Deadly Harvest

by Michael Stanley

  “We’ve hit the coffin,” one of the diggers said. “We’ll have to dig around it so that we can get the ropes underneath to winch it up.”

  Kubu felt a twinge of excitement. Detective Thibelo had the undertaker under surveillance. If the body in the coffin was the albino, he would arrest Rampa at once. The witch doctor would be in custody, Mma Gobey would be spared the embarrassment of further questioning, and the news of the arrest would even overshadow the Marumo case, especially if Rampa could be made to confess to being the source of Marumo’s muti and the murderer of the missing children. And, no doubt, Mabaku would get the deputy commissioner position he deserved. Kubu brooded about that. We’ll miss him, he thought.

  After some effort, the workers in the grave had hooked up the coffin, and one was guiding it as the other winched it to the surface. The rough pine exterior was stained, and the box wasn’t sealed well enough to stifle the smell. Kubu was glad of his mask. Ian didn’t seem to notice; he watched the coffin rise with interest.

  At last it was brought to rest on the dolly, which would be used to wheel it to the waiting vehicle for transportation to Ian’s mortuary.

  “Can we look into it here?” Kubu asked.

  “Certainly not!” the cemetery officer responded. “We’ll be opening to the public soon. There’ll be dreadful disturbance if you lift the lid of this coffin now. You have your body; get it out of here.”

  “He’s right, Kubu,” said Ian. “I think we should do this at the mortuary. Whoever’s in this coffin, I’m going to need to do an autopsy. We may as well deal with everything there.”

  Kubu had no option but to be patient a little longer.

  IT WAS AN HOUR later by the time they wheeled the coffin into the pathology laboratory at the Princess Marina Hospital. Kubu wanted to be present when the coffin was opened, but as the lid was removed and the stench of putrefaction filled the room, he regretted it. Ian looked into the box. “Certainly not an albino,” he said. “Look at the hair.”

  Kubu looked for himself and saw black curly hair and dark skin broken up by decay.

  He pulled back. “I was so sure,” he said.

  Ian glanced up at him, then immediately back at the body as though he resented being distracted from his new interest. “Well,” he said. “Your undertaker’s still in deep water. Very deep, I’d say. This is a normally pigmented black male, and he looks pretty well fed to me—­even overweight. I doubt he’s an indigent or unknown person. What was he doing in a pauper’s grave? Well, we’ll know more when I’ve done the autopsy.” He glanced up at Kubu again. “Do you want to stay?”

  Kubu shook his head. He thanked Ian for his help and left to find fresh air.

  Who was the man in the coffin? A well-­fed individual, who was secretly buried in a pauper’s grave? Was this another murder, and if so, for what motive? Or was a body indeed delivered to the funeral parlor in an ambulance as Rampa insisted?

  They needed to search for an appropriate missing person. He started to call Samantha on his cell phone to do that, when he realized how he’d been had.

  “HE SWITCHED THE BODIES, Samantha,” he told her. “He knew there was a chance the extra grave would be discovered, so he swapped the murder victim with one of his clients. Of course, after a few years it wouldn’t matter anyway; there’d be no evidence of the murder left.”

  Samantha asked what they should do next, and Kubu took a few moments to think about it.

  “He won’t have kept an extra body for long. We should check all the burials Rampa did around that time. I’m going to ask his assistant, Robert Tibone.”

  KUBU FOUND TIBONE MUCH less cooperative than he’d been on the Monday before.

  “Rra Rampa is not in, Assistant Superintendent. He may be some time. I don’t think you should wait.”

  “That’s okay, Rra Tibone. I think you can help me.”

  Tibone shook his head. “Rra Rampa was very angry about the help I gave you before. I thought I was going to be fired. He shouted and screamed at me. And his orders were quite explicit. If you have a search warrant, we cooperate; otherwise nothing.” He folded his arms.

  Kubu pulled up a chair and sat down. He wasn’t going to be brushed off that easily.

  “Rra Tibone, when I took that photocopy from you, I thought I was getting a copy of the city documentation for the burial of an unknown man. Did Rra Rampa tell you that the document turned out to be a fake? The city has no record whatsoever of that person. The document was forged.”

  Tibone’s mouth hung open as he digested the implications. “That’s impossible.” He paused, and then added, “He didn’t tell me that.”

  “So, you see, your boss is in very big trouble indeed. Now the question is whether you want to be associated with that trouble—­when you’re looking for another job, for example—­or whether you want to be the person who helped the police get to the bottom of the matter.”

  Tibone swallowed. “I can’t help you. He’ll kill me if he finds out.”

  Kubu shook his head. “I just want some information. You don’t have to give me anything, just answer a few questions. And it’s information I could find out by other means anyway, so no one can trace it back to you.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I just need the names of other men whose funerals you handled on the seventh, eighth, and ninth of May. You told me about them on Monday anyway.”

  Tibone hesitated, then turned to his computer and read out the names and the dates of the funerals. If he was curious about why Kubu wanted the information, he gave no sign of it. He breathed a sigh of relief when Kubu had what he wanted and left.

  BACK AT HIS OFFICE, Kubu phoned the appropriate department at the city and asked for the manager who’d helped him before. Soon he had the information he wanted—­the ages and causes of death of the five men whose funerals Rampa had handled over the key three days. All he needed now was information from Ian. As if on cue, the pathologist phoned.

  “I’ve just finished the autopsy, Kubu. I thought you’d want my preliminary findings.”

  “Very much!”

  “Natural causes.” Ian sounded almost disappointed. “He died of a massive heart attack. It’ll take longer to check for drugs and whatnot, but I’m pretty sure there was no foul play. He was overweight and smoked. Heavily by the looks of his lungs.”

  “How old was he?”

  Ian had to think about that. “I’d say mid to late fifties. Early sixties at the latest.”

  “Fifty-­nine?”

  “That would fit.”

  “Well, Ian, our friend is Aka Ndode, late of Broadhurst. Died of a heart attack on the twenty-­fifth of April, 2012, buried by Funerals of Distinction on the eighth of May, 2012.” Kubu quickly explained Rampa’s deception. “One of the other deceased men died of heart failure, but he was seventy-­eight.”

  “Get me Ndode’s dental records, and we’ll be sure.”

  Kubu thanked him and mused about the protocol of what he should do next. In his own mind he was certain that Owido was buried in Aka Ndode’s elegant coffin with, no doubt, a fine headstone on order. So he was within his rights to open Ndode’s grave without reference to the family. But he felt that was the wrong thing to do. The wife’s grief was still fresh. What if she came to the grave to be near her departed loved one and discovered an open hole with her husband gone? It was out of the question. His next visit would have to be to the widow.

  THE NDODE RESIDENCE WAS a middle-­class house on Kgame Street. The garden was neat, the house recently painted. Kubu knew that his visit, so soon after the funeral, would be a most unwelcome intrusion.

  A neatly dressed woman answered his knock.

  “Mma Ndode? I’m Assistant Superintendent Bengu of the Botswana Police. I phoned earlier and asked for a few minutes of your time.” He showed her his identification.

  �
��Oh, yes, rra. Please come in.” She led him to a sitting room where the furniture was carefully positioned, the cushions plumped, the side tables clean and polished. Neat, thought Kubu, is what seemed to characterize this ­couple. Even the funeral would have fitted with that. Until now.

  Once they were seated, and he’d refused refreshment, Kubu started to explain the matter as best he could.

  “Mma, I’m very sorry to disturb you when you are in mourning for your husband.” The woman nodded, idly playing with the black-­cloth mourning strings she was wearing round her neck. “It’s in connection with your husband’s funeral that I wish to speak to you,” Kubu continued. He hesitated, trying unsuccessfully to find a gentle way of breaking the news. “I’m sorry to tell you that a terrible mistake occurred at the undertaker’s premises. Two bodies were switched and buried in the wrong graves. Your husband was one of them.”

  The woman sat for several seconds trying to digest this. “You mean I didn’t bury Aka? How can that be? That very morning I saw him in the coffin that Rra Rampa helped us choose. How could there be a mistake?” He could hear the growing tension in her voice.

  “It’s very regrettable, mma,” Kubu said. “A very strange story indeed. But all is well. Your husband’s remains are absolutely safe, and as soon as the whole matter has been cleared up, he’ll be placed in the correct coffin and restored to his proper resting place. If you and your family would wish to be involved with that, it can be arranged, of course.”

  Mma Ndode thought about that. “Why are the police involved? Why haven’t I heard from Rra Rampa? He was so helpful before . . .” She was close to tears.

  “Mma, you can appreciate that when such a serious event occurs, the police have to be brought in. To ensure that the remains are safe and properly treated.” He thought it tactful not to mention Ian’s activities of that morning. “I’m sure Rra Rampa will speak to you in person. He’s very busy trying to discover exactly what happened, and he’ll want to tell you himself when he finds out.”

  “Who . . . who is in Aka’s grave?” Tears filled her eyes and started to run down her cheeks.

  “We’re not sure at the moment. We’ll know soon.”

  “And you’re sure he’s safe? I’ve heard terrible things. Things about witch doctors . . .”

  “Yes, mma. His remains are absolutely safe.”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “I’m sorry. This has brought it all back to me. Would you leave now?”

  Kubu nodded and rose. “There is just one more thing, mma. Could you tell me who your husband’s dentist was?”

  “Why do you want to know that?”

  “We’ll be able to get an absolutely definite identification from his dental records.”

  “I could identify him.”

  Kubu shook his head. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

  She understood and gave him the details of the dentist. Then she showed him out.

  Before he drove off, Kubu phoned Samantha and asked her to contact the dentist and get the records to the pathologist right away. He also asked her to contact Broadhurst cemetery and arrange another exhumation for the next morning. That would be definite as soon as Ian confirmed the identity of the body in his laboratory.

  AT 8:30 A.M. ON Thursday, a much more imposing coffin rested on the table in the pathologist’s mortuary. When the lid was levered off, Owido’s sightless eyes stared up at Ian and Kubu. Even before the autopsy, there was no doubt about the unpleasant and violent nature of his death. Even Ian’s face registered shock.

  Although Kubu had kept the second exhumation quiet, Rampa had got wind of it somehow or had simply realized that Kubu would quickly see through his ruse. Detective Thibelo, who’d been keeping a careful eye on him, followed him to Tlokweng and arrested him as he tried to cross into South Africa. Thibelo treated Rampa with nervous respect, and carefully handcuffed him to the passenger-­seat armrest. He’d heard a rumor that Rampa could make himself invisible.

  FIFTY-THREE

  KUBU WASN’T ENTIRELY COMFORTABLE when he opened the door to the interrogation room just after lunch. Intellectually, he didn’t believe that witch doctors had any real powers, only that they relied on the power of suggestion to influence their clients’ lives. But, he had to admit, he had a niggle of concern about confronting Rampa.

  “So, Rra Rampa, we meet again. This time I hope you’ll tell the truth.”

  Rampa didn’t respond, but Kubu noticed how he was clasping and unclasping his hands. Kubu pressed the button to start the recorder and completed the necessary formalities.

  “Kopano Rampa, you are under arrest for the murder of Mabulo Owido, a Tanzanian citizen. You are also under suspicion for the murder of Lesego Betse and Tombi Maleng, two schoolgirls who disappeared from near their schools.”

  “I haven’t killed anyone!”

  “You have the right to have a lawyer present. Do you want one?”

  “No. I haven’t done anything.”

  “Okay. That’s your choice.”

  Kubu flipped through his notebook until he reached the page he wanted.

  “Rra Rampa, this morning we exhumed another body that you buried recently. Your documentation and that of the cemetery indicates that it was the grave of one Aka Ndode. The problem is that the body in the coffin was not Aka Ndode, who was a black male. We believe it was the body of the Tanzanian I mentioned, Mabulo Owido, who was an albino.”

  Rampa just stared at Kubu.

  “In addition, we’ve now verified that the body we exhumed yesterday, which should have been the unknown person you claim was delivered by ambulance from the morgue, was in fact Rra Ndode. Moreover, Mma Ndode tells me that before the funeral she saw her husband in the coffin the albino was buried in, not the cheap pine one in which we actually found him.”

  Rampa wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

  “Finally, the documentation for the unidentified man you buried was a forgery. So the evidence for a willful switching of the bodies is overwhelming. I’m sure the Ministry of Trade and Industry will agree, revoke your license, and probably press charges.

  “But that’s the least of your worries,” Kubu continued. “The person whose corpse we exhumed this morning—­the albino—­did not die of natural causes. He had been murdered and several organs had been removed, almost certainly for muti.”

  Rampa jumped up. “I didn’t murder anybody!” he shouted.

  Kubu ignored the outburst and continued. “We also have a signed confession from a man, Wilson Demene, who claims he helped another man, Sunday Molefe, kidnap Owido. We have a record of the fact that Molefe sent a text message to your phone shortly after Owido disappeared. We also have a witness who says you left your house about that time. No doubt to pick up the albino, so you could kill him for body parts.”

  “I haven’t killed anyone! You’ve got to believe me!” Rampa screamed.

  “How can I believe you? All the evidence points to you. What can you tell me to change my mind?”

  Rampa shook his head, his face looking as though he were in great pain.

  “All right, let’s take this one step at a time. Tell me how the two bodies were switched. Who did it? Who murdered the albino?”

  “I swear I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “But did you switch the bodies?”

  Rampa covered his eyes with his hands, but said nothing.

  “Did you bury the bodies?”

  Rampa was now shaking.

  “Let me tell you something, Rra Rampa,” Kubu continued. “I’m sure you know that Botswana has the death penalty. If you confess to the murders and help find the bodies of other ­people who have disappeared, we may be able to persuade the court to offer some leniency.”

  Rampa looked down, his face twisted in anguish.

  “If you’re not going to cooperate, it’s only going to get wor
se. Give it some thought,” Kubu said, struggling to his feet. He turned off the recorder.

  “I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

  “I want a lawyer,” Rampa croaked.

  “I’ll arrange for you to contact yours. You’re going to need one!”

  KUBU HAD JUST SETTLED in his office when his cell phone chirped. He read the text message.

  “At Rampa’s house. May have found Marumo briefcase. Samantha.”

  Kubu shook his head. Marumo’s briefcase? Was Rampa involved in Marumo’s death also? Was he the source of the muti they’d found in Marumo’s desk? Were he and Witness Maleng working together?

  He immediately dialed Samantha.

  “Why do you think you have Marumo’s briefcase?”

  “It looks just like the one in the photos the Freedom Party gave us, and the initials next to the handle have been scraped off,” Samantha replied excitedly.

  “Good work. Have forensics test for prints and other evidence.” Kubu thought it was unlikely that there would be anything useful this long after Marumo’s death, but it was worth trying.

  “Is there a computer there?” Kubu asked.

  “Yes. Forensics has already packed it up. Some Russian woman took it.”

  “Excellent. I can’t wait to hear the results.”

  Kubu hung up and wondered about the ramifications if it was in fact Marumo’s briefcase. The thought jogged Kubu’s memory of Marumo’s muti, and he went immediately to Mabaku’s office. Fortunately the director was available.

  “Has Rampa confessed yet?” Mabaku asked as Kubu entered.

  “No,” Kubu replied. “But as the evidence mounts, I think he will.” He sat down and continued in response to Mabaku’s raised eyebrows. “Two things: First, Samantha thinks she’s found Marumo’s missing briefcase at Rampa’s house. That puzzles me—­it means that Rampa was involved in Marumo’s death. I can see him supplying Marumo with muti, but I never thought he’d be implicated in his death. And I can’t figure out how he’s connected to Witness Maleng. Second, I’m going to need permission to exhume another grave.”