Deadly Harvest

by Michael Stanley

  “And when did the albino leave?”

  “I don’t know! I told you I wasn’t taking any notice.”

  “So the fact that you left at the same time was just coincidence?”

  “Yes. I mean I don’t know. I mean we went to the Gaborone Sun. I don’t know where the albino went.” Demene was completely flustered.

  “You told me that you didn’t like albinos. Why is that?”

  “They look disgusting.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes!”

  “I don’t think so. I think you know they have powerful spirits, and witch doctors use them for their most powerful muti. You know that.”

  Kubu noticed that Demene couldn’t keep his hands still.

  “Come on, Rra Demene. You knew albinos make strong muti, didn’t you?”

  Demene swallowed.

  “Yes, I’ve heard that.”

  “Rra Demene. Do you know why witch doctors never catch albinos themselves? Why they always ask someone else to do it?”

  “No!” The word sounded strangled as it came out.

  “The witch doctor protects himself very carefully. Hides himself from the albino’s spirit. So the albino’s spirit comes back and haunts the men who caught him. He blames them. And eventually he drags them off. No one knows where, but no one sees them ever again.” Kubu waited for about thirty seconds, but Demene said nothing. He just sat staring.

  Kubu stood up. “I’ll be back in a while. I have things to do. Just remember that there’s nowhere to hide from such a powerful, angry, spirit. Nowhere at all.”

  He turned and walked out.

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, KUBU received a phone call. “The man in the interrogation room wants to see you.”

  Kubu smiled. He picked up the phone again and called Samantha. “Meet me at the interrogation room in five minutes,” he said.

  Before they entered the room, Kubu told Samantha to watch and listen, but not to interrupt.

  “Okay,” she said, puzzled.

  Kubu brought a third chair into the room, and he and Samantha sat down opposite Demene, who now looked terrified.

  “Now, Rra Demene, are you ready to tell us what happened?”

  Demene looked at Samantha but didn’t recognize her. “I didn’t do it. It was Molefe. I just helped him. I didn’t know what he was going to do. You have to believe me.”

  “Does it matter if I believe you? It’s Owido you have to convince.”

  “You’ve got to help me,” Demene cried. “I don’t want to die.”

  Samantha looked at Kubu, amazed.

  Kubu stared at Demene. “There’s only one thing you can do, and even that may not work.”

  “I’ll do anything,” Demene begged. “What do you want me to do?”

  “You have to confess the whole truth and then ask the albino for forgiveness.”

  Kubu leaned over and turned on the tape recorder.

  “This is Assistant Superintendent David Bengu. It’s three-­thirty on May the fifteenth, 2012. I’m with Wilson Demene, who has volunteered to come in to provide information about the disappearance of Mabulo Owido, a citizen of Tanzania, an albino. Detective Samantha Khama is also in the room.” He turned to Demene. “Please could you state your full name.”

  “Wilson Demene.”

  “Now,” said Kubu. “If I’m going to help you, you must tell me exactly what happened and particularly anything about the witch doctor. Do you understand that what you say may be used in evidence later if you’re charged with a crime? We are recording this.”

  “Yes, yes.” Demene couldn’t sit still. Then he settled down a bit and told them how he and Molefe had spotted Owido, and followed him to BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL. Then they waited and followed Owido when he left. As soon as they had him alone, they knocked him out and bundled him into the trunk of the car.

  “We drove out of town and dumped him by a tree at the edge of the road.” He described exactly where they had left him. “I’ve no idea what happened after that.”

  “Oh, yes, you have! You can guess.” Samantha could no longer contain herself.

  Demene looked at her blankly for a moment but then turned back to Kubu. “That’s everything. You have to help me now.”

  Kubu met his eyes. “No, that’s not everything at all. Who told you to abduct an albino? How did you know where to leave him? How did you get paid and how much and by whom?”

  “I don’t know! Molefe handled all of that. He told me we had to catch an albino, and we’d be well paid. I didn’t ask why or who would pay. I hate those ­people, so I was willing to help. He gave me a thousand pula and said there would be more later if his client was satisfied. And maybe we could get more work like that. I was okay with that.”

  “Who did Molefe speak to? How did he make contact?”

  “I don’t know! When we caught the albino, Molefe sent a text message to someone, but I don’t know who that was. It’s the truth. I swear it. I wish I’d never gotten mixed up in this.”

  Kubu stood up and leaned over the table, his face close to Demene’s. “Are you sure that’s all you know?” he hissed.

  “I promise. I promise.”

  “That is the end of the interview.” Kubu turned the tape recorder off. “Now you’d better apologize to Owido.”

  Samantha’s face was a study in astonishment as Demene fell to his knees, tears streaming from his eyes.

  “Forgive me, Rra Owido, sir. Please forgive me. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t mean to harm you. Please don’t make me die! Please!”

  Kubu signaled to Samantha to come with him, leaving Demene sniveling on the floor. As he left the room, Kubu looked back and said, “I’m going to charge you with being an accessory to assault and kidnapping and perhaps murder. You’ll be okay. But Owido will be in your head for the rest of your life.”

  He was breathing heavily as he left, slamming the door on Wilson Demene.

  KUBU HAD TO CALM down before he could tell Samantha what he’d done to make Demene confess. She was delighted, but Kubu shook his head.

  “It was risky. We needed a breakthrough quickly, and you’d established that he was the weak link. But it wasn’t good police work. He could have laughed in my face and my credibility would have been gone.”

  “But it worked!”

  “Yes, it worked.” Kubu allowed himself a wry smile. “But we were lucky. There were many other possibilities. But we trusted your instincts, and this time we were lucky.” He paused. “Did you get to the bottom of the butcher’s story?”

  Samantha nodded. “I also wasn’t exactly honest with him, either. I told him he was the main suspect in a murder investigation. After that he was only too happy to tell me about the man he met at the shebeen. Seems he was buying game meat through the back door—­not supposed to be sold commercially. I don’t think he’ll try that again.”

  Kubu chuckled. “Good! Now we need to start behaving like detectives again. First, we’ll arrest Molefe on suspicion of assault and kidnapping, and get Zanele’s ­people to go through his car, particularly the trunk. Get his cell phone and Internet records. Then we must check the spot where Demene said they attacked Owido and the place where he said they dumped him, and especially look for vehicle tracks there. Also get formal statements from Big Mama and the ­people at the shebeen—­they’ll be used to doing that by now. When we’ve got him cold, we offer Molefe a deal. He’s not going to fall for the sort of mumbo jumbo that worked with Demene, but he’ll know that it’s often the middlemen in muti murders who end up in jail, because no one will finger the witch doctor. But it’s the witch doctor we want.”

  “Yes, Kubu,” Samantha exclaimed. “And we will get him!”

  FORTY-THREE

  WHEN KUBU AND SAMANTHA arrived at Molefe’s house, there was no sign of his battered Volkswagen. They�
�d brought a constable with them; Samantha’s description of Sunday Molefe had suggested that he may be dangerous and that backup might be required. Kubu sent the constable around the back of the house to check escape routes, while they approached the house from the front. However, banging on the door produced no response.

  On the third try a neighbor came out and informed them that Molefe was out, and that she was trying to have an afternoon nap. Kubu was worried and wondered whether Molefe had discovered that the police had grabbed Demene, but that seemed unlikely. There was nothing to do but wait.

  Half an hour later Samantha spotted his Jetta coming down the street toward them. They let him pull over and get out of the car before all three of them approached him in a line so that he was trapped between them and the vehicle. He stood with his back to it and watched them.

  “What do you want?”

  Kubu stepped forward. “Are you Sunday Molefe?”

  The man nodded slowly.

  “I am Assistant Superintendent Bengu of the CID.” Kubu held up his identification but didn’t get too close to Molefe. “I believe that you can help us with our investigation into the disappearance of a man called Mabulo Owido. I have to ask you to accompany us to the police station.”

  “Right now? I’ve got important things to do today! Are you arresting me?” Molefe looked angry, and his fists clenched reflexively.

  “If necessary.”

  Molefe considered the matter. “All right, I’ll come with you.” He turned and carefully locked his car. “I need to go to the toilet first.” He started toward the house, but Kubu blocked his way. “You can go at the CID. It’s not far.” Molefe took a moment to assess Kubu’s bulk, Samantha’s slight build, and the burly constable. Then he shrugged and allowed them to herd him into the backseat of Kubu’s Land Rover. The constable climbed in next to him. Kubu locked the doors, and they drove to the CID in silence.

  ONCE THEY WERE SETTLED in an interrogation room, and Molefe had been warned that his answers would be recorded and could be used as evidence, Kubu asked him about Saturday, the fifth of May. Molefe was calm and told the same story he’d spun to Samantha, starting with the drinks at BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL and finishing with when he and Demene had left the Gaborone Sun. Kubu took notes, nodding from time to time. When Molefe was finished, the detective sat for several moments as though digesting the man’s evidence. Then he sighed.

  “Rra Molefe, much of what you’ve told us is lies. We know this because your friend Wilson Demene has given us a full statement. So we know that you were paid to abduct an albino—­any albino, but Owido was unlucky that you found him. We know that you followed him, attacked him, and abducted him. According to Demene, you abandoned him where a witch doctor was going to pick him up. Of course, that’s his story. Maybe you actually murdered him for money or some other reason. So we already know that you are guilty of assault and kidnapping. We may later charge you with murder, conspiracy to commit murder, or being an accessory to a murder.”

  Kubu rubbed his cheeks, feeling the scratch of late afternoon beard.

  “Your best bet is to tell us exactly what really happened that night and who you were working for. You and Demene are just the hired help; we know that. We want the man behind this crime. If you help us get him, we can consider a deal for you. You know perfectly well what the witch doctor was going to do to the albino, but you can say that you didn’t. That way you won’t find yourself hanging at the end of a rope.” He glared at Molefe, but the man held his stare. Half a minute passed before he replied.

  “What I’ve said is true. Demene has told you lies! Why has he said these terrible things about me?” Then another thought struck him. “Maybe he’s said nothing. Maybe you’re only telling me this to try to confuse me. Maybe you’re telling Demene that I said he attacked this albino. You’re just fishing. What evidence have you got? Nothing. Because there isn’t any.” He folded his arms. “I’ve nothing else to say.”

  And that was that. Kubu tried threatening, cajoling, leaving him to stew for half an hour, letting Samantha try on her own. Nothing worked. Molefe was a very different character from Demene. When Kubu mentioned the awful things that could happen to persons who injured albinos, Molefe laughed. Eventually he demanded to speak to a lawyer.

  At that point Kubu gave up, thoroughly frustrated. “Very well, Molefe. You’ve had your chance, and you won’t get another one. I’m charging you with aggravated assault and kidnapping. And you’re wrong about evidence. You can’t imagine what we can find with modern forensics. We’ll find plenty of evidence—­in your car, on your clothes, through your cell phone. You’ll have your lawyer, but that’s not going to help you one little bit.”

  He walked out and slammed the door.

  FORTY-FOUR

  THE MORNING AFTER MOLEFE’S arrest, Kubu went to report developments to Mabaku. “We may have a breakthrough, Director,” Kubu started, after settling in the most comfortable chair in front of Mabaku’s desk. “Do you remember Big Mama from the BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL shebeen?”

  Mabaku nodded.

  “On Monday afternoon, she phoned me to report a missing person. He was to meet some ­people on Saturday night at the shebeen, but didn’t turn up. Big Mama tried to contact him at his place of work to find out what had happened but was told he hadn’t been at work for a week.”

  Mabaku frowned. “You’ve got better things to do than run around trying to find someone who has probably taken an unauthorized vacation with a woman he’s just met.”

  “That’s true, Director. Normally, I wouldn’t pay attention to such a call. But when Big Mama told me that the missing person was an albino, I paid attention.”

  “Shit!” exclaimed Mabaku uncharacteristically. “An albino missing?”

  “Yes,” Kubu said. “That’s what I thought. There’s too much talk of muti to ignore it.”

  “So, what have you done about it?”

  For the next twenty minutes Kubu recounted the events of the previous day—­the confession of Demene, the refusal of Molefe to answer any questions, and his subsequent arrest.

  “On what charges?”

  “Kidnapping and aggravated assault.”

  “If Molefe hires a decent lawyer, he’ll be out in no time at all. You’ve nothing except what one person says. Who knows why he said it. Maybe he can’t stand Molefe and is trying to get him put away. Has anyone received a ransom note or some sort of demand?”

  Kubu shook his head. “He’s not a Motswana. He’s from Tanzania.”

  Mabaku groaned. “This gets worse and worse.”

  “I’ve applied for a search warrant to go through Molefe’s car. Demene says they used that car to take the albino to a remote place outside town, where they left him on the side of the road. Demene also told me that he and Molefe had been hired to abduct an albino—­any albino. That sounded like a witch doctor wanting an albino for strong muti to me.”

  Kubu was about to try to link this with Gobey’s witch doctor, when Mabaku’s telephone rang.

  “Miriam, I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed!” Mabaku listened to the response. “Okay. Please put him through.”

  He waited several seconds before the caller was on the line, a worried frown on his face. “Commissioner, dumela, rra. What can I do for you?”

  Again he listened, this time for longer.

  “That’s terrible news, Commissioner. He brought so much to the force. He’ll be sorely missed. Thank you for letting me know.” He replaced the receiver, stood up, and went to the window. Kubu said nothing, but he was sure he knew what the news was about.

  Eventually, Mabaku sat down. “Deputy Commissioner Gobey died this morning. Of emphysema.”

  They both sat lost in their thoughts: Mabaku wondering how this would affect his bid for the deputy commissioner job, Kubu thinking of the witch doctor’s curse.

  It was Mabaku who
broke the silence. “Emphysema is, of course, the official cause of death. I think we both know what the real cause was.” Kubu nodded.

  Mabaku leaned back in his chair and tapped the desk. Again Kubu said nothing, waiting to see what his boss was going to do.

  Then Mabaku picked up the phone again. “Miriam, please get an appointment for me with the commissioner. This afternoon, if possible. I have a very important matter to discuss. It’s imperative I see him.”

  He hung up and turned to Kubu. “I have to tell the commissioner about what Gobey told us. I want his permission to dig into Gobey’s records and so on to see if we can identify his informant.”

  “But, Director, can’t that wait until Gobey’s position is filled? You have to be the favorite for the position. You don’t want to muddy the waters with an investigation into witchcraft. You know how unsuccessful those have been in the past, and it could damage your reputation. We all want you to get the promotion you deserve.”

  “I don’t think we can wait. Who knows how long it will take for the commissioner to make the appointment. And it seems we have some leads now that may be useful. I’m going to have to take my chances.”

  Kubu stood up and extended his hand. “Jacob, it’s an honor to work for you.”

  Before Mabaku could shake Kubu’s hand, the phone rang.

  “Yes? Four o’clock? Thank you.”

  He leaned back. “For better or for worse, I’m committed.”

  KUBU CAME OUT OF Mabaku’s office and headed directly down the corridor to where Samantha had a desk. It was in a tiny alcove off an interrogation room—­Mabaku had found it for her to give her a little privacy. Kubu knocked, went straight in, and settled in the bare wooden chair in front of her desk. Samantha looked very surprised to see him there. “Hello, Kubu.”

  He nodded in greeting. “Deputy Commissioner Gobey passed away this morning at his home.”

  “Oh . . . I didn’t know. I met him once, and he was nice to me. I’m sorry. Was it cancer?”

  Kubu shook his head. “He was cursed by a witch doctor. Not a witch doctor, the witch doctor.”