Deadly Harvest: A Detective Kubu Mystery

by Michael Stanley

  “What do you want?”

  Kubu stepped forward. “Are you Sunday Molefe?”

  The man nodded slowly.

  “I am Assistant Superintendent Bengu of the CID.” Kubu held up his identification but didn’t get too close to Molefe. “I believe that you can help us with our investigation into the disappearance of a man called Mabulo Owido. I have to ask you to accompany us to the police station.”

  “Right now? I’ve got important things to do today! Are you arresting me?” Molefe looked angry, and his fists clenched reflexively.

  “If necessary.”

  Molefe considered the matter. “All right, I’ll come with you.” He turned and carefully locked his car. “I need to go to the toilet first.” He started toward the house, but Kubu blocked his way. “You can go at the CID. It’s not far.” Molefe took a moment to assess Kubu’s bulk, Samantha’s slight build, and the burly constable. Then he shrugged and allowed them to herd him into the backseat of Kubu’s Land Rover. The constable climbed in next to him. Kubu locked the doors, and they drove to the CID in silence.

  ONCE THEY WERE SETTLED in an interrogation room, and Molefe had been warned that his answers would be recorded and could be used as evidence, Kubu asked him about Saturday, the fifth of May. Molefe was calm and told the same story he’d spun to Samantha, starting with the drinks at BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL and finishing with when he and Demene had left the Gaborone Sun. Kubu took notes, nodding from time to time. When Molefe was finished, the detective sat for several moments as though digesting the man’s evidence. Then he sighed.

  “Rra Molefe, much of what you’ve told us is lies. We know this because your friend Wilson Demene has given us a full statement. So we know that you were paid to abduct an albino—any albino, but Owido was unlucky that you found him. We know that you followed him, attacked him, and abducted him. According to Demene, you abandoned him where a witch doctor was going to pick him up. Of course, that’s his story. Maybe you actually murdered him for money or some other reason. So we already know that you are guilty of assault and kidnapping. We may later charge you with murder, conspiracy to commit murder, or being an accessory to a murder.”

  Kubu rubbed his cheeks, feeling the scratch of late afternoon beard.

  “Your best bet is to tell us exactly what really happened that night and who you were working for. You and Demene are just the hired help; we know that. We want the man behind this crime. If you help us get him, we can consider a deal for you. You know perfectly well what the witch doctor was going to do to the albino, but you can say that you didn’t. That way you won’t find yourself hanging at the end of a rope.” He glared at Molefe, but the man held his stare. Half a minute passed before he replied.

  “What I’ve said is true. Demene has told you lies! Why has he said these terrible things about me?” Then another thought struck him. “Maybe he’s said nothing. Maybe you’re only telling me this to try to confuse me. Maybe you’re telling Demene that I said he attacked this albino. You’re just fishing. What evidence have you got? Nothing. Because there isn’t any.” He folded his arms. “I’ve nothing else to say.”

  And that was that. Kubu tried threatening, cajoling, leaving him to stew for half an hour, letting Samantha try on her own. Nothing worked. Molefe was a very different character from Demene. When Kubu mentioned the awful things that could happen to persons who injured albinos, Molefe laughed. Eventually he demanded to speak to a lawyer.

  At that point Kubu gave up, thoroughly frustrated. “Very well, Molefe. You’ve had your chance, and you won’t get another one. I’m charging you with aggravated assault and kidnapping. And you’re wrong about evidence. You can’t imagine what we can find with modern forensics. We’ll find plenty of evidence—in your car, on your clothes, through your cell phone. You’ll have your lawyer, but that’s not going to help you one little bit.”

  He walked out and slammed the door.

  FORTY-FOUR

  THE MORNING AFTER MOLEFE’S arrest, Kubu went to report developments to Mabaku. “We may have a breakthrough, Director,” Kubu started, after settling in the most comfortable chair in front of Mabaku’s desk. “Do you remember Big Mama from the BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL shebeen?”

  Mabaku nodded.

  “On Monday afternoon, she phoned me to report a missing person. He was to meet some people on Saturday night at the shebeen, but didn’t turn up. Big Mama tried to contact him at his place of work to find out what had happened but was told he hadn’t been at work for a week.”

  Mabaku frowned. “You’ve got better things to do than run around trying to find someone who has probably taken an unauthorized vacation with a woman he’s just met.”

  “That’s true, Director. Normally, I wouldn’t pay attention to such a call. But when Big Mama told me that the missing person was an albino, I paid attention.”

  “Shit!” exclaimed Mabaku uncharacteristically. “An albino missing?”

  “Yes,” Kubu said. “That’s what I thought. There’s too much talk of muti to ignore it.”

  “So, what have you done about it?”

  For the next twenty minutes Kubu recounted the events of the previous day—the confession of Demene, the refusal of Molefe to answer any questions, and his subsequent arrest.

  “On what charges?”

  “Kidnapping and aggravated assault.”

  “If Molefe hires a decent lawyer, he’ll be out in no time at all. You’ve nothing except what one person says. Who knows why he said it. Maybe he can’t stand Molefe and is trying to get him put away. Has anyone received a ransom note or some sort of demand?”

  Kubu shook his head. “He’s not a Motswana. He’s from Tanzania.”

  Mabaku groaned. “This gets worse and worse.”

  “I’ve applied for a search warrant to go through Molefe’s car. Demene says they used that car to take the albino to a remote place outside town, where they left him on the side of the road. Demene also told me that he and Molefe had been hired to abduct an albino—any albino. That sounded like a witch doctor wanting an albino for strong muti to me.”

  Kubu was about to try to link this with Gobey’s witch doctor, when Mabaku’s telephone rang.

  “Miriam, I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed!” Mabaku listened to the response. “Okay. Please put him through.”

  He waited several seconds before the caller was on the line, a worried frown on his face. “Commissioner, dumela, rra. What can I do for you?”

  Again he listened, this time for longer.

  “That’s terrible news, Commissioner. He brought so much to the force. He’ll be sorely missed. Thank you for letting me know.” He replaced the receiver, stood up, and went to the window. Kubu said nothing, but he was sure he knew what the news was about.

  Eventually, Mabaku sat down. “Deputy Commissioner Gobey died this morning. Of emphysema.”

  They both sat lost in their thoughts: Mabaku wondering how this would affect his bid for the deputy commissioner job, Kubu thinking of the witch doctor’s curse.

  It was Mabaku who broke the silence. “Emphysema is, of course, the official cause of death. I think we both know what the real cause was.” Kubu nodded.

  Mabaku leaned back in his chair and tapped the desk. Again Kubu said nothing, waiting to see what his boss was going to do.

  Then Mabaku picked up the phone again. “Miriam, please get an appointment for me with the commissioner. This afternoon, if possible. I have a very important matter to discuss. It’s imperative I see him.”

  He hung up and turned to Kubu. “I have to tell the commissioner about what Gobey told us. I want his permission to dig into Gobey’s records and so on to see if we can identify his informant.”

  “But, Director, can’t that wait until Gobey’s position is filled? You have to be the favorite for the position. You don’t want to muddy the waters with an investigation into witchcraft. You know how unsuccessful those have been in the past, and it could damage your reputation. We all want you to get t
he promotion you deserve.”

  “I don’t think we can wait. Who knows how long it will take for the commissioner to make the appointment. And it seems we have some leads now that may be useful. I’m going to have to take my chances.”

  Kubu stood up and extended his hand. “Jacob, it’s an honor to work for you.”

  Before Mabaku could shake Kubu’s hand, the phone rang.

  “Yes? Four o’clock? Thank you.”

  He leaned back. “For better or for worse, I’m committed.”

  KUBU CAME OUT OF Mabaku’s office and headed directly down the corridor to where Samantha had a desk. It was in a tiny alcove off an interrogation room—Mabaku had found it for her to give her a little privacy. Kubu knocked, went straight in, and settled in the bare wooden chair in front of her desk. Samantha looked very surprised to see him there. “Hello, Kubu.”

  He nodded in greeting. “Deputy Commissioner Gobey passed away this morning at his home.”

  “Oh . . . I didn’t know. I met him once, and he was nice to me. I’m sorry. Was it cancer?”

  Kubu shook his head. “He was cursed by a witch doctor. Not a witch doctor, the witch doctor.”

  “The witch doctor? But how do you know? Oh . . .” Samantha caught on quickly.

  Kubu nodded. “He was the informant. That’s why I couldn’t tell you. He insisted that no one else was to know unless he gave permission. It’s too late for that now, it doesn’t really matter anymore, and you have a right to know. But keep it to yourself.”

  Samantha thought about it. “I thought he was ill; that’s why he was retiring.”

  Kubu nodded. “Yes, he had emphysema, but had years to go. It was the witch doctor’s curse that killed him.”

  Samantha hesitated. “Actually, he did it to himself. Because he believed he would die, he did. It was all in his head.”

  Kubu shrugged. “You’re always looking for a rational explanation, Samantha. And maybe you’re right. But either way, I think it’s murder like all the others.”

  Samantha let it go. “What do we do now?”

  “Now,” he said, “we find out who this witch doctor really is, and then we make him pay for his crimes. We’re going to start with Molefe.”

  EVEN THOUGH HE’D KNOWN the commissioner for years, Mabaku still felt intimidated going into his office. After all, the man was the most powerful person in the police force.

  After the usual pleasantries, Mabaku cleared his throat.

  “Commissioner, I have a very delicate issue to raise. I can’t tell you how awkward I feel, particularly at this sad time. But I believe I could not wait, now that the deputy commissioner is dead.”

  The commissioner treated Mabaku with a taste of Mabaku’s own medicine. He glared and said nothing.

  For the next thirty minutes Mabaku outlined the various muti murders and the discovery in Marumo’s house of muti made with human remains. Mabaku ended with a detailed recounting of what the deputy commissioner had told him and their failed attempt to catch the witch doctor.

  “One other thing, Commissioner. Two days ago we received a credible report of the disappearance of an albino. Through a bit of luck and good detective work, we have a confession from a man who says he and another man abducted the albino and left him on the side of the road out of town. We checked the spot, and it looks likely that the marks in the sand are consistent with what the man claimed. We are in the process of checking phone records and have a warrant to search the second man’s car. That’s the vehicle that the first man says was used to transport the albino.” Mabaku paused and let the commissioner think it through.

  “Why are you telling me this now? It could have waited at least until after the deputy commissioner’s funeral.”

  “Commissioner, we think the albino’s life is in danger, if he’s still alive. So we need to move as quickly as possible. What I want is your permission to examine the phone and appointment records of the deputy commissioner and to interview his staff, in an attempt to find out who his informant was. That may be the quickest way to identify the witch doctor.”

  The commissioner stood up and walked to a side table and poured himself a glass of water. He gestured toward Mabaku, asking whether he’d like one. Mabaku shook his head.

  After the commissioner had sat down again, he spoke in a quiet voice. “Jacob, you and I have known each other for nearly twenty-five years. I think we respect each other.”

  Mabaku nodded.

  “I think also that we both held Deputy Commissioner Gobey in the highest esteem.”

  Mabaku nodded again.

  “What you are asking me to do—even the appearance of an investigation into his affairs—will sully his reputation. I can’t do that to him or his family.”

  Mabaku’s shoulder slumped. He’d tried but lost.

  “But . . .”

  Mabaku looked up.

  “But, if you can guarantee that this investigation can be done extremely discreetly, that no one will be suspicious, then you should go ahead. We need to deal with these despicable murders. However, if it comes out that you are investigating the deputy commissioner, I will deny any knowledge of what you are doing.”

  He paused.

  “Understand?”

  Mabaku nodded firmly. “Thank you, Commissioner. I won’t let you down, I promise. Thank you.”

  FORTY-FIVE

  KUBU AND SAMANTHA SAT in the meeting room with the sketches of connections in the muti cases on the whiteboards around them. Zanele had just brought in her report on the forensics examination of Molefe’s possessions, and it was disappointingly thin.

  “Well,” said Kubu after he’d scanned it, “the best news is the piece of albino hair. That will be hard to explain away.”

  Zanele nodded. “Microscopic examination is enough to prove it’s a black-race human albino hair, but the trouble is it’s just a fragment. It doesn’t include the follicle. I’m not sure if we’ll be able to do a DNA test against the samples I collected from Owido’s room at the boardinghouse.”

  “Nothing else in the car trunk? Owido was supposed to have been in there for a while.”

  Zanele looked pained. “Molefe did a good job. It was vacuumed and the carpets recently washed. Nothing we could pick up on his clothes, either. Of course, we might be able to link something else to the scene where they attacked him, or to where they left him. I’ve taken some soil samples and so on. But it’s a long shot.”

  Samantha held up the photographs they’d taken of tire treads at the place where Owido had supposedly been dumped. “The treads match those of Molefe’s car.”

  “Yes, and probably several thousand other cars,” Kubu grumbled. “It’s going to be hard to hold Molefe on what we have now. His lawyer is making a big production about the whole thing being a setup.”

  “But how does he explain Demene’s confession?” Samantha asked.

  “He claims that Demene was badgered into making it, and it won’t stand up in court if he changes his mind. And if Demene sticks to his story, then he’ll just say Demene is making it up to protect the witch doctor—probably out of fear. And he’s implicating Molefe just because they were together at the shebeen. It’s Demene’s word against Molefe’s. And probably a judge will find Molefe the more credible of the two. Our whole case hangs on one albino hair. Now, if we can match that to Owido, it’s a different story.”

  “I’ll get to it right away,” said Zanele, already on her feet.

  Kubu turned his attention to Molefe’s phone records. “Anything in this lot?” he asked Samantha.

  “There are dozens of numbers, and it will take time to check them all. But I concentrated on those around the fifth of May. There are several to Demene—calls and text messages—but nothing that would shake Molefe’s story.” She became more enthusiastic. “But he did send a text message at nine-twenty-one p.m. on the fifth. That seems to be the best lead. It reads ‘Next half hour.’ ”

  Kubu nodded. “That would fit with the timing of when the
y dropped off the albino. Who was the message to?”

  Samantha checked her note. “It’s to a man called Kopano Rampa. It’s his personal phone number.”

  “Kopano Rampa?” Kubu looked at Samantha with his mouth open.

  “Yes. Do you know who he is?”

  Kubu nodded slowly. “I certainly do. He’s an undertaker.” He thought for a moment, then slapped his forehead. “Samantha, the missing bodies! Who would be in a better position to make bodies disappear than an undertaker? He would have access to the cemetery to dig an extra grave. Or even bury them at the bottom of a grave he’s dug for someone else. That could be why we’ve found no traces of any of the missing girls.”

  Samantha checked her notes. “He doesn’t live far from the shebeen with the computer. Kubu, it could be him. And he’d have access to plenty of other body parts, too. He’d only have to abduct people when he wanted them alive.” She felt a little sick at the thought of it all.

  Kubu recalled Gobey’s description and tried to visualize the undertaker wearing the witch doctor outfit. His physique, age, and voice might just fit. Kubu was sure the late deputy commissioner would have been able to tell at once, but they’d have to do the best they could without him.

  “Let’s get his business address. I think we should pay Rra Rampa a visit.”

  RAMPA UNDERTAKERS—FUNERALS OF DISTINCTION, was a large showroom just off the Broadhurst Mall. The inside was in somber grays, with a selection of “Caskets of Distinction” displayed on low pedestals. Polished quality wood, elegant carving, silver handles. Kubu shuddered to think what they would cost. But few of Rra Rampa’s clients would be lowered into the earth in one of these; the rough pinewood coffin in which he’d buried Nono’s sister would be the norm. Kubu had heard that the carpenters couldn’t keep up with the demand for those.

  A young man in a charcoal suit came to greet them, his face as somber as the surroundings. The fact that they’d come to see his boss and had no one to bury seemed to cheer him not at all. He led them to a comfortable office off the main showroom. There they found Rampa at his desk.