaku’s desk.

  “The deputy commissioner wants to talk to you about the Marumo case. Well, not exactly about the case. Maybe you’d better explain it yourself, Deputy Commissioner.”

  Gobey looked uncomfortable, clearly uncertain where to begin. Kubu became uneasy. Something was very wrong here.

  “Assistant Superintendent, I understand from Director Mabaku that you are investigating the disappearance of a number of children, and a potion discovered in Bill Marumo’s house, which you believe may contain human body parts. Is that correct?”

  Kubu realized he must tread carefully. There was no way of telling where this was heading. “That’s correct, rra.”

  “I may be in a position to help you, Bengu, but I’m going to need your assurance—­an assurance from both of you—­that this will go no further than this room without my explicit approval. Is that agreed?”

  Kubu hesitated, very unhappy with this turn of events. He glanced at Mabaku and saw that the director shared his concern. Mabaku leaned forward and summed up their discomfort.

  “Deputy Commissioner, your knowledge of law is much better than ours. But I have to point out that if you tell us something important connected with a crime, then it may be our duty to report that to the prosecutor, who may then take it further and call you as a witness. We can’t handle it any other way, nor would you would wish us to.”

  Gobey nodded. “You’re perfectly correct, Mabaku, but what I’m about to tell you is something I’ve heard from a third person. So it’s hearsay and not admissible in evidence. I don’t want to be directly involved, nor do I want the other person involved.” Kubu opened his mouth to interrupt, but Gobey stopped him. “Hear me out, Bengu. I understand you don’t have much in the way of leads at the moment. I think I can help with that. I believe I can lead you to a witch doctor who may be the man you’re looking for. Once you get him, I think you’ll find that my informant will be willing to give evidence. Or perhaps you can extract a confession.”

  Mabaku tensed. “Can you tell us who this man is?”

  Gobey shook his head. “I’ve met him. I don’t want to go into the details. But he always wears a baboon mask and leopard skin loincloth. From his body, I’d say he’s no older than mid-­forties and strong, and about my height—­five foot eight, I’d guess. He has big hands but always wears black gloves. Not at all the stereotyped wrinkled old man, squatting over thrown bones.”

  “Who sees him come and go? He can’t walk around the streets like that, and nobody notices him!” Kubu was uncomfortable with the story.

  Gobey shook his head again. “No one ever sees him. I’ve been told he makes himself invisible.” Gobey looked down at the floor. “But that’s impossible, of course.”

  Kubu leaned back in his chair, flabbergasted. The deputy commissioner was right, they were stymied. He’d even wondered if the “invisible” witch doctor Mma Gondo had told them of really existed, or if he was just an invention of other witch doctors wanting to divert attention from themselves. Now, the deputy commissioner, of all ­people, walks into the CID and offers to lead them to just such a man.

  Mabaku stroked his chin. “Maybe not,” he said. “If everyone who sees him as a witch doctor sees a baboon mask and leopard skin, maybe all he has to do is dress normally to become ‘invisible.’ As long as he keeps the two personas strictly separate, he can’t be recognized.”

  Kubu said, “Rra, the muti investigations were initiated by Detective Samantha Khama. She’s battled with them and persuaded us to pursue even the cold cases. I think she should join us to hear what you have to say.”

  Gobey shook his head firmly and started to cough. When he was able to catch his breath, he said, “No one else. What I say is between the three of us. No one else. Do I have your word on that?” He looked from the one to the other, his resolve still firm despite his failing health.

  Reluctantly, Kubu and Mabaku agreed. “But,” Kubu added, “if keeping this secret means we are breaking the law, then our promises fall away.” This time it was Gobey who was reluctantly forced to agree.

  “Well then,” said Mabaku. “Tell us what it is that you know.”

  AFTER GOBEY LEFT, KUBU returned to his chair. He wasn’t satisfied. “He knows more than he’s telling us. I don’t believe him, do you?”

  Mabaku clasped his hands and thought for so long that Kubu thought he wasn’t going to answer. At last he replied, “Yes, I do.”

  Kubu shook his head. “This witch doctor was recommended to him long ago—­he won’t say who by—­and he’s used him occasionally over the years. Nothing serious. But the man is always masked, he’s never seen the face, and he has no idea of his identity. But now, suddenly, he suspects him of black magic involving organs ripped from living children!” Kubu couldn’t contain himself. “And he deduces this f
rom what he hears last week from some other unnamed party! Isn’t it possible that he knows about these things because he’s the one who’s been involved?”

  Mabaku nodded. “But you don’t know him as I do, Kubu. He’s personally transformed much of the police force. His example has become our example. I hear a lot of stuff, Kubu. Lots of rumors about senior ­people. Some of them are just malicious, others are plausible but impossible to prove at the time, and I keep my eyes open. But I’ve never heard anything bad about Deputy Commissioner Gobey. Nothing.”

  “Until today.”

  “Yes, but remember, he’s about to retire. He could’ve walked away and said nothing. No one would have been any the wiser.”

  “Maybe he’s being blackmailed.”

  “Because of a few good-­luck charms? And now some cough medicine? Half of Botswana’s done something like that.”

  “We don’t know what those charms and potions were for or what they were made from.”

  “No, and neither did he at the time.”

  Kubu mulled it over. His intuition told him that Gobey was deeper in the mire than he’d admitted. But he couldn’t refute Mabaku’s point: Gobey had come forward of his own free will. There was no reason for him to put himself at risk by revealing what he knew.

  “What should we do?”

  “Exactly what he proposed. You let him set up a meeting with the witch doctor. Get a team together, follow him without telling the team who they’re following, and put a steel noose around that house. Arrest the witch doctor and sweat him. They’re all cowards; he’ll break.”

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  “Then we have another talk with the deputy commissioner.”

  Kubu nodded. They had nothing to lose. “What do I tell Samantha? She’ll be convinced we’re simply protecting another senior man.”

  Mabaku smiled tightly. “Well, we are, aren’t we? Tell her you’re the superior officer.”

  You don’t know Samantha very well, Director, Kubu thought. That’s going to be an interesting meeting.

  “Very well, I’ll set it up.” Kubu wondered why this potential breakthrough had such a bitter taste.

  Mabaku nodded, went to the window, and gazed out at Kgale Hill, highlighted by the rich afternoon light.

  THIRTY-ONE

  “IT’S AMAZING!” KUBU SAID to Samantha. They were sitting in Kubu’s office, each with a cup of tea.

  “It’s amazing. Just a few years ago, getting the results of a DNA test could take months. Now Zanele is using a mobile tester that takes only four hours. The South Africans have brought it to show us. It’s from the UK, apparently. She’s already run the tests from Marumo’s muti and compared the results with samples taken from Lesego’s sister. The sad thing is that based on the closeness of the results, she’s confident that the muti involved material from Lesego.”

  “So Marumo had muti with Lesego’s body parts in his house!” Samantha had a look of sheer disgust on her face. Then it turned to anger. “Another girl killed to promote a man!”

  “It looks like that. But we can’t jump to conclusions yet.”

  “Why not?” Samantha exclaimed. “You found the gourd in a locked drawer! In his house! With bits of Lesego in it!”

  “True, but we don’t know whether it was there for a while or possibly put there to incriminate him. We have to assume that the conspiracy theory we talked about could actually be true.”

  He took a sip of tea. “It’s possible that someone planted the muti before or after the murder. Remember the scuff marks around the desk drawer lock? It’s unlikely, but possible. We have to keep that in mind.”

  “Even if that’s so, Lesego was still murdered for muti.”

  Kubu sighed. “Unfortunately, that’s true.” He thought for a moment about his beautiful Tumi and her friend Nono. How could anybody even think about hurting someone like them? He shook his head. “We’re going to do everything possible to solve these cases. We have to put a stop to this terrible practice.”

  Samantha took a deep breath. “All right. Let’s get to work.”

  Kubu stood up to refill the cups. When he returned, he sat down and asked, “What did you find out about the rental cars?”

  “I just received the final lists this morning. There are a lot of rental cars that are white and fewer that are red. It took so long because there’s a lot of manual stuff for the companies to do. They can easily print out the make of car and model, the license plate numbers, and who rented it, but not the color. So they have to write in those details by hand. They all say it took too much of their time. But they did it.”

  “Anything interesting from what you’ve got so far?”

  “There were only two ­people who appeared on both lists. One was a South African salesman from Cape Town. He flew in via Johannesburg the day before Lesego was abducted and flew back the day she was abducted. I don’t think he could have been in Mochudi when Lesego disappeared and still make his flight. I spoke to him and got a list of his appointments. I’ll check those out, but I don’t think it will go anywhere. The other was the BMW dealership in Gaborone. They have a deal with Avis. If they don’t have a spare loaner, they sometimes rent a car as a courtesy for their customers when their car is being ser­viced.”

  “That’s not promising. Have you had a chance to look at the ­people who were only on one list?”

  “Yes, but it will take time to speak to each of them. I’ve asked Detective Pho to help me with that.”

  “Good work. Now I have something to tell you.” Kubu was not looking forward to this.

  “An informant has come forward and says he can lead us to a witch doctor who deals with human body parts.”

  Samantha leaned forward expectantly.

  “We’ll know today or tomorrow when that is going to happen.”

  “When can we speak to the informant? Who is it?” Kubu thought Samantha was going to start vibrating, she was so eager.

  “Unfortunately there’s a problem. The informant wants to remain anonymous for reasons I can’t disclose.”

  Kubu could see the anger welling up inside Samantha. “I know who he is!” she snapped. “It’s a man, and high up in government. He can’t be named because it would be embarrassing to him and his friends.” She jumped up. “Here we go again. And you said you wanted to solve these muti murders. You’re the same as the rest of them!” Samantha turned and stormed out of the room.

  AN HOUR LATER, KUBU picked up his phone and dialed Samantha’s extension.

  “Please come to my office. We need to talk.”

  A few minutes later, she knocked and walked in. Kubu waved at a chair.

  “I’m sorry I walked out on you,” Samantha said quietly. “I get so angry when I see the same old ways being repeated. We’ll never get any of these ­people if that continues.” She sat down.

  “I understand how you feel,” Kubu said. “But you will have to trust me on this one. If it makes a difference in getting a witch doctor convicted, we will reveal the informant’s name, and he’s agreed to testify. But it would be better if it didn’t come to that.”

  He looked at Samantha, who sat without saying a word.

  “Samantha, you’re crucial to our investigations. You have the drive and will to succeed. I want you to continue what you’re doing. I want you to come with me when we try to apprehend the witch doctor. But in this instance, I’m in charge. That’s not negotiable.”

  Again, he looked directly at her. “Is that clear?”

  He could see her fighting to control her emotions. Eventually she stood up and nodded. Then she turned and left.

  Kubu sat for a while wondering whether Samantha would have the resilience to stay and work in the inhospitable environment that was the CID.

  She will, he thought. She’s tough and very determined to make a difference.

 
He smiled.

  She’s going to be a good detective.

  THIRTY-TWO

  KUBU WAS NOT HAPPY. He was cramped in the passenger seat of Samantha’s Corolla with a tub of KFC chicken on his lap, and Samantha was barely on speaking terms with him. But the main source of his concern was their location. It was a poor area, a warren of dirt roads without street lighting. He was convinced there were ways in and out that he didn’t know about. And they were much closer to the witch doctor’s “safe house” than he would have liked, but he was concerned about getting to it quickly in the dark on the rough streets. Gobey had said he could look after himself—­he was, after all, a policeman—­but Kubu knew he was weakened by his illness. He wanted to be able to come to the deputy commissioner’s aid quickly, if necessary.

  Samantha knew none of this and was angry about being kept in the dark, untrusted. He offered her a piece of chicken, but she just shook her head. Kubu shrugged and went on eating. It was their camouflage in case anyone suspected them of being watchers. They’d simply pulled off the road to eat. That had been Kubu’s idea. Two armed constables in plain clothes sat in the back, working through their own tub.

  “What happens if your informant gives us the slip?” Samantha asked. “We’d lose him in a minute in this.” She waved at the dusty tracks wandering between the tiny houses and shacks.

  “I told you. He’s wired. I’m in constant contact with him through this.” He indicated the headset he was wearing. “And anyway he volunteered for this. He’s not some informer that I bought.” Kubu tried to keep the defensive tone out of his voice. “All we have to do is wait. When he gets the signal from the house, he’ll go in and keep the witch doctor occupied while we get there, and our second car comes from the other main road. Then we surround the house and go in. He’ll have to really make himself invisible to get away. And we’re covering the two main roads into the township; what can go wrong?”