Killed in Kruger

by Denise M. Hartman

  She went back to her bungalow and tried to put together the story for one of the magazines, but soon gave up and got out the map to find Nelspruit. Perhaps the film was in town. It didn’t answer the question of the digital camera, but if she found some film at a processor, she’d have something to offer the editors. Her pictures, she knew, weren’t going to cut it. She grimaced. Somehow the shots of her feet on the floor of the car weren’t going to do it for editors.

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  Uncle Phillip had arranged for her to meet an official park ranger for an interview at 7:00 pm. She’d planned to meet up with the guide after she and Daniel came back from an evening safari drive. The camp gates closed at 6:00 pm, which gave her time to go back to the rondavel to collect her tape recorder and paper, and to clean up.

  The big thatched dining hall spoke of the glory days when Kruger National Park had been the chic safari destination, full of luxury and glamour. It was still not bad, but more middle class than upper crust. More accessible. Diners were scattered among the tables. Tabitha scanned the people. She didn’t know what this Mhlongo would look like. She heard footsteps behind her on the tile floor and turned. A slim man of about fifty stood there. The outdoors had been unkind to his skin and his face was heavily wrinkled, but he had been good-looking.

  Tabitha smiled and stepped aside. “Sorry, I was just waiting on someone.”

  “Me too.” He scanned the restaurant quickly, then said to Tabitha. “I guess he’s not here. I’ll have to wait with you. Who are you meeting?”

  “A ranger. Mhlongo.”

  The man’s blond head went back and a hearty laugh erupted. “How like him to double up his meetings. I’m meeting him too. My name’s Vandenblok.” He held out his hand.

  Tabitha shook it. “Tabitha Cranz.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Cranz. It looks like the old devil is late on us.” His English came in guttural tones, with a rhythm that indicated a different first language.

  “Are you with the press?” Tabitha asked.

  This warranted another laugh. “No. I’m an animal handler. In fact, that’s what I wanted to talk to Mhlongo about. I’m contracted to move some giraffe this month and he’s the best tracker in the park. You’re with the press?”

  “Not exactly, but I’m a writer. I’m interviewing Mr. Mhlongo for a story I’m working on for an outdoors magazine.”

  “How interesting. You’ve got the right man to talk to. Here he comes.”

  They turned to see a black African man in the restaurant’s entry. While not particularly tall, he exuded confidence and walked with the grace of a panther. Smooth. They joined him and Mr. Vandenblok made introductions. They discussed the routes and locations of giraffe families in such detail that Tabitha barely understood the conversation, but their capture was suddenly scheduled for the next morning.

  “Join us for our meal, Mr. Vandenblok?” Tabitha asked, during a lull in the discussion.

  “No, please, excuse me for taking so much of your time, actually. I have the information I came for.”

  “May I join your capture?”

  His blue eyes clouded for a moment. “Certainly. Meet me in front of the offices at six and bring your bottle of water.”

  “I think it would be interesting.”

  “We’ll keep you at a safe distance.”

  “Are giraffe really dangerous?” Tabitha found the idea humorous.

  “Actually, a kick from one of those powerful legs would easily kill a man. Part of working with nature is respecting it. Until tomorrow.” Vandenblok gave a half salute. “Thanks, Mhlongo.” The men nodded to one another.

  Tabitha watched Mhlongo’s light brown, almost yellow eyes harden as he watched the animal catcher walk away.

  “Will you be at the capture tomorrow?” Tabitha asked as they took a seat apart from a large group of German tourists.

  “Once they have the correct animals spotted, I will return to my work, but I will pop by from time to time to make sure everything is handled appropriately. Why are you interested?” His hands were folded tightly on the table in front of him.

  She shrugged. “It seems like something beneficial to the park and those that receive the animals. The conservationists would like it, I would think.”

  Mhlongo snorted unexpectedly. “They support nothing in the park. Just troublemakers. Besides, the giraffe move is straightforward. I don’t know why you’re interested. You shouldn’t bother to go.”

  Tabitha felt more determined to take a look at this capture.

  The drink steward set a soda and a coffee on the table in front of them. Tabitha had been unable to persuade Mr. Mhlongo to let her buy dinner. She interviewed him about how to sight animals in the park, and recommendations for those traveling separate from a safari tour company. It was one of those painful interviews where the writer drags the information word by word from a shy subject. Tabitha didn’t think Mhlongo was shy as much as tight-lipped. It wasn’t a dramatic topic, so his discomfort seemed out of proportion. Tabitha swallowed her impatience. She was the one who’d lost her uncle. She didn’t even have to be here. He could cooperate; he’d agreed to meet her and Phillip.

  It was like he heard her thoughts. “There is a nice place to park your car and watch at the Sunset Dam by Lower Sabie Camp. It would be good for your photos,” Mhlongo offered.

  “Perhaps I’ll move over to that camp when I’ve got the paperwork done here. That’s where my, ahh, uncle was when he, uh, disappeared.”

  “Yes, I was sorry to hear of your loss.” He stood to leave. The German tourists’ table erupted in laughter in the distance.

  Tabitha got to her feet. “Didn’t you meet my uncle last week?”

  Mhlongo’s eyes shifted sideways to the tourists. “No. No, why do you ask?”

  “How did Phillip get the appointment if you didn’t meet him? I’m sure he would have wanted to go with you, tracking animals for photos. He loved photographing animals. He’d do anything to get a chance at that.” Her voice was warm, thinking of good things about Phillip.

  Mhlongo squinted at her as if the restaurant lights were suddenly bright. “I’m sure he made this appointment with the office or by phone.”

  Tabitha was disappointed. “You’re sure you didn’t see him anywhere in the park last week? Maybe out on your patrols or something, taking pictures? I want to find his last movements.”

  “No.”

  Mhlongo seemed determined to be a man of few words. Tabitha held out a hand. “I hope to see you tomorrow, in case I have some follow-up questions.” The man’s hand was rough and callused in hers. He nodded and strode from the dining hall without another word.

  Tabitha ate her dinner in a pensive mood, half listening to the hearty conversation of a group across the restaurant. She was more intrigued now by the giraffe capture, with Mhlongo’s strange resistance, but felt guilty for enjoying herself while Phillip’s body lay mutilated somewhere nearby. She was more and more concerned about potential embalming and body conditions, but didn’t know how to skirt the red tape and move the process along. Tomorrow when she got back from the animal capture she’d go and have a fit in the offices until they got her the paperwork. She flinched at the idea of being the ugly American, but she had to get things moving. She heard echoes of her mother’s hysteria in her own words and moaned.

  Chapter 15

  Mhlongo lowered his field glasses and started the Jeep. He was looking for a rumored albino impala. He wanted to get it before the lions did. It would be easier to spot at night, when they hunt. Instead of the impala, he’d seen that crazy conservationist kid running around in the veldt carrying something.

  Mhlongo drove a parallel road to where he’d seen Christopher, to get a closer look. He got out and scrambled up on a termite mound. He used the sight on his rifle to look, since it was better quality than his field glasses. He concentrated his gaze through the scope.

  A slow grin spread across his face. The stupid kid had a gun. He was
indeed stalking a herd of buffalo. This would be funny. What could the conservationist possibly want with a gun and a buffalo? He wasn’t hungry, certainly, with all that extra American fat.

  Mhlongo watched as Christopher took aim and pulled the trigger. The report of the gun was loud and the recoil made the idiot kid lose his grip. The herd spooked and started running in several directions. A dominant male zeroed in on the American alone in the bush.

  Mhlongo actually laughed out loud as the animal chased the kid until he scratched his way up a short acacia tree. Mhlongo didn’t know what the imbecile was trying to do, but this could be very useful.

  He walked back to the Jeep to continue the search for the impala. The buffalo would keep Christopher out of the way for now.

  Chapter 16

  The Jeep left the asphalt for a dirt road and jounced along for several kilometers. Tabitha’s teeth clanked together involuntarily a few times. Vandenblok smiled apologetically at Tabitha but didn’t try to make conversation. She’d just asked him where he got funding for these animal transport projects. Interesting timing to suddenly not be able to talk. Up ahead in the dim morning light, she saw what looked like a giant drapery of canvas leading up to a truck. As they approached, several crewmen in rust-colored work jumpsuits scurried through the shadows, adjusting the contraption.

  “I’m sorry. What were you asking?” Vandenblok said, cutting the engine. Tabitha thought his forgetfulness a bit convenient.

  “I was just wondering how you got your funding.” Tabitha wondered how to spin this into a story and wanted to take a closer look at the capture pen, too. She glanced at Vandenblok. He’d spent a lot of time out of doors. His receding hair was blonded by sun.

  “Well, it’s a very expensive proposition for a zoological facility or another park to obtain an animal. They contract with my organization, and we do have to cover costs.” He gave her a wink and got out of the car. “Trade secrets, too, Miss Cranz,” he said when she joined him, notebook in hand, standing in the dusty red earth. He stared at the temporary enclosure. “Trade secrets.”

  “What about the protestors when we turned off the main road?”

  Vandenblok rolled his eyes. “Schopenhauer Factor. Just a group of crazy environmentalists, uh—don’t quote me. They protest all the animal transports. All of them.” He watched the workers and jingled the contents of his pockets.

  He didn’t seem to be paying attention to her. “But aren’t most of the animals headed to zoos? What is there to protest?” She fidgeted with her pencil. Maybe she could somehow tie the capture to the conservationist group for a story.

  “Zoos and some to other game parks. Though Kruger has its own transport department—we just come in for the third party who hires us to do the more distant moves. But the Schopenhauers don’t believe in moving the animals or doing anything else that might actually help the park.”

  “Where’d the last animals you moved end up?”

  Vandenblok watched the crew, squinted, then said, “Excuse me, I need to attend to a few things.” He donned a radio headset and stalked off into the bush.

  The sun came up and turned everything an orangey gold. Tabitha shot some scenics of the veldt that seemed like they might be worthwhile.

  Tabitha’s curiosity called her over toward the chutes for a closer inspection. The lower six feet of the corral appeared to be metal plating, anchored in place by exterior posts. Canvas rose above this on what looked like metal street lamp posts to create a barrier like a two-story building, from Tabitha’s perspective. It must go up to the giraffes’ heads.

  “Miss, please.” A crewman gestured her away from the chute, back toward the car. “It is not safe for you. Please stay back.”

  Tabitha spent most of her time sitting on the hood of the car. The inaction was killing her. Maybe she shouldn’t have come on the capture. Much to her chagrin, she’d been warned off every time she’d gotten anywhere near the chutes they’d rigged for the giraffes. She sat in the sun and shot pictures, though no giraffes had shown up.

  A helicopter sounded distantly, but produced a surge of activity in the hive of workers. They shored up braces and looked out into the bushveld. The sound of a vehicle revving and bumping accompanied the helicopter and, as the sound drew nearer, Tabitha saw the giraffes. They ran, long necks gracefully held in front of them, fleeing from the manmade creature in the sky. Driving them into the canal took finesse, but eventually all three animals entered the makeshift hallway that would lead them to the enclosure on the capture truck.

  No one paid attention to her, and Tabitha busily shot pictures but the angles and the light seemed wrong. Phillip would have known what to do. She bit her bottom lip. The story had begun to take shape in her mind, but the photos were another matter. She focused the camera again. A billow of warm wind flapped open the heavy canvas and a yelp from one of the workers brought a crowd of them to anchor down the corner in question. Tabitha thought it was a good opportunity for an action shot. She could see the pen on the truck in the brief moment while the canvas flapped back. One giraffe seemed to sense the weakness when the flap opened. A snort was followed by a massive, well-placed kick that bent one of the metal support rods nearly in half.

  Another flurry of workers pushed a large metal plate into a slot in the lower metal part of the barrier. The two pieces of metal screeched against one another. It made her teeth hurt. More huffing and snorting came from the animals. The plate closed behind them, forcing the giraffes further toward the pen on the truck. Then the canvas was folded inward using the poles. The process was repeated, pushing the giraffes until they had only one choice. When they were secure in the truck and the motor was started, Vandenblok hurried over to Tabitha.

  “Sorry to abandon you there.” He was out of breath. “This is the toughest part —getting them in the first place.”

  “What happens now?”

  “First, a veterinarian will see to it that they are in good health and able to travel. Then we’ll start making final arrangements for the cross country part of our journey.”

  A cloud passed over the sun and despite the warm day, a cool breeze swept over them. Too bad Phillip wasn’t here. He would have gotten some decent pictures and would have enjoyed the adventure. “Did you meet a photographer in the last couple of weeks, with your work around the park? Phillip Adkins?”

  Tabitha saw a moment’s hesitation in Vandenblok, but then he hurriedly said, “No, sorry.” He went on, “Well, today was a success. No one was hurt. I’ll have a crewman take you back. I’ve got to ride with the animals.” He trotted off before Tabitha could say anything more. What was the hesitation about?

  Soon, a native African in a rust-colored jumpsuit came over and drove Tabitha back to Skukuza. She tried to quiz him about the capture and where the animals would end up, but this was his first work on one and he didn’t have anything to say about tracking animals in the park. Disappointed, Tabitha asked him to drop her in front of the reservations office. She went in to check on availability in Lower Sabie. That was the camp where Uncle Phillip’s things had been found. She didn’t know how quickly her plans might have to change if she had to fly with Phillip’s body, and she wanted a chance to see the camp where he had disappeared. It would be an opportunity to ask around about Uncle Phillip’s last activities too. So far it seemed he had been invisible the last couple of weeks; no one admitted to seeing him. She stood tapping on the counter while the young woman made a call to the camp.

  “I’m sorry, Miss. There is no availability for three days at Sabie.”

  Tabitha sighed. Nothing was going to be simple. “Would you book for the first availability?” She’d use her time to advantage somehow.

  For now, she was determined to go have another conversation with Kindness Radebe about the paperwork for Uncle Phillip. She was afraid she’d be rude to a woman named Kindness if things didn’t get moving.

  She parked the truck with a thump against the curb and wound her way through the office hal
ls. She heard raised voices in the men’s bathroom and paused, but she didn’t understand the language. As she turned the corner to the assistant director’s office, she heard a door hinge creak and couldn’t resist looking back to see who had been arguing. To her surprise, she saw Daniel’s back, storming away from the bathroom. She watched as he shoved his way through the doors and out of the building. She wondered what could upset such a mild-mannered man.

  The office seemed more cluttered with papers and files than the last time she’d been there. Kindness looked up and covered her mouth as she smiled a greeting.

  “Is Mr. Mpande in now?” Tabitha asked.

  “No, he has been called to a nearby community where an elephant escaped the park bounds last night. He ate a farmer’s crops.”

  Tabitha heard Uncle Phillip’s smooth ability to charm secretaries to help him echoing in her head, and decided to try being nice for now. “Did he leave the paperwork for me to process my uncle’s body? I’m sure the park is anxious to move ahead.”

  “No paperwork, he was called away suddenly. I think that we are still waiting for the government office to send the forms.”

  “Is there someone we can call in the government office?”

  “We have made the request via fax and telephone. There is nothing more we can do.” Kindness shrugged.

  “I’m also going to need a police report of some kind for the insurance company in the States.”

  “Yes, yes. This we have requested a copy of from Nelspruit Police. I’m sure they will fax it directly.”