“Will I start work today?”
“No. You can start tomorrow or the next day.”
“Thank you. Thank you. I’ll see you at noon.”
He hung up, elated.
He started walking again, a spring in his step.
WITH PLENTY OF TIME left before the meeting, Witness strolled around the shopping center, which had the usual assortment of stores. After window-shopping for nearly an hour, he wandered over to an outdoor kiosk for a cold drink. He picked up a copy of the Daily News to see if there was anything about Marumo. He gasped. There on the front page was a headline, SUSPECT SOUGHT IN MARUMO MURDER CASE. Flustered, he pulled out some coins and paid for the drink and newspaper. He walked away to read the article.
The Botswana CID is looking for Witness Maleng, who is a suspect in the murder of the Freedom Party’s Bill Marumo last Saturday. A police spokesman told reporters that Maleng had apparently fled his house on Monday morning, taking all his possessions. The public is asked to keep an eye open for him and to report to the police immediately if he is seen. He is regarded as very dangerous.
Unfortunately a photograph of Maleng was not available at the time of going to press.
Witness’s hands started to shake. He had to get out of Jwaneng immediately. What if the mine had seen the article? They’d arrest him on the spot.
He walked as fast as he could, face down, to where he’d parked his car.
He wasn’t sure what to do. Should he go back to Gaborone, where there were lots of people? Or should he try to make a dash for South Africa? It was easy to walk over the border between Makopong and Bray. He decided to wait outside town until dusk, then head south to the border.
“MIRIAM, I’VE GOT TO see the director immediately.” Kubu was breathless after hurrying from his office.
“Sit down, Kubu,” Mabaku’s personal assistant responded. “Or you’ll have a heart attack. The director’s on the phone with the commissioner. I don’t think he’ll be long.”
Kubu sat down and fidgeted. Then he stood up and stared out the window at Kgale Hill. “Come on, come on,” he muttered to himself. “I’ve got important news.”
He sat down again and picked up a copy of the latest Police News. But before he could start reading it, Miriam told him to go in.
“Director,” Kubu blurted as he came through the door. “Bad news! I just had a call from Jwaneng. Maleng didn’t show up for his appointment at the mine. He should’ve been there over an hour ago. He must’ve picked up a newspaper and seen the report.”
“Sit down, Kubu. And calm down.”
Kubu settled in one of the armchairs. He was about to speak, when Mabaku continued.
“That’s too bad, but it isn’t the end of the world. The roadblocks are in place around Jwaneng?”
Kubu nodded.
“He’s probably waiting for dark. Or he may have tried some back roads. But where’s he going to go? Back to Gaborone? Unlikely. To Namibia? We’ve got roadblocks on the Trans-Kalahari Highway. The only real possibility is South Africa, and that’s a long way south.”
“He could walk across the border. He doesn’t have to go through an official border crossing.”
“Alert all border crossings to be on the lookout for him. Also, as far as I know, there are only two ways out of Jwaneng other than the A2. One goes south, and the other loops around back toward Kanye. Have roadblocks set up on both of those, but quite far away from Jwaneng. If we’re lucky, we’ll get him.”
“Yes, Director,” Kubu said glumly. When the initial call had come in from the mine, he’d thought the manhunt was nearly over. He heaved himself to his feet. “All we can do is wait.”
WITNESS SAT IN THE car on a sandy back street with a hat pulled over his face in case someone walked by. He thought it was still two or three hours to when he could slip unnoticed across the border. At about 6 p.m., as the sky darkened quickly, he decided to leave.
As he turned onto the Trans-Kalahari Highway toward Sekoma, worries crowded his thoughts: What if the police caught him? How could he explain what had happened? What if he couldn’t? How would he survive in jail? He’d heard terrible stories of what happened there.
Still, he thought, Marumo had got what he deserved—raping young women, using muti, and who knows what else. Bastard.
It was now dark, and he was driving quite slowly because his headlights were bad. Suddenly he noticed a police roadblock ahead. He knew these were common—usually checking driver’s licenses and the roadworthiness of the many older vehicles that populated Botswana’s streets. Part of him cautioned him to stop and let the police do their job; another part wanted to make a run for it. The police were obviously searching for him and would arrest him at once—if they recognized him. He pulled his hat lower over his face. He dithered as he slowed down. Should he take his chances and stop?
Just as he was approaching the policeman who was flagging him off the road, he panicked. He pushed the gas pedal to the floor, and the old Volkswagen picked up speed, scattering orange traffic cones. He could see policemen waving at him, and he was sure they were shouting, too.
He looked in his rearview mirror. People were dashing for their vehicles. In seconds they would be after him. The Volkswagen continued to pick up speed. There were rattles everywhere, and at 60 miles per hour the steering wheel developed a severe shake. He held on, continuing to gain speed. At 75 miles per hour, the shaking stopped.
Now he was going too fast for his dim headlights to give him warning of something in the road. He peered forward. Faster, faster he went. Now the speedometer was showing 85 mph.
The road swept to the left. He pulled on the steering wheel, and the car shuddered. He glanced in the mirror. Nobody in sight yet. Maybe he could pull off the road and turn his lights off. They would drive right past. Or if he could get to Sekoma before they caught up with him, he could just disappear. But that was hopeless, Sekoma was almost an hour away.
Suddenly his feeble lights picked out something in the road. A cow! Witness pulled to the left, but it was too late. The Volkswagen hit the animal and skidded sideways. Witness screamed as the car rolled over. It tumbled four or five times in a cloud of dust before coming to rest on its side next to the fence, whose purpose was to keep livestock off the road. The only sound was a hissing from the engine and a repeating squeak as one of the wheels rotated slowly.
CONSTABLES NGEMA AND SESUPO approached the car cautiously, flashlights probing.
“Oh God, can you smell that?” Sesupo shouted. “Petrol is leaking. It’s all over the place.”
“He’s still in there!” Ngema said, pointing the beam of light at a bleeding head. “Help me push the car over.”
“What if it catches fire? We’ll be fried.”
“We can’t just leave him there. Give me a hand.”
The two men rocked the car a few times, then gave it a big push. It rolled back onto its wheels. Sesupo tried to open the driver’s door, but it was jammed. He ran around to the other side, but the passenger’s door was stuck also.
“Call an ambulance!” he shouted to Ngema. “I’ll knock out all the glass. Maybe we can pull him out through the windscreen.” He started banging on the shattered glass with his nightstick. When it was all gone, he climbed on the hood and stretched into the car, just managing to reach Witness’s wrist.
“He’s still alive,” he said to Ngema, who had just returned.
“The ambulance is on its way. Should be here soon. It only has to come from Jwaneng.”
“Let’s see if we can get him out.”
It took only a few attempts for the men to see that Witness was jammed by the steering wheel.
“I’ll get a crowbar from the car.” Ngema ran into the darkness. He returned a few moments later, crowbar in hand. “Let’s see if we can open his door.”
“Be careful! We don’t want any sparks.” Sesupo’s voice was tinged with fear.
They pushed and pulled, but the door didn’t budge. A second police car a
rrived, and Ngema called to them to bring their crowbar.
Soon four men were working at the door. Suddenly it popped open.
“Careful now.” Sesupo leaned in and tried to extricate Witness but couldn’t move him. “He’s stuck. What do we do now?”
“We should wait for the medics. I can hear the siren already.”
In the distance they could see flashing lights. A few minutes later the ambulance pulled up and two men jumped out. They ran over to the car, and Ngema explained the situation. One of the men then examined Witness.
“No seat belt. He’s got chest and head injuries. Bad. We’ll have to cut him out.”
“But there’s petrol everywhere. We’ll all go up in flames.”
“Cover the area with foam,” one of the medics said. “There’s an extinguisher in the ambulance. Let’s hope that works.”
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, THEY lifted the unconscious Witness onto a gurney and into the ambulance. Lights flashing, they headed for the mine hospital. The police followed right behind; Ngema and Sesupo had checked the license plate number of the Volkswagen and the description of the man the Gaborone police sought. They were convinced that the person in the ambulance was Witness Maleng—wanted in connection with the murder of the high-profile politician Bill Marumo. They would remain with him until a constable arrived at the hospital to guard him.
Ngema and Sesupo followed the medics up to the door of the surgery. Then they went to find coffee while they waited for their replacement to arrive.
“I wonder if he’ll survive,” Sesupo commented. “He looked pretty bad to me.”
Ngema shrugged. “Serves him right if he doesn’t. He nearly ran me over at the roadblock.”
Sesupo nodded in agreement.
Part Four
BAD BEGINNING
“Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.”
MACBETH, ACT 3 SCENE 2
TWENTY-SIX
DEPUTY COMMISSIONER TEBOGO GOBEY was not looking forward to another meeting with his nephew. What does he want this time? It’s never enough. Probably he wants to boast about his new powers from the witch doctor, and persuade me to put pressure on the commissioner about giving him my job. I’m not going to do it. I’m not going to interfere any further.
Yet when he arrived, Joshua seemed reticent, almost respectful. The bluster and innuendo were gone. He asked after his uncle’s health and listened as if he cared.
He’s seen the witch doctor, Gobey thought. And something went wrong. Eventually the small talk bored him, and he jumped to what he knew was the point.
“Did you see the man I suggested?”
Joshua hesitated. “Yes, he seems very good.”
Gobey wondered how anyone could know that. “But?”
“I’m having second thoughts. He’s very expensive. And what he wants to do . . .”
Gobey coughed and then couldn’t catch his breath. “What does he want to do?” he wheezed at last.
“It’s about power. And, of course, I need that.”
“Isn’t that why you wanted to see him?”
Joshua hesitated and glanced at the door as though he regretted coming. “It’s the muti,” he said.
Gobey nodded, irritated. “He wants to use some animal for power. That’s what they do. That’s how it works.”
“Yes, that’s it.”
But Gobey wasn’t satisfied. Suddenly he had a horrible insight. “What type of animal would that be?”
Joshua wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know; he said it was very rare.”
“It’s human, isn’t it? He wants to take the power from a human. My God, Joshua, you’re talking about murder! Probably the murder of a child!” Gobey was shocked to the core. It had never crossed his mind that the witch doctor would consider such a thing. He had thought the man a healer! But then he thought, perhaps all this time I have lied to myself.
Joshua denied it at once, flustered and tongue-tied, and then Gobey was sure. A wave of anger and disappointment broke over him.
“Get out. Don’t come near me unless I send for you, and never see that man again. Do you hear me? Or I’ll have you up for murder.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“Yes, Deputy Commissioner!”
“Yes, Deputy Commissioner.” Without another word, Joshua got up and left.
Gobey started to cough again. The medicine that the witch doctor had given him helped. But then he thought about what might be in it, and he felt his gorge rise. He gasped for breath. What had Joshua come to ask him, or to tell him? He didn’t care anymore.
Suddenly he thought about the money. The witch doctor would want a lot of money. Had Joshua come for a loan? But Joshua and his wife lived well, too well. Suspicion overwhelmed him. He knew a senior man at Joshua’s bank, someone who would help him without waiting for all the formalities. Someone he could trust.
BY THE TIME HE reached home, Gobey had come to a decision. Partly it was based on self-disgust, a desire to divorce himself from unsavory aspects of his past while he still had time. Partly it was based on anger at Joshua, the nephew he had treated like a son and spoiled, and who now had let him down so badly. He hadn’t become deputy commissioner of police by prevarication; once he came to a decision he would see it through. It was in this mood that he accepted a generous hug from his wife.
“Tebogo, something’s wrong. You look upset.”
He nodded. “It was a tough day. I’ll tell you about it after dinner.”
She smiled. “We’re having one of your favorites. Beef seswaa.”
Gobey tried to be enthusiastic. He loved the slow-cooked beef stew, and Maria made it for him with extra chili, exactly the way he liked it. “I’ll have a beer with it,” he said. “But I’m going to shower first. It’s really hot outside.”
It had been a sticky day, but he needed the shower to feel clean after a day wallowing in muck.
Once in the bathroom, he pulled the large bottle the witch doctor had given him from the back of the cupboard. He’d believed it contained herbal remedies, things to make him better. Or he’d persuaded himself of that. And he had to admit that it worked. It relaxed him, eased his chest, stopped the coughing. He wanted a swig right now. It contains some sort of opiate, he thought. Maybe morphine. It may make me feel better, but it does me no good. And what else might it contain? Only God and the witch doctor knew. Again he felt the twinge of self-doubt. He’d never asked the witch doctor what was in the potion. No one did that! He shuddered and emptied the contents of the bottle down the toilet.
“Hurry, dear!” Maria called through the door. “It’s nearly ready!”
“I’ll just be a minute.” He discarded his clothes in a heap and let the hot water spray over him. He used plenty of soap from head to toe. Then he dried himself vigorously, wheezing slightly from the exertion. He looked at his naked body in the mirror. Still pretty good. He’d lost fat, which was good, but also lost muscle, which wasn’t. Once he retired, he would exercise again. Long walks. Then he would feel better. That was what he needed, fresh air and exercise, not drugs and potions. He was sure of it.
THE DINNER WAS DELICIOUS, and he ate well while he heard about Maria’s day and her friends’ activities. She was patient and didn’t ask him again what was on his mind. And after a token second helping, he was ready to tell her.
“I have to face it,” he began, not looking at her. “Joshua’s corrupt.”
Maria drew in her breath sharply and started to say something, but Gobey went on. “Since his father died in that shoot-out, Joshua’s been like a son to us. But somehow it’s never been enough for him. He’s made the wrong choices, married the wrong woman, always wanted more and got it. And I’ve been blind to it. Until now.”
“What do you mean?” Maria asked, shocked.
“I’ve been looking at his bank records for the last few years. Looking very carefully.”
She waited.
“I found nothing. No big payments, no big deposits.”
Tebogo shook his head. “He’s too clever for something obvious. But where’s the payment for his car? I phoned the dealer. Turns out he bought it for cash. A 3-series BMW! I mean cash. The dealer took stacks of pula.”
“Perhaps it was from his mother’s estate. She left some money.”
Tebogo shook his head again. “They used that for the deposit on their house. That big expensive house in Phakalane. That doesn’t have a single cent owing on it anymore, by the way.”
“But where would he have got the money?”
“God, Maria, he’s head of the diamond division! Where do you think the money came from?”
She shook her head, unwilling to accept it.
“There’s more. He’s got a witch doctor helping him now. I think he’s one of the really bad ones, killing people for muti.” He didn’t say what had led him to guess that. “He wants my job when I retire.”
“What are you going to do?” Her voice was very quiet now.
“I’m going to stop him. And the witch doctor. No child is going to die to make a corrupt man deputy commissioner. And then I’m going to force him out of the police. But I’m not going to push the corruption charges—for his late parents’ sake, and for our sake, too. He won’t go to jail. I probably couldn’t get enough evidence for a conviction anyway, but he doesn’t know that.”
Maria was silent for a few moments. “The witch doctor? Is it that man you go to? For the medicine? And those times before?”
Gobey hesitated, anguished. “Yes, but I didn’t know . . . I threw the medicine out. I’m going to arrest him. He’ll pay for his crimes!”
Maria’s shock was replaced by nervousness.
“Tebogo, leave this thing. Please. You’re retiring. The past is past. The future belongs to others. Forget about Joshua. The people who gave him all that money—they’ll be dangerous. They won’t want it to come out.” She hesitated. “And forget about the witch doctor.” Now there was fear in her voice.
Tebogo thought about it, tempted. But then he shook his head.
Deadly Harvest: A Detective Kubu Mystery Page 14
