Deadly Harvest: A Detective Kubu Mystery

by Michael Stanley

  “Hello, Wilmon. Hello, Kubu,” he said jovially.

  Wilmon took his extended hand and shook it, respectfully touching his right arm with his left hand. “How did you know my name?” he asked.

  Edwin burst out laughing. “Your father is becoming a joker in his old age,” he said to Kubu.

  “Who are you, rra?” Wilmon was quite serious. Kubu and Edwin exchanged glances.

  “Father,” Kubu said. “This is your neighbor, Edwin Ngombe. You’ve known him for many years.”

  Wilmon frowned, staring at Edwin. Then he smiled. “I know you, but I can’t remember your name.”

  “It’s Edwin Ngombe, Wilmon. I live next door.”

  “I am pleased to meet you, rra. Please come and visit my wife, Amantle, and me for tea. I will ask Amantle to make arrangements with your wife.”

  “Okay, Wilmon. I will do that.” Edwin looked at Kubu and shrugged.

  “Come on, Father. It’s lunchtime. We must go. Goodbye, Edwin.” As he turned to leave, he continued in a whisper. “Have you noticed this before?”

  Edwin nodded. “It’s so sad to see this happening to such a wonderful old man.”

  “MY MOTHER, THERE IS one other thing I want to talk to you about.”

  Amantle frowned. “Is there a problem?”

  “You mentioned on the phone that Wilmon behaved strangely last Sunday at the retreat. We’ve also noticed some changes in his behavior. Is it getting bad?”

  Amantle leaned against the counter. “My dear, I am so scared. He cannot remember things I tell him just a few minutes before. He sometimes does not remember people he has known for many years.”

  “I think you should take him to a doctor.”

  “I can’t do that, my dear. He won’t go.”

  “Have you tried?”

  “Joy, when you have known Wilmon for as long as I have, you will know that you can’t force him to do anything.”

  Joy sighed. “But he must see someone,” she said.

  Amantle just shook her head.

  “I have an idea,” Joy said. “Let me speak to Kubu.”

  “My dear, please don’t force him to do anything. I have to live with him.”

  “I promise, my mother. We won’t do anything without talking to you.”

  ON THE WAY HOME, Joy broached her idea with Kubu.

  “Your mother’s also worried about Wilmon. She says he’s deteriorating quickly. Mentally, that is.”

  “I know. He didn’t even remember Edwin Ngombe. He’s only known him for thirty years.”

  “He needs to see a doctor but refuses to go.”

  “Can we sing some more?” Tumi shouted from the backseat.

  “Your mother and I are talking. We’ll sing in a few minutes,” Kubu said.

  “Next Sunday, let’s have them to our house for lunch. We can ask Dr. Patel if he’ll come to the house when they’re there.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll speak to him tomorrow.”

  Kubu and Joy sat in silence, each wondering about the implications for the family if Wilmon continued to deteriorate so quickly.

  “Can we sing now, Daddy?” Tumi asked.

  Although not in the mood, Kubu nodded.

  “It’s Sunday. Let’s sing a hymn,” he suggested, hoping to avoid the hippo song.

  “ ‘Jingle Bells.’ I want ‘Jingle Bells’!” Nono called out.

  Kubu glanced at Joy and smiled.

  Part Five

  A DEED WITHOUT A NAME

  “How now, you secret, black, and midnight Hags? What is’t you do?”

  “A deed without a name.”

  MACBETH, ACT 4, SCENE 1

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  MABAKU AND KUBU WEREN’T sure if they’d be welcome at the deputy commissioner’s home. Or what they would find, if they were. All the deputy commissioner’s PA had told them was that Gobey was ill, and she was canceling all his appointments for the week.

  Mabaku rang the bell, and Maria opened the door.

  “I’m Jacob Mabaku, Mma Gobey. I’m a colleague of your husband. And this is Assistant Superintendent Bengu. We’re from the CID. We need to see the deputy commissioner. I’m sorry he’s not well, but I’m afraid it’s quite urgent.”

  Maria looked at the two men; she was unsure what to do. But Kubu smiled and held out his hand so that she had no option but to take it. “You’d better come in. I’ll see if he’ll talk to you.” She had meant them to stay in the hall while she found out, but they followed her up the stairs.

  “He likes to sleep alone when he’s not well,” she said almost apologetically. “He thinks his coughing will disturb me. I don’t mind, of course, but he insists . . .”

  Kubu nodded sympathetically. “It’s very natural that he’d be concerned.” He hoped Joy wouldn’t decide to solve his snoring problem that way.

  She brought them to the closed door of the guest room and stopped. “When he came home on Friday, he wouldn’t tell me what had happened. Just that he wasn’t well. He looked terrible. I gave him supper, but he just fiddled with it. Hardly ate a thing. Just drank some water. He usually enjoys a beer on a Friday. Then he went to bed. He hasn’t been up the whole weekend. And he hardly eats or drinks. Just a little water.”

  Kubu could see that she was close to tears.

  “Can’t you call family?”

  “Our son phoned from Francistown. Tebogo talked to him, but he sounded so flat. They’re usually so close.” Her eyes filled with tears. “He won’t see anyone. I know he won’t want to talk to you, but I thought maybe work colleagues—”

  “We’ll try to help,” Mabaku said. “The deputy commissioner is a good man. He has helped make the BPF a first-rate police force. He needs to know that.”

  Maria nodded and opened the door. “Tebogo, these men are from the CID. They need your input very urgently. Please help them.” She sounded desperate.

  Gobey was lying on his side wearing long pajama bottoms, with just his feet under the covers. His head was turned away from them, facing the wall. His back gleamed with sweat.

  Kubu was shocked at how ill he looked. He’d never visualized the deputy commissioner as other than a leader, appropriately dressed.

  “Go away,” Gobey said without turning to them. “I’m sick. It’s the weekend. I’ll see you in my office on Monday.”

  “Tebogo, it is Monday,” Maria said nervously.

  Gobey rolled over and tried to sit up. But it seemed too much effort. Maria propped him up with some pillows. He started to cough, and she had to find his inhaler. It had fallen onto the floor and rolled under the bed.

  After a few minutes Gobey was a little better and more alert. He focused on the two men.

  “Mabaku, Bengu, what do you want?”

  Kubu leaned forward. “We need you, Deputy Commissioner. You have to help us catch this evil man. He’ll kill again. You’re our only link. Our one hope of getting to him before he murders another child.” Maria gasped but didn’t interrupt.

  Gobey looked from Kubu to Mabaku and back. “I’ve told you what I know. I tried to help you. I can’t do anything now. He doesn’t need me anymore. Don’t you understand?” Suddenly he jerked up and peered over the end of the bed. Then he relaxed back onto the cushions and started to cough. When he could talk again, he said to Maria, “Why did you bring them here? I said I didn’t want to see anybody.” He turned his back and faced the wall again. He started to shiver, and Maria pulled the covers over him.

  “You’d better go,” Maria said. She sounded defeated. They left the room, and she closed the door.

  Mabaku took her hand. “Mma Gobey, he needs a doctor.”

  She shook her head. “He won’t see anyone.”

  “I’ve seen this before, mma. He believes the witch doctor has cursed him. It’s in his head somehow. You will need a real doctor, but maybe also a witch doctor to lift the curse.”

  “We don’t believe in that sort of stuff,” Maria whispered, but she didn’t meet his eyes. “We go to chur
ch. We trust in God.”

  “Well, get your minister then. The church also believes in demons, in exorcism. You must do this at once before it’s too late.”

  Kubu wondered if Mabaku was serious. He was talking about a deputy commissioner of police! An educated man, respected throughout southern Africa. Then he thought of the man in the room next to them, scared and sweating and shivering. He’d probably absorbed his belief in witch doctors with his mother’s milk. “I think the director is right, mma. Phone your son. Tell him to come at once. This is a crisis.”

  The woman appeared helpless. She just stared at them and nodded, but without conviction. Then the tears started to flow silently, and she turned away.

  They saw themselves out.

  THIRTY-NINE

  KUBU WAS DEPRESSED WHEN he returned to his office. He didn’t know the deputy commissioner well—Mabaku had more interaction at that level—but he’d grown to respect the man. Now Gobey needed help, but his wife and family seemed too weak to shoulder the load. Kubu badly wanted to get his hands on the witch doctor behind all this, but they had so little to go on. He calmed himself down by having two cups of tea and several cookies.

  He was in a better mood when the door opened and one of the detectives handed him a phone message.

  “For you. She rang about an hour ago.”

  Kubu looked at the paper. Please call Helenka, it read. ASAP.

  He picked up the phone and dialed the number for Helenka Koslov, the forensic IT specialist.

  “I look at computer from shebeen,” she said, after a short greeting. “Only two times computer used for Hushmail. First one in December last year. Last one, one week ago. Monday, May seventh, at sixteen-forty-five, for three minutes. Don’t know who used it. Same person also looked at Yahoo and Johannesburg Stock Exchange. Does shebeen have CCTV? Easy to check then.”

  “No, it doesn’t, unfortunately. And there are none in the streets around the shebeen. But I’ll ask if anyone remembers who was using the computer at that time.”

  “Maybe we put program on computer before return it to catch keystrokes. May find how to sign onto Hushmail and what is on e-mails.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Old program. Been round many years. Easy to do. Hard to find.”

  “If we get the owner’s permission, would it be legal?”

  “Maybe legal to see what sites people use. Not legal, I think, to read people’s e-mails. You should check.”

  Kubu thought for a moment. “Put it on. I’ll get permission from the manager. He doesn’t want murderers hanging out there.”

  “Okay. Bye.” Helenka hung up before Kubu could thank her.

  It’s a long shot, Kubu thought. Only twice in the last five months. And he’s likely to be much more careful now.

  He shook his head. With computer programs like the one Helenka had described, it was impossible to have privacy online. For the police maybe that was good. For law-abiding people, maybe not.

  Just as he started to work his tedious way through all the paperwork he’d been ignoring, the phone rang.

  “Bengu.”

  “Dumela, rra. It’s Big Mama here. Big Mama from the shebeen.”

  Kubu was immediately interested. Did the bar owner have more information about Maleng and the Marumo killing? “Dumela, mma. How can I help you this morning? Did you remember something else?”

  “No, I want to talk to you about another matter. It’s about Mabulo Owido. He’s disappeared.”

  Kubu sighed. He hoped that Big Mama wasn’t the sort of busybody who would be calling him with all her hunches and everyone’s domestic problems. Still, he needed to hear her out. “Go on.”

  “He was here Saturday a week ago. And we chatted a bit. He was alone, you know. Didn’t know anyone. He’s not from these parts. So I said I’d find him a nice girl. He was pleased about that, so I arranged for Lemme to come on Saturday and dress up nicely. She’s a sweet girl, not pretty but nice, and not too fussy.” So perhaps Owido wasn’t very attractive, Kubu thought. Odd name, too. Sounded foreign.

  “He said he would come, but he didn’t. Lemme was very upset.”

  “Maybe he went somewhere else.” Some men would run a mile to avoid Big Mama’s matchmaking, Kubu thought.

  Big Mama swept this aside. “He also told me where he worked. I phoned them this morning. He hasn’t been there all week. I’m worried. He’s a foreigner. And a leswafe.”

  Suddenly Kubu was interested again. “An albino?”

  “Yes, that’s why I’m so worried. I think he came here from Tanzania to escape the witch doctors there. You know how they want albinos for muti. They’ll pay a fortune. I read about the trouble for those poor people in the newspapers. It’s terrible.”

  “And you think that may be what’s happened here?”

  “Yes. Maybe. It’s so sad. He seemed a nice man. Will you look for him?”

  Kubu promised to do that, noted the man’s details and work number, thanked her, and hung up. It would probably lead nowhere, but he knew witch doctors sought albinos for making their most powerful potions. He couldn’t afford to ignore this.

  IT TOOK KUBU ONLY a few minutes to get through to the owner of the small furniture factory where Owido worked. At first the owner pretended he’d never heard of Owido, but when Kubu pushed him and pointed out that Big Mama had spoken to him, he became more helpful.

  “Look, superintendent, the man was hungry and wanted to work. I said he could clean up in the packing room. Maybe he helped with the packaging. He wasn’t really an employee, more like casual help.”

  Kubu knew what this was all about. Owido was a foreigner, not entitled to work in Botswana, maybe living illegally in Botswana, and the factory owner could get into trouble for giving him any sort of job. No doubt Owido was paid half the going rate and glad to get it.

  “I’m not interested in whether he was legal or not,” Kubu said. “I just want to get in touch with him. When did you last see him?”

  “He didn’t come in at all last week. I guess he decided to move on. Maybe he went back to wherever he came from.”

  “He had a week’s wages coming. Did you pay him?”

  The man hesitated. “No, as a matter of fact we pay at the end of the month.”

  “So he walked away from the money?”

  “Well, I wasn’t really surprised. There’d been some trouble. Some of the other workers didn’t like having him around. Being an albino, you know? And a foreigner. A couple of them pushed him around. I shouldn’t have been so kindhearted and given him a chance.”

  At half wages, Kubu thought. “Do you have an address for him? Cell number?” He wrote down the information and thanked the man curtly.

  He tried Owido’s cell phone, but it went straight to voice mail, so it was probably off. Next he contacted the number Owido had given the factory for where he lived. The phone was answered by a woman who explained that he’d called a boardinghouse near Broadhurst Mall, and that she was the landlady. Kubu asked her about Mabulo Owido.

  “Owido? Haven’t seen him for a week. Luckily I get the rent in advance. I did him a favor renting him a room at all. He upsets the other tenants, but he made a good offer so I let him stay.”

  Yes, Kubu thought. Half wages and double rent. This town’s generous to albinos.

  “Do you remember exactly when you last saw him?”

  “Saturday afternoon a week ago. He said he was going out in the evening, but he didn’t come back.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I lock up at night. I don’t think he was in. And this is a bed-and-breakfast,” the woman added with pride. “They all get pap in the morning. He wasn’t there for breakfast on Sunday.”

  Kubu thought about it. “If I come over, can you let me into his room?”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Just to look around. Maybe he’s moved out.”

  “You don’t have to bother. All his stuff’s still there. I already looked.
But please yourself.”

  “Was he behind with the rent?”

  “No one gets behind with the rent here. In advance, first of the month, or they’re out.”

  Kubu believed it. “Thank you, mma. I’ll contact you if I need anything else. In the meanwhile, keep his room locked.”

  “All very well, but what about next month? I need to rent that room. I can’t afford to have it empty. His stuff’s not worth much.”

  Kubu sighed and promised to be in touch. Then he sat back and thought about it. Wages abandoned, possessions abandoned with the rent paid for the month, a foreigner no one would miss, an albino whose body parts were prized for muti. He started to feel excited. This might be a new lead to the witch doctor they sought, or at least to someone close to him. Then again, there might be a simple explanation. Owido might have been scared off, or even arrested as an illegal immigrant.

  Kubu called Samantha and filled her in. “This could be nothing, but it could be important. See what you can find out about this Owido. Did he enter the country legally? See if Immigration knows anything about him. Then get over to BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL and try to find out what you can about that Saturday night. Who was there? When did Owido leave? Did anyone follow him?” Samantha said she’d get onto it right away.

  Kubu thought it through. This wasn’t a young girl being offered a lift on the road. This was a grown man who was used to being taunted and used to danger because of his unfortunate lack of skin pigment. If he had been abducted for muti, it would have taken at least two people. The witch doctor would have needed help. And that help wouldn’t be invisible, even if the witch doctor was. This was a potential breakthrough.

  Then Kubu’s excitement faded and was replaced by sadness. The albino had come to Botswana, probably in search of a haven, and had found only discrimination and exploitation and, perhaps, a horrible death. Disgust overwhelmed him.

  And he became very angry.

  FORTY