Deadly Harvest

by Michael Stanley

  He walked out the door. Before he closed it, he added, “If you know anything that could help us, you should say so. I truly believe your husband would want you to do that.”

  He closed the door and left.

  BACK AT THE CID, Kubu briefed the director. “Gobey’s wife knows something but won’t tell us. She thinks that she would be breaking his trust if she says anything.”

  “And his nephew wasn’t happy to see me,” Mabaku responded. “He told me to leave because I was trying to tarnish the Gobey name so I’d get the deputy commissioner position. I couldn’t persuade him that the purpose of the visit was strictly police work.”

  “We didn’t learn much, did we?”

  Mabaku shook his head. “No, we didn’t.”

  There was a knock on the door, and Miriam let Samantha in. She’d asked the director’s PA to let her know when Kubu and the director returned, so that she could tell them about the undertaker’s neighbor. When she finished her story, there was a moment of silence as the men digested the implications.

  “Rampa could be the ‘invisible’ witch doctor,” Kubu said at last. “From an opportunity point of view, he’s very well placed to get body parts and dispose of bodies afterward.” He reminded them of Seloi’s funeral and his suspicions about the contents of her coffin. “The only real connection we have, though, is his use of the Welcome Bar No. 2’s computer, the text message from Molefe, and now the evidence of the neighbor that he went out somewhere after he received it.”

  “It would never stand up in court,” said Mabaku.

  “Can’t we trace his movements around the abductions? Maybe through his cell phone?” Samantha asked.

  Mabaku shrugged. “Suppose—­best case—­we discover he was more or less in the right area on each occasion. He got a text message from Molefe, which he says was a wrong number, the neighbor heard a car that night, and he used a public computer. Then Kubu is suspicious of undertakers because they can get and dispose of bodies. That’s not a case. It’s not even close to a case.”

  “Is there some way we can connect him with Marumo? He did do the funeral.”

  “Yes, he did,” Mabaku said sarcastically. “He’s an undertaker, Samantha.”

  “Well, we can go door-­to-­door and show his picture,” Samantha responded, chastened.

  This time it was Kubu who shook his head. “He works near where Tombi was abducted, so it wouldn’t be surprising if ­people recognized him there. We could ask around in Mochudi. Maybe that’s worth a try. But the director’s right. It won’t be anything like enough. We have to find out what’s in that grave.”

  Mabaku sighed. “Good luck with that. I’d like to see you explaining to the authorities why that’s necessary. And to the family. Anyway, the timing doesn’t work for either of the two missing girls.”

  Samantha shook her head, frustrated. “This man may have a dozen unreported victims for all we know. There are children who stay with foster parents who don’t care if they go missing. And other kids who don’t stay with anyone and get food from charities. And what about the albino? It’s just by chance that we know he’s missing.”

  Kubu had been thinking while this exchange took place. “What if the family asked for the grave to be opened? What if they had a suspicion that the wrong person had been buried?”

  Mabaku looked surprised. “You could convince them of that?”

  “I could try. Seloi didn’t have much family left. Her sister lives with us now. But Joy worked with a few distant relatives and helped them arrange the funeral with Rampa.”

  “Even so, you’d need more than we’ve got right now. You can’t dig up a grave just because someone’s unhappy!”

  Kubu nodded. Mabaku was right.

  “Suppose he kills someone else while we’re trying to decide what to do next?” Samantha asked.

  “I’ll question him again,” Kubu said. “I may be able to shake something more out of him. At worst, he’ll know we’re close and watching. That should keep him away from any more victims. For the time being.”

  “Won’t he try to stop us if we get too close?” Suddenly Samantha sounded less confident than before.

  Kubu looked at her in astonishment. “Are you beginning to believe in the powers of witch doctors, Samantha?”

  “No, of course not,” she said quickly. But Kubu could detect a note of uncertainty in her voice.

  “Well, that’s a real possibility,” said Mabaku. “He may try intimidation, too, like the dog’s head or casting spells.” He paused. “I think we must all be more alert from now on. If we’re right about him, he’s a dangerous man.”

  On that somber note, the meeting broke up, and Kubu went to visit the man they now thought might help ­people into their coffins as well as bury them.

  FORTY-NINE

  ONCE MORE KUBU FOUND Rampa seated at his desk, involved with paperwork. He looked up as the detective was shown in, but his face expressed none of the welcome it had displayed on the previous visit. He waved Kubu to a chair.

  “How can I help you now, Assistant Superintendent?”

  “I just have a few more questions, Rra Rampa. A few points that I want to check about that Saturday night. May the fifth, if you remember?”

  Rampa nodded and waited impatiently, but Kubu wasn’t in a hurry to get to the point.

  “I understand that you sometimes do charity funerals, Rra Rampa. Low cost so that poor ­people can have a proper burial. That’s very good of you.”

  “Well, yes. If I know the ­people, and they have no one who can pay, I try to help.”

  “My wife tells me you kindly did that for one of the ­people at her child-­care place. You remember the funeral? That was where we met.”

  “I remember.” Rampa looked wary.

  “You did everything by yourself. I’m sure the family was very grateful.”

  Rampa shrugged. “I’m a Chris­tian. We must all do that we can to help ­people.”

  “Have you done any of these charity funerals recently?”

  “As a matter of fact, I had one this week. But what has this got to do with the matter you want to discuss?”

  Kubu hesitated, and wrote something in his notebook. When he looked up, he asked, “Do you know the Welcome Bar No. 2 on Eland Street?”

  Rampa hesitated. “I’ve been there once or twice. Foosball is fun, and I have a drink and chat. You never know who your next client is going to be.” Kubu didn’t smile. Obviously the man realized that he’d be known at the shebeen, so he wouldn’t lie, Kubu thought. He leaned forward.

  “Do you ever use the computer there? It’s an Internet café, too.”

  Rampa shifted in his chair. “Once. There was no one to play foosball or interesting to talk to, so I took my drink and caught up with personal stuff. Why are you interested in this shebeen?”

  “Have you heard of Hushmail, Rra Rampa?”

  The undertaker looked down at the scatter of papers on his desk. “Hushmail? What on earth is that?”

  “It’s a type of e-­mail that you use if you don’t want anyone to know who you are. You give no personal information. There’s no way to trace what messages you send or who you send them to.” Kubu deliberately overstated the security and waited for the man’s reaction.

  Rampa shook his head. “Never heard of it. I have a Gmail account. Why would I need something secret?”

  “I only asked if you’d heard of it, not if you had an account.”

  “What has this got to do with that Saturday night?”

  “I’m coming to that.” Kubu made a production of checking his notebook. “Last time we spoke, you told us that you didn’t go out that night. Is that correct?”

  The undertaker nodded.

  Kubu decided to stretch the truth a bit. “In that case, how would you explain that your car was seen late that night?” />
  Rampa shook his head. “I didn’t go out.”

  “Not even a short trip? Perhaps to buy some milk or something?”

  “No, I was at home. I told you. Who says they saw my car?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”

  “Well, they made a mistake. There are lots of cars like mine.”

  “What sort of car is it?”

  “A Toyota Corolla.”

  “What color?”

  “Red. Look, Detective, you’re wasting my time. I didn’t go out. Someone saw another car and thought it was mine.”

  Kubu took his time before he posed his next question. “Have you had any dealings with witch doctors, Rra Rampa? I’m not talking about the albino now. Other occasions.”

  “Certainly not! I don’t believe in that sort of stuff. I told you I’m a Chris­tian.”

  “Have you ever had a case where the deceased died because of a witch doctor?”

  “Detective, we do everything by the book here.” He gestured at the papers on his desk. “In every case we require authorization from the city. There’s no question of anything improper.”

  “I didn’t suggest there was,” Kubu said quietly. “Have you ever been approached about a burial where the paperwork wasn’t completely in order? You would have refused, of course. But have you had such a case?”

  The undertaker shook his head firmly. “Is that all? I have work to do, Detective.”

  Kubu nodded slowly. “That’s all, Rra Rampa,” he said, getting to his feet. “For the moment.”

  Kubu crossed the road and turned to look back at the imposing premises of Rampa Undertakers. Why would someone who had a good business—­a very good business—­want to risk it by witchcraft and murder? An unpleasant thought occurred to him: was it possible that the business was built on evil magic? Was that how Rampa had become successful, or at least how Rampa believed he’d become successful? Suddenly the elegant and formal outside of the premises struck him as a mere façade disguising something unsavory behind it.

  He turned away, climbed into his car, and headed to the CID at Millenium Park.

  Part Six

  THE WAY TO DUSTY DEATH

  “And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

  The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!”

  MACBETH, ACT 5, SCENE 5

  FIFTY

  “DADDY. DADDY. PLEASE TAKE us to the mall today. I want to ride the ponies.” Tumi was always energetic in the morning.

  Kubu grunted and rolled over. He wasn’t awake enough to start planning the day. He put his arm over Joy and pulled her closer. After a long week, he’d decided to sleep in a little this Saturday morning.

  He felt one of the girls sit on him as if he were a horse. He did nothing, wishing that they would go and lie down for another half hour. Then there were two riders. Next thing they’ll tell me to giddyup, he groaned. Sure enough, the two started to bounce up and down as if they were galloping. He sighed. His thoughts of a slow morning were rapidly fading.

  The final straw was Ilia barking and jumping up on the two girls.

  He rolled onto his stomach, causing the girls to fall onto Joy. They giggled and tried to snuggle between the adults. “Move over, Daddy!” Tumi shouted into Kubu’s ear. “Nono also wants to cuddle you.”

  Kubu pulled a pillow over his head, but that encouraged the girls to climb all over him. Eventually he rolled over once again and sat up. He gave both girls a big hug and a kiss. “Can’t you girls sleep later on weekends?” he asked rhetorically, trying to look stern.

  “We want to play, Daddy.” Tumi grabbed Kubu’s arm and tried to pull him to his feet.

  “Girls, girls!” Joy was now awake. She also sat up and put an arm over Kubu’s shoulders. “Morning, darling,” she said and kissed him on his cheek.

  “That was nice.” He turned and gave her a lingering kiss on her neck. She snuggled closer.

  “Don’t start what you can’t finish,” she said with a smile.

  “THIS HASN’T BEEN A good month for Saturdays,” Kubu said between bites of toast. “First Marumo’s funeral, and this afternoon, Deputy Commissioner Gobey’s. I have to go.”

  “You liked him, didn’t you?” Joy asked.

  Kubu nodded.

  “What’s a funeral, Daddy?” Tumi asked, forever inquisitive.

  “Remember when we said goodbye to Seloi?” Joy asked.

  “When they put her in the ground to see Jesus.”

  “Yes. We call that a funeral.” She glanced at Nono to see how she was reacting to the mention of her sister. Nono seemed far away.

  “This afternoon, I have to go to the funeral of a very good policeman. He died suddenly last week.”

  “How did he die, Daddy?”

  “He was quite sick. He couldn’t breathe properly.”

  “Will he be able to breathe properly after he’s in the ground?”

  “No, my darling,” Joy said, leaning over and taking Tumi’s hand. “He’s dead and won’t breathe again.”

  Tumi frowned but didn’t say anything.

  “My darling, can you drop me off at the cemetery and then pick me up afterward?”

  “What time?” Joy asked.

  “The ser­vice is at two, and it will probably be six by the time everything wraps up.”

  “I can do that, but you’ll owe me. The traffic will be bad—­it will be a huge funeral.”

  Kubu smiled. “I can think of some fine ways to repay the debt.”

  “Daddy, come outside and play!” Tumi’s shout prevented Joy from answering.

  IT WAS INDEED A huge funeral. The church the Gobeys attended was overflowing, and even more ­people arrived at the cemetery. All the top brass from the police were there in their ironed uniforms and medals, and wives in attendance, as were dozens of police from different divisions. There were many Defense Force higher-­ups—­a testament to the cooperation between the two organizations—­as well as representatives from other government departments as diverse as Labour and Home Affairs, and Environment, Wildlife and Tourism. There were also several cabinet ministers.

  As the crowd worked its way toward the grave, Kubu held back to observe. Gobey’s family had seats under an awning to protect them from the sun. Maria Gobey was trying hard to be stoical, but would break down and sob every few minutes. She was being consoled by a man and woman with similar features. Kubu assumed they must be Gobey’s children, now in their late thirties or early forties. Their spouses and children were also seated out of the sun, in the second row. Also in the first row was the commissioner of police and his wife. Finally, at the end of the first row, Kubu saw Joshua Gobey, and presumably his mother and family. Joshua was in close conversation with the commissioner. No doubt buttering him up for the deputy commissioner position, Kubu thought uncharitably.

  Next to the grave, the choir from Gobey’s church was in full voice with both hymns and traditional songs. Many members of the crowd joined in with gusto. Kubu thought the scene had the air more of a celebration than a funeral. But that was how it went, sometimes, when a beloved man died.

  Then suddenly the crowd parted, and an impressive hearse inched its way toward the grave, FUNERALS OF DISTINCTION painted on its side. As the hearse came to a stop, a suited Kopano Rampa stepped out of the driver’s seat, face solemn, and walked over to Mma Gobey. He extended his arm to shake hands, touching it with his left hand in the traditional manner. Kubu watched closely. Was he the witch doctor? he wondered. He certainly had opportunity and a perfect way of being invisible.

  Rampa then walked over to Joshua and shook his hand. They chatted for a few moments, then Rampa leaned forward and said something in Joshua’s ear. Kubu frowned. What was that about? Payment for the funeral? Or something more sinister? Rampa returned to the hearse, where he talked to six uniformed policemen
, who were obviously going to carry the coffin to the grave. Probably instructions on how to carry the casket without dropping it, Kubu thought.

  “A lot more dignified than the last funeral we were at.” A voice came from over his shoulder, startling him. Kubu turned to see Dr. Pilane behind him. “At least there are no political protests at this one.”

  “What brings you here, doctor? Did you know the deputy commissioner?”

  “Oh yes. I’ve been his doctor for many years.”

  “Did you treat him for his emphysema?”

  “Oh, no. I referred him to a specialist, a Dr. Mapunda. I’m just a family doctor.”

  “I spoke to him on police business about a week before he died. He was quite sick, but I didn’t think his life was in danger. It seemed very sudden. When did you last see him?”

  “Oh, it was several months ago,” Dr. Pilane replied. “A minor unrelated ailment.”

  “How’s his wife doing?”

  “She’s struggling. She’s taking it quite badly, as you can see.” Pilane pointed to Mma Gobey under the awning. “I paid her a visit last night. Gave her a sedative.”

  “Do you know his nephew, Joshua?”

  “I’ve met him a few times, but he lives out of town, in Phakalane, I believe. He’ll have his own doctor out there, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, he’s done well for himself,” Kubu commented sourly.

  “Well, I must go and check on Mma Gobey. I said I’d stop in and see her. I hope this is the end of the funerals.”

  “Me, too, doctor. Goodbye.”

  Kubu watched Dr. Pilane walk over to Mma Gobey and talk to her. After a while he patted her on the shoulder and turned to Joshua. The two men shook hands and spoke. Words of condolence, Kubu presumed. He looked around to see whom else he knew. He saw Mabaku in the distance talking to Ian MacGregor and a few other police colleagues. But overall, most were strangers.

  A hush settled on the crowd, and Kubu saw the cortege move solemnly to the grave. The bearers lowered the coffin next to the open hole onto the ropes that would be used to lower it into its last resting place. They covered the casket with a Botswana flag, the blue standing out against the red of the earth and the black of the mourners.