Killed in Kruger

by Denise M. Hartman

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  Tabitha dashed over to the snack bar and got a breakfast sandwich and a rich cup of coffee. She gobbled this on the way back to the truck. An urgency to get more photographs drove her back out into the park’s savannahs. Or maybe she was running from problems she could not solve. She shot a few more rolls of film, still anxious to see what was on the ones she’d left in Nelspruit, especially Phillip’s. Would they tell more about his time here?

  It was certainly easier to shoot when Daniel did the driving. She kept getting the camera straps caught on the steering wheel and the gearshift. How well would her amateur photo work fulfill the contracts?

  After a morning shooting, Tabitha felt she might be beginning to have something to show editors, but Phillip’s would be so much better. She consulted his calendar. He’d noted appointments for some lodges at Skukuza and an hour before that he had a cryptic “SF at Kudu sculpture.” The sculpture she knew was at Skukuza camp. Tabitha guessed the SF was the Schopenhauer Factor representative. She wished she had more background going into this meeting, if indeed that’s what it was. She freshened up at the main lodge and walked the short distance over the cultivated grass to the two giant copper Kudu antelope, horns entwined, fighting for supremacy over one another. She’d read that these antelope with the curled horns could become stuck in a fight and trapped together, suffering a lingering death. She leaned against the cement base of the art piece. Clouds began to drift in, making a haze overhead.

  Tabitha noticed a young man with a full head of brown curls making his way toward her. She noted that he wore a green shirt that gave a good impression of being a park uniform, but was not. He glanced around, then approached her.

  “I’m Chris. Christopher. I was expecting someone else. Are you here to talk about the Schopenhauer Factor?”

  Tabitha thought he must be quite a bit younger than her, and seemed an unlikely spokesman. His accent was American. They settled on a nearby wooden bench with Christopher looking around again.

  He dove in before she asked a question. “We’re considering another lawsuit against the park. They don’t listen to the conservation message. If they are going to truly respect the animals, they would stop serving meat in their restaurants and stop the poaching problem, remove fences except in cases of safety near busy roads, build crossing tunnels for the roads, and put more funding into alternative energy resources to supply the park.”

  Tabitha wasn’t sure where to start. “I understood the park had a fairly aggressive stance on poaching. What problems does your organization see?”

  Christopher sighed. “That’s just it. They say they combat it. What have they actually done? Poaching continues, and a while ago they sold some of the ivory stock that supposedly comes from naturally deceased animals. These actions encourage the problem.” He pushed round glasses up the bridge of his nose and glanced around again.

  “What could they do differently?” Tabitha picked up a strident note in Christopher’s argument and was wondering how to spin this for an environmental magazine.

  “They need to increase their patrols throughout the park and add another set of officers to work during the night so they have equal patrols all day.”

  “How would they pay for the increase?” Tabitha knew all about the amount of patrols that were available in Kruger. Look how long it had taken to find Phillip.

  Christopher laughed like she’d told a joke. “I have thought about this, you know. The other man, he understood.”

  “You spoke with my uncle?”

  “Uncle? You mean the photographer?”

  Tabitha nodded. “What did he say?”

  “We were here. I was telling him the park could easily put in windmill generators on one of the plains areas. Your uncle agreed. I showed him the area.”

  “Where was this?”

  “It’s out to the west by the Orpen gate, but that’s not the point. There would be no disturbance to the animals once they were in. It would generate electricity for the park, more they could sell and pay for true reform in the park.” Tabitha’s hope at more information on Phillip’s activities faded as she realized Phillip was probably trying to be nice to Christopher. Phillip liked to encourage young people. During Christopher’s speech, Tabitha noticed Souli, the head of rangers, approaching.

  “Where did Phillip go when he left you?”

  “What? Are you even listening to me? We came back here.”

  Souli’s dark skin was matte in the hazy light. He made a polite gesture and smiled at Christopher. “Hello, young conservationist. I wanted to report to you that we caught a couple of men from Mozambique poaching this week. We deported them back to their country.” Souli raised his eyebrows at Tabitha and added, “I think maybe I should tell the park’s side of the story to Ms. Cranz.”

  Tabitha watched Christopher’s open face turn to a mask of anger as Souli explained the park’s policy. His mood intensified as he looked beyond Tabitha. She turned and saw a woman in her mid-fifties making her way toward them. She wore flip flops, her body sheathed in yards and yards of bright purple fabric with a traditional African pattern in batik on it.

  Souli turned and smiled. “Elizabeth, how are you?” He turned to Tabitha and said, “This is the president of the Schopenhauer Factor.”

  A breathless Elizabeth adjusted her head wrap where gray curls spilled haphazardly out of openings. Sweat showed on her pale upper lip. “Sorry I’m late.” She addressed Tabitha. “I see Christopher was getting you up to speed on us. He’s one of our most enthusiastic members.” She gave him a peck on each cheek.

  Christopher gave her his seat and left. Souli bade them farewell too, leaving Tabitha perplexed and intrigued by the interview. She tried to gather her thoughts as Elizabeth began talking as if she were continuing a thread of conversation.

  “Our name comes from a scholar who believed animals have the same essence as humans. We so agreed that animal and human are all the same that we took his name for our group.”

  Tabitha blinked. “Uhm, Christopher was explaining some of the ideas for change in the park.” She let it hang.

  Elizabeth looked off in the direction that Christopher had stomped off. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, like a yoga exercise. “Christopher is very fervent. He means well. He’s only been in this country a year, so we are trying to cultivate his intensity. Did he bring up windmills?”

  Tabitha nodded.

  “We aren’t for that.” She rummaged in a large cloth bag and drew out a packet of papers. “Here’s our positions on all things in the park. We are a unique group in that we are focused on one location and we come from all walks of life. Some are just,” her eyes drifted away again, “overly passionate.”

  The rest of the interview seemed much more normal. She confirmed that they were against selling the ivory stockpiles, and against the transport of animals, as it was unnatural. When Tabitha asked about Phillip, she learned that Elizabeth had not met Phillip, but had a call from him after he got her number from Christopher. “He asked me an odd question, though,” Elizabeth offered.

  Tabitha nodded, her eyes suddenly glued to Elizabeth’s pale face.

  “He asked me if I knew anyone who could talk about human trafficking in the park.” Elizabeth’s gaze wandered the park grounds. Her eyes were a strong, serene blue.“I thought that was odd. I told him I’d heard rumors that people were shipped through the park, but I had never heard anyone speak of it publicly.”

  This was new. Tabitha wondered what could have gotten Phillip’s attention off of his favorite subject of nature photography and onto something as serious as human trafficking. How could she find out more? You couldn’t just walk up to a shopkeeper or an animal patrol guy and ask about that. If wi-fi would work anywhere, maybe she could find something online.

  Tabitha was able to wrap it up in time to do the interviews with the luxury safari lodge keepers later in the afternoon. Apparently Phillip had made these appointments through a colleague, so no n
ew information there. Then she headed back to claim her rondavel at Lower Sabie. She couldn’t take too many nights in the back of the truck. For some reason, it made her feel more alone than being in a round rondavel, even though she was in a camp where she knew no one and no one knew her. No one anywhere really knew where she was, on the entire planet.

  Chapter 27

  Tears seeped from his eyes as he lay draped across the still warm body. It was so soft.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s for the greater good. I promise your death was not for nothing.” He stroked the spotted gold and black fur. They had to start listening to him. They would have to now.

  He stood and wiped his wet face on his sleeve and stifled a sob. He had to pull himself together. He hadn’t realized how it would feel up close once he learned to do the killing properly. It was far easier to do than he’d imagined, but now he had to live with himself.

  He pulled the knife and began to cut. It was much harder than he’d thought it would be, and he soon started sweating despite the chill morning. It seemed to be going poorly and tears welled in his eyes again.

  “This had better get results,” he grunted. He would call the ranger offices as soon as he’d cleaned up.

  Chapter 28

  Mr. Mpande cracked his substantial knuckles where they rested on his metal desktop in the Skukuza offices. He shifted a stack of manila folders to be even with the corner.

  “What do you make of it, Souli?”

  “Christopher is always trying to report something we don’t know. This is the first time, though, that it has been a fresh kill. Or something that even seems to be real poaching.”

  “Could it be someone we’re investigating?”

  “I have not checked with my trackers for the activities of the afternoon. We know that Mhlongo has slipped his followers almost every day.”

  “You think the leopard was his doing?”

  Souli shook his head and looked out the window at the twilight fading on the veldt. “The body was damaged some, which makes me think amateurs were involved.”

  “Who would that be?”

  “That’s just it. We haven’t seen evidence of a new poaching group operating in this part of the park, especially in daylight. The body was still warm internally.”

  “What are your thoughts? I hear you thinking but you are not saying what it is.” Mpande frowned, looking at the short man in front of his desk.

  “Of course, I have no information to prop up my feeling…”

  “Speak freely, Souli. I understand.”

  “Either we have a new poacher or group, or deep inside I wonder if our young conservationist isn’t getting overenthusiastic in making his points.”

  “Ahhh. I see. We haven’t had that for some time.”

  “No.”

  “Do we have anyone we can put on him?”

  “We are spread pretty thin now, I think.”

  “I think, based on your reports, we can stop checking on the girl, the writer. If someone watches Christopher, they will know if he meets her. That’s good enough.”

  Souli, the man of few words, left Mpande rubbing his forehead and wishing so many things had not risen to the surface in the park director’s absence.

  Chapter 29

  Fortunately, the cabin at Lower Sabie was available. Tabitha collapsed onto a bed with the baggage. She lay breathing hard for a moment. There had been a message when she checked in to call Mister M in Nelspruit. She really didn’t want to have a debate about the color of the coffin lining or something, but she supposed she ought to call him back. Could they have moved quickly enough that the body was already there? Maybe once the system worked, it worked quickly. She’d be surprised though. She had tried and tried to get the chip for her cell phone to work, but it seemed that she was destined to use calling cards and pay phones in Africa. Annoying, after spending $15 on it. If it would work, she’d have driving directions and phone calls in private—what luxuries. She sighed.

  She dug out the laptop and set up her notes from the safari lodge keepers. The story was pretty straightforward, and the draft flowed onto the page without huge challenges. Tabitha checked her watch and decided she’d better walk over to the shops where the telephones were, to contact Mister M before the evening set in and he left his mortuary.

  He answered on the first ring, as though waiting for her call.

  “I am thinking what are you doing to my business here, madam.” He sounded scared, not threatening.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I am talking about the man you have had sent to me. He is in very poor shape, so I am trying to clean him up as best I can.”

  Tabitha thought, uh oh, here comes the pitch for more money. She answered with a noncommittal, “Uh huh.”

  “This man I am thinking has offended the shades, to be in such a bad state.”

  “What shades?” Now he’d lost her. She closed her eyes and leaned her head toward the phone to concentrate.

  “The ancestors. They watch over you or chastise you. This man,” she heard him scrabble around with his paperwork, “Phil-lip Ad-kins, must have done something very bad to upset your ancestors. We must have the isangoma in.”

  Is this all about the witch doctor again? More money, thought Tabitha. That’s what this means. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “This man has a bullet hole in his head.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I am telling you a bullet in his head. It is very bad spirits for this to happen.”

  “As in from a gun?”

  “What other kind of bullets do you know of?” He sounded impatient now. “I am cleaning his head and trying to reconstruct his face for the family. You understand? I am doing my best, and I find a strange hole in his cranium.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  Mister M moaned at the other end of the phone. “This is so bad for my business. First the white people come, then the trouble.”

  “Look, I could have chosen someone else to take the money. I called and you said you would do the job.” Tabitha’s anger burst out. She could feel her pulse pounding in her temple. What was going on?

  Silence prevailed for a moment. Tabitha heard a bird give an evening call. The twilight faded to gray.

  “Madam, I am sorry.” Mister M spoke in more measured tones. “You are correct. I did contract a service for you, but it did not include a murdered body. There are preparations I do when I am accepting a body that does die from violence. In this country that is more frequently than you will know. This one of your uncle is very unusual for me. Something is wrong.”

  Another long pause. Tabitha counted to ten and exhaled heavily. “Have you called the police?”

  He spoke in a language she couldn’t understand for a moment. Uttering some sort of oath, she imagined. “So that’s the way this is to be handled? This will be the ruin of my business.”

  It dawned on Tabitha that perhaps Mister M was looking for a bribe to keep the murder quiet.

  “Okay, here’s the deal. I will give you a tip. Is that customary in this country?”

  Mister M only muttered on the line.

  Tabitha continued. “I’ll give you a gratuity, but I need the police. It’s important to me. I had no idea he was—” she swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, “—murdered, until you called me. This is a shock, but I’m glad you found it out. I’ll call Rian Minnaar at the police station, he seems like a fair man.”

  Mister M groaned. “You are not from here. You do not understand. The white police officers do not always…” he seemed to searched for a word, “uhm, sympathize with the black community here.”

  “I am familiar with the issues in this country,” Tabitha said, more sharply than she meant. “He is the only officer I know here, and he seemed like a reasonable man. His superiors may send someone else anyway. I can’t just fly back to the US with a murdered body.”

  “We could cremate him. It would be solving yo
ur problem and mine.”

  His voice sounded hopeful. Tabitha hadn’t thought about cremation, and imagined it would be a simpler solution transportation-wise. After the police, though.

  “After the police are done, we can talk about cremation again. I want to know who killed my uncle.”

  “There are many, many crimes in my country. Every week I bury someone who was killed and no one can say who did it, or they are not saying who did it if they are knowing. This is South Africa, not New York.”

  “So if you handle killings every week, why are you so shaken up over my uncle?”

  “We make preparations. The families have the isangoma before the body comes, and then I prepare a special place in my shop. The isangoma—the shaman—comes here too and makes the ancestors at peace first.”

  Tabitha grew tired. “How much money do you want?”

  “It’s not the money…”

  “How much?” she raised her voice and noticed a couple nearby stop to stare at her. “How much?” she said again in a quiet growl.

  “$200 US.”

  “Fine, but the police come first. I’m hanging up and calling Officer Minnaar now.”

  She made the call, and Rian Minnaar assured her he had a reliable black constable he could take with him to reassure Mister M.

  “How’d you end up at a Zulu mortuary?”

  “I went through the phone book until someone would take me immediately. I didn’t know. It doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Around here that’s not the way it’s done. Couldn’t you tell from the name?”

  “I didn’t think about it. Everyone seems to have a twist on his name. So will you go over there?” Tabitha chose to leave Mister M’s desire to cover this thing up out of the story. No sense in getting anyone in trouble.

  “I’ll have to get my supervising officer to okay this as an assignment, then I can go see the body.” He sounded non-committal.

  “You don’t expect to find the person who did this, do you?”