Deadly Harvest

by Michael Stanley

  The undertaker rolled to face Kubu, ignoring the pain.

  “Policeman, you know nothing. You’re like someone who doesn’t believe in TV because he’s never seen a set. Ask your boss how he got to be at the top. Ask his boss. That’s how it works. That’s how it is.” He groaned and lay back. Samantha looked at him in horror.

  “My boss got his job because he’s excellent at it, that’s how,” Kubu said angrily. But he had a sudden uncomfortable thought about Tebogo Gobey.

  Rampa sneered at him. “Go away,” he said. “Leave me alone.” Then he refused to say anything more.

  Walking back to his office, Kubu said to Samantha, “Are you still so sure he’s the witch doctor? Do you think he’d do that to himself?”

  She looked unhappy. “He’s mad. He believes in evil magic and spirits and devils. Who can say what his mind does to him?”

  If it is his mind, Kubu thought uncomfortably. But he said, “It may be an idea to have a psychiatrist take a look at him.”

  Then his cell phone rang again. Miriam this time.

  “Samantha, the director wants to see me right away. And it’s nearly lunchtime. Will you get those files, and I’ll meet with you as soon as I’m free?”

  MABAKU STARTED TALKING ALMOST before Kubu was settled in his chair. Although he was going by the book, he couldn’t disguise his enthusiasm for tripping up Joshua. First he filled in Kubu on his meeting with Mma Gobey, and his subsequent thoughts on investigating Joshua’s finances. He brushed aside the witch doctor connection, adding, “I just had a call from the commissioner. He’s keen to move rapidly on Rampa. He’s worried about public reaction if it looks as though we’re marking time. Apparently Joshua’s been sticking his nose into that also. He thinks we should charge Rampa in the Marumo case.”

  Kubu shook his head. “We can’t charge him in the Marumo case. There’s no evidence he was anywhere near the scene, and absolutely no motive. Even if Marumo was one of his clients, what reason would he have to kill him?”

  “Maybe they fell out. There was the dog’s head, remember.”

  Kubu sighed. “I don’t think Rampa even is the witch doctor.” That got Mabaku’s attention, and Kubu told him about Rampa suffering a psychic lashing.

  Mabaku frowned. “He could be doing it to himself to put us off. No, I think our strategy is clear. We go after Joshua on the corruption issues, and we try the commissioner’s approach on Rampa.” He told Kubu about the choice to be offered to the undertaker: cooperate and avoid the death penalty, or be released to the anger of the ­people.

  Kubu shook his head. “Rampa is more scared of the real witch doctor than he is of us, or the ­people on the street. And forget about trapping Joshua; he’s too smart for that.”

  “He can’t hide all that money!”

  “Why not? A few big wins at the casino, taxes all paid. How are you going to prove differently? Maybe we’ll get him eventually, but by then he’ll be nicely installed as deputy commissioner with you reporting to him, and the commissioner will be obliged to support him not to lose face.”

  Mabaku grimaced. He realized that Kubu could well be right. “If Joshua’s corrupt we have to stop him. We can’t allow him to get to be deputy commissioner.”

  “It’s the witch doctor, Jacob. We’ve got to get the witch doctor. That will let us tie in Marumo and discredit Joshua at the same time. To say nothing of destroying an evil monster.”

  “I still think it’s Rampa, wheals or not. He’s a psychopath.”

  Kubu sat and thought it through, trying to find holes in his reasoning. At last he shook his head. “Jacob, I’m sure Rampa is telling the truth. He isn’t the witch doctor; he’s just been doing his dirty work. If he were the witch doctor, and Joshua has been involved with him, why is Joshua pushing so hard to get him convicted? If he takes the commissioner’s deal, he’d be exposing ­people like Joshua. It makes no sense. The evidence doesn’t add up.” He told Mabaku about the briefcase and the other issues that had been bothering him. He hesitated, and then added, “Actually, I have an idea who it might be, but it’s far-­fetched, and I haven’t had a chance to follow up. But even if that turns out to be wrong, I think there’s a way we can discover who the witch doctor really is.” Then he outlined the plan that had been forming in his mind while they’d been talking.

  Mabaku listened the whole way through, his face expressionless, and when Kubu had finished he sat and thought for more than a minute.

  At last he said, “You realize that if Joshua is corrupt and involved with ­people like this witch doctor, you’re putting more on the line than our careers? If he gets the deputy commissioner job, he’ll make it his business to destroy both of us. With what we know, he won’t want us around. Not in the police force. Not anywhere.”

  Kubu nodded slowly. Mabaku stared at him, thinking about the times over the years when Kubu had been right and the times when he’d been wrong. At last Mabaku nodded. “Okay, we’ll give it a try. Let me know what you need. If we’re wrong, I just hope we live to regret it.”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  JOSHUA WAS DAYDREAMING. HE was certain, after his earlier meeting with the commissioner, that he would soon be appointed as his deputy. Then it would be only a few years before he would find a way to move up again. The commissioner was getting on in years, and Joshua was sure that he could be encouraged to retire if the right pressures were brought to bear.

  He smiled at the thought of what he would be able to do from that position. A new house on the golf course, not just one nearby; a new car—­an upgrade to his already three-­year-­old BMW; and exotic vacations around the world, tacked on to his state-­funded official trips.

  He was pleased he had fought back the fear that had initially gripped him at the witch doctor’s place out of town. He now had the power to succeed.

  He leaned back and closed his eyes.

  The intercom on his phone brought him back to the present.

  “The commissioner for you, rra,” the tinny voice said.

  Joshua pushed the blinking button.

  “Gobey,” he said with authority.

  “Joshua.” The commissioner’s voice sounded hesitant. “Joshua, I spoke to Director Mabaku and urged him to do what you recommended.”

  Joshua smiled—­his ploy was going to work.

  “However, there’s a problem.”

  Joshua sat upright. “A problem, Commissioner?” he asked.

  “Yes. Mabaku just called me back. It seems that he and Assistant Superintendent Bengu no longer think that the undertaker is the witch doctor.”

  “Of course he’s the witch doctor!” Joshua almost snapped at the commissioner.

  “I have to say that they were quite convincing. There’s lots of circumstantial evidence, but very little that would stick in a courtroom. And the man has suddenly been covered with welts. He says that the witch doctor has put a spell on him, and he’s going to die.”

  “He’s just doing that to himself. He doesn’t want to be tried and hanged. He’s trying to divert attention by using his powers.” Joshua felt his stomach tighten.

  “Well, that may be the case, Joshua, but at this point they’re only going to charge him with offenses with respect to the burials. If they find better evidence, they’ll charge him with the murders also. But in the meanwhile, they’re looking for somebody else.”

  Joshua didn’t reply as he started to weigh the consequences of what he’d just heard.

  “I’ll let you know if they find anything significant,” the commissioner concluded and hung up.

  Joshua sat for several minutes before he replaced the handset. And when he did, it rattled against its cradle.

  In a matter of moments, his life had changed. Before the commissioner’s call, he was contemplating the benefits of being promoted. Now he was terrified that everything he had could be ripped from him, that al
l his dreams could be shredded. If they found the real witch doctor and made him confess, it would be the end for him.

  He needed to find the witch doctor before that happened; needed to use the powers the witch doctor had given him.

  Joshua jumped up and rushed out of the office. “I’ll be back in half an hour,” he called to his assistant. He almost ran to his car, then drove to Broadhurst Mall. Minutes later he was seated at a computer amid a number of tourists also using the Internet café.

  He clicked on the icon for the browser. The short time it took to open seemed interminable. As soon as he could, he opened his webmail, typed in a Hushmail address, and sent an e-­mail: “Need to talk. SOON!! Please.”

  BY THE TIME HE returned home that evening, Joshua hadn’t heard from the witch doctor, so he went straight to his office to check his e-­mail just in case the witch doctor had replied that way. But there was nothing.

  Maybe they’ve caught him, he thought. Maybe it’s already too late. He wiped his brow with his hand, feeling the dampness. What if they forced him to name his clients and what they’d done? He’d be ruined. He started fantasizing that he would be saved by the witch doctor committing suicide as the police burst into his place or by the witch doctor being shot by the police as he tried to escape. But he realized that this was all wishful thinking.

  He was very distant during dinner with his wife. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he said. “I’ve something on my mind from the office. I’m going to have to work this evening.”

  As soon as he finished dinner, he returned to his study. He kept his cell phone close by and checked his e-­mail frequently for something to do, even though he knew it would be of no avail.

  He nearly sent a second e-­mail but pulled himself together and decided not to. The witch doctor normally took two days to reply. He had to try to be patient.

  JOSHUA CHECKED HIS E-­MAIL before and after breakfast, and frequently at the office. Still no reply. Several times he used his office phone to call his cell phone to check if it was working.

  By lunch, he couldn’t stand it any longer and returned to the Internet café.

  “Must talk to you. Urgent!” It took all of two minutes to send the e-­mail, and he snapped at the attendant for charging him the minimum of half an hour.

  “Can I carry forward the minutes that are left?” he asked.

  The attendant shook his head. “No, rra.”

  “You’re cheating everyone,” Joshua snarled. “I’ll never use you again.”

  He stormed out onto the sidewalk and looked around. A man leaning on the side of a white car on the other side of the street caught his eye. Wasn’t that the same man he’d seen outside police headquarters when he left there twenty minutes ago? He walked briskly to his car and drove off. In his rearview mirror, he saw the Toyota do a U-­turn and pull in several cars behind him. He was being followed.

  JOSHUA CANCELED THE THREE appointments on his calendar that afternoon, spending the time closeted in his office. When his assistant opened his office door to tell him that one of his appointments hadn’t received the cancellation and was waiting outside, he shouted at her to leave him alone. She scuttled back to her desk, wondering what was going on. Her boss had never behaved in such a bizarre fashion before.

  THE MOMENT JOSHUA ARRIVED HOME, his wife realized that she would have a more pleasant evening with friends. So she told Joshua to order a pizza and headed out as quickly as she could.

  As soon as his wife left, Joshua found a flashlight and went to the garage. He crawled around, shining the beam on all the underparts of his BMW. When he looked under the front left wheel well, he saw it. He reached in and plucked it off the metal.

  It was a police bug, used for tracking vehicles remotely. Why were the police following him? he wondered. Had they captured the witch doctor? Had he confessed? He almost dropped the device on the concrete floor to crush it with his shoe, but he stopped. If it stopped transmitting, they would know he’d found it. He opened the passenger door and put it on the seat. Maybe he could use it to throw the police off his tracks.

  Joshua went inside and prowled around the house with a gnawing pain in his stomach.

  He tried watching the Botswana soccer team, the Zebras, play a friendly against South Africa’s Bafana Bafana, but he couldn’t concentrate.

  Eventually, at about 9:30 p.m., he couldn’t contain himself anymore, so he sent another e-­mail to the Hushmail address.

  “PLEASE call me. Need to talk URGENTLY.”

  He was frantic with the fear of being found out.

  THE PHONE CALL CAME just before 10:30 p.m.

  “The place we last met. In an hour. Stay in your car.”

  Joshua heard a click as the phone was hung up. He had no chance to respond.

  FIFTY-NINE

  JOSHUA SLOWLY PUT DOWN the cell phone, his heart racing, the witch doctor’s voice still echoing in his head. He jumped up. He only had an hour! He needed to hurry.

  Then he told himself to be calm and sank back into his chair. I have the power, he thought. Let me use it. Let me think. He took a deep breath. Could this be a police trap? He shook his head. He’d recognized the witch doctor’s voice immediately. Always cold, sibilant, reminding him of a snake.

  He left a note for his wife saying that he’d been called to a breaking case, and she should expect him when she saw him. Then he went into the garage, opened the door of his BMW, and immediately saw the tracking device he’d left on the passenger seat. So why were the police watching him? he wondered, also remembering the man who had followed him outside the Internet café. It’s Mabaku. He’s trying to find some lever to blackball me. Or perhaps my stupid uncle told them I was interested in witchcraft, and now they’re trying to use me to get to the witch doctor. He ground his teeth.

  His first thought was to leave the tracking device in the garage, but he took time to think it through. If he were Mabaku, he would have someone watching the house. That man would report his comings and goings and, if he left the device behind, they’d assume he’d found it and tail him by car. It would be hard to lose them on the empty late-­night streets of Gaborone. No, he’d need to be cleverer than that.

  He evaluated a ­couple of plans, then, after a few minutes, went back into the house, took his ser­vice pistol from the gun safe, and checked and loaded it. He put on a shoulder holster and a jacket. Then he returned to the car and confidently drove out into the night.

  KUBU HAD JUST FALLEN into a contented sleep when the phone jarred him awake. It took him a few seconds to orient himself. When he realized what had woken him, he grabbed the phone.

  “Bengu.”

  “Assistant Superintendent, this is Edison. Edison Banda. Our man outside Suspect A’s house phoned and said he’d just driven out. I’ve alerted the director, the rapid-­response team, and Detective Khama.”

  “And you’ve got the suspect’s car on your screen?”

  “Yes. He’s heading toward the A1.”

  “And what about Suspect B?”

  “Nothing happening there.”

  “Good. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Kubu checked his watch. It was 10:45 p.m. A very unlikely time for Joshua to leave his house and start driving around Gaborone. This may be it, he thought.

  JOSHUA DROVE TO THE A1, then turned south. When he came to the Game City shopping center, he pulled into the parking lot and turned off the engine. Right next to CID headquarters. Just the place to make Mabaku look stupid!

  WHEN KUBU ARRIVED AT the assembly point, six armed policemen were milling around under the floodlights. Kubu saw Edison and walked over.

  “Welcome back, Edison. Did you have a good vacation?”

  “Yes. It was wonderful.”

  “Well, you returned to a hornet’s nest. You’ve been briefed on what’s happening?”

  “A little
bit. Nobody seems to know what’s really going on or who the suspects are.”

  “I’ll fill you in on the details after this is over. We’re trying to catch a witch doctor who, we’re sure, has been responsible for a number of muti murders. Obviously we didn’t want to tell our men that. They think it’s a diamond heist.”

  Kubu could see the hesitation in Edison’s eyes. “It’s okay, Edison. Nothing’s going to happen to you. He’s just a criminal.”

  Kubu didn’t think that Edison was convinced.

  Just then a man ran over. “Suspect B has just started moving. It looks as though he’s heading west towards the A1.”

  “Thanks,” Kubu said. “Edison, get the men together. I want to brief them.”

  As Edison was gathering the team, Mabaku and Samantha arrived. Kubu quickly filled them in.

  “Director, both our vehicles have backup communication systems. Each will acknowledge every one of your communications. If you don’t hear an acknowledgment, check immediately with that vehicle. If you can’t make contact, switch to the backup system. Each vehicle also has a cell phone. Edison has those numbers.”

  Kubu turned to Samantha. “If the team moves in, you are not to go with them. You must stay in the vehicle until cleared to move. Understood?”

  Samantha stiffened and didn’t reply.

  “Samantha. It’s not because you’re a woman. It’s because it’s dangerous, and you don’t have the appropriate training or experience. I won’t be going with my team, either.”

  Samantha nodded reluctantly.

  “The men are ready, Kubu,” Edison said as he ran up.

  Kubu turned to the men. “Listen carefully. The men we are following are very dangerous. We think one of them has killed several times. However, you must do everything possible to capture them alive. No shooting unless absolutely necessary. They’re very careful and may lay traps for anyone following. Fortunately, both their vehicles have tracking devices on them. Director Mabaku will be in charge of letting us all know what they are doing. He will also give us the order to go in, if that’s appropriate. It’s essential that we work together and don’t jump the gun. Wait for orders. Don’t do anything unless ordered to do so. Each vehicle must acknowledge every communication from the director in order. Who is in charge of Vehicle One?”