Deadly Harvest: A Detective Kubu Mystery

by Michael Stanley

  She told Mabaku what details she could remember, but there was little more to add. Finally she said, “I think you’re an honest man, Director Mabaku. Tebogo wanted an honest man to succeed him.”

  When she’d left with his thanks, Mabaku returned to the contemplation of Kgale Hill. Mma Gobey had offered him a powerful weapon against her nephew. Any evidence of impropriety would sink Joshua’s chances of the deputy commissioner job. But it would be a challenge to find that evidence: Joshua certainly wasn’t stupid. As for the witch doctor, Mabaku didn’t want to pursue that aspect at all. He wanted to avoid anything that would link the witch doctor to Tebogo Gobey. And, anyway, Rampa was safely in his cell.

  THE JOSHUA GOBEY WHO walked into the commissioner’s office on Monday morning was a different man from the one who’d sweated through Sunday. He’d pulled himself together, realizing that his interests and those of the witch doctor were irrevocably aligned. His confidence restored, he felt able to deal with whatever was thrown at him. He shook the commissioner’s hand firmly and accepted his offer of coffee.

  The commissioner asked about his aunt, and Joshua assured him that she was doing well under the circumstances. He had no idea if that was true, but he sounded convincing. When the coffee came, they turned to business.

  “Commissioner, I’m the last person to criticize how things are done in another man’s department. You know that I like to delegate authority, give people room to develop.” He paused and was pleased to receive an encouraging nod.

  “I just think the Rampa case should move a little faster. There’s a lot of anger out there.”

  “I think Mabaku and his people have done a pretty impressive job,” the commissioner retorted, “grabbing that undertaker and spotting the swapped bodies.”

  “Absolutely. But now we must get it tied up. Rampa has been murdering little girls and using their body parts for muti! People out there are very angry and suspicious. There must be no hint of a cover-up. You remember the Mogomotsi case.”

  The commissioner nodded. Many senior people had been embarrassed over that one.

  “A quick indictment, no suggestion of uncertainty. That’s what we need.” Joshua paused. “Perhaps a little pressure could be applied to get a confession.”

  The commissioner frowned. “What do you mean by pressure?”

  “I was thinking of offering a deal if he confesses—maybe an insanity plea. Otherwise we let him go.”

  “Let him go?” The commissioner’s jaw dropped.

  “He wouldn’t last five minutes on the street. He knows that. I think he’s very grateful to be in custody at the moment.” Joshua paused again, as the commissioner nodded slowly.

  Joshua changed tack. “You know about the briefcase, of course?”

  “Certainly. How do you know about it?”

  “From a friend in Forensics. Anyway, it seems Rampa was involved in Marumo’s murder, too. I’d charge him with that as well—that he and Maleng did it together. It probably won’t stick in court, but so what? By that time the focus will be on the murdered kids. Maleng can hang on his own for Marumo.”

  In spite of himself, the commissioner was impressed. While he was a solid policeman first and foremost, he appreciated the political skills needed to handle tricky cases like this one. Perhaps he’d been a bit premature in leaning toward Mabaku for his deputy. Mabaku understood politics but would always follow the book. He’d see how Mabaku reacted to this less conventional approach.

  “You certainly have some good points, Joshua. I’ll have a word with Mabaku and the prosecutor.” He nodded, thoughtful.

  Then they turned to other matters until the commissioner had to move on to his next meeting.

  KUBU POURED HIMSELF A cup of tea and then settled down in his office. He wanted to review all the evidence in the cases from scratch, but, instead, he stared out of the window and thought.

  A memory of Nono. His subconscious was trying to tell him something, but the message was getting lost in translation. Perhaps he should drop it, he thought, frustrated. In any case he was the only person in the CID who wasn’t convinced that Rampa was the killer.

  Suddenly a memory popped into his mind. For a moment it seemed to make sense, but then he shook his head. The idea was completely ridiculous. But he couldn’t push it back to the oblivion from which it had emerged. It niggled at him, offering some answers but raising new questions.

  He picked up the phone and asked Samantha to bring all the case materials for the muti murder investigations and join him in the meeting room.

  She arrived with her arms full of files, and he helped her set them down on the table. After a distracted greeting, Kubu started sorting through the files, but he couldn’t find the one he wanted.

  “The rental cars,” Kubu said. “Did you check the rental cars again?”

  Samantha shook her head. “Rampa has a white Toyota, so that would fit the Tombi abduction. He was running a funeral at the time Lesego disappeared, so couldn’t have been in Mochudi. Probably Molefe kidnapped her.” She paused. “I was just going to come to tell you about him when you phoned. I brought him in yesterday and told him that now both Rampa and Demene had implicated him. He eventually confessed to abducting Owido, but insisted he knew nothing about the reason. He thought it was a bad joke.”

  “Good work. That’s three confessions. But none to the murders.”

  Samantha was a bit disappointed with his reaction; Kubu was clearly distracted. She could only guess at what was bothering him.

  “Can you get the Marumo stuff? I want to—” Kubu was interrupted by his cell phone. He glanced at the caller ID, frowned, and answered it. After listening for a few moments, he said, “I’ll be right there.” He disconnected, then turned to Samantha.

  “Rampa’s been screaming in his cell. They went to look, and his body’s covered with wheals as though he’s been lashed. We’d better go and check what’s going on.”

  WHEN KUBU AND SAMANTHA arrived, a doctor was examining Rampa.

  “What happened?” Kubu asked. “Did someone attack him?”

  The doctor shook his head. “It looks more like a rash. I’ve treated it with a cortisone cream and something to soothe the pain. I think he’ll be okay.”

  “Any idea what caused it?”

  “He won’t talk to me, but it could be an allergic reaction to something he ate.”

  Kubu turned his attention to the undertaker. He was lying on his bed at the angle that caused the least of his body to be in contact with the mattress. Angry red streaks, slightly raised, crisscrossed his body. He was moaning softly.

  “Rra Rampa, do you want to tell me what happened? Did someone do this to you?”

  Rampa looked up and nodded. “I told you. His spells and curses aren’t stopped by walls. He knows I helped you. I’m finished now. I’m finished.”

  “Rra Rampa, this is all in your head! He can’t do anything to you here. You’re doing this to yourself.”

  The undertaker rolled to face Kubu, ignoring the pain.

  “Policeman, you know nothing. You’re like someone who doesn’t believe in TV because he’s never seen a set. Ask your boss how he got to be at the top. Ask his boss. That’s how it works. That’s how it is.” He groaned and lay back. Samantha looked at him in horror.

  “My boss got his job because he’s excellent at it, that’s how,” Kubu said angrily. But he had a sudden uncomfortable thought about Tebogo Gobey.

  Rampa sneered at him. “Go away,” he said. “Leave me alone.” Then he refused to say anything more.

  Walking back to his office, Kubu said to Samantha, “Are you still so sure he’s the witch doctor? Do you think he’d do that to himself?”

  She looked unhappy. “He’s mad. He believes in evil magic and spirits and devils. Who can say what his mind does to him?”

  If it is his mind, Kubu thought uncomfortably. But he said, “It may be an idea to have a psychiatrist take a look at him.”

  Then his cell phone rang again. M
iriam this time.

  “Samantha, the director wants to see me right away. And it’s nearly lunchtime. Will you get those files, and I’ll meet with you as soon as I’m free?”

  MABAKU STARTED TALKING ALMOST before Kubu was settled in his chair. Although he was going by the book, he couldn’t disguise his enthusiasm for tripping up Joshua. First he filled in Kubu on his meeting with Mma Gobey, and his subsequent thoughts on investigating Joshua’s finances. He brushed aside the witch doctor connection, adding, “I just had a call from the commissioner. He’s keen to move rapidly on Rampa. He’s worried about public reaction if it looks as though we’re marking time. Apparently Joshua’s been sticking his nose into that also. He thinks we should charge Rampa in the Marumo case.”

  Kubu shook his head. “We can’t charge him in the Marumo case. There’s no evidence he was anywhere near the scene, and absolutely no motive. Even if Marumo was one of his clients, what reason would he have to kill him?”

  “Maybe they fell out. There was the dog’s head, remember.”

  Kubu sighed. “I don’t think Rampa even is the witch doctor.” That got Mabaku’s attention, and Kubu told him about Rampa suffering a psychic lashing.

  Mabaku frowned. “He could be doing it to himself to put us off. No, I think our strategy is clear. We go after Joshua on the corruption issues, and we try the commissioner’s approach on Rampa.” He told Kubu about the choice to be offered to the undertaker: cooperate and avoid the death penalty, or be released to the anger of the people.

  Kubu shook his head. “Rampa is more scared of the real witch doctor than he is of us, or the people on the street. And forget about trapping Joshua; he’s too smart for that.”

  “He can’t hide all that money!”

  “Why not? A few big wins at the casino, taxes all paid. How are you going to prove differently? Maybe we’ll get him eventually, but by then he’ll be nicely installed as deputy commissioner with you reporting to him, and the commissioner will be obliged to support him not to lose face.”

  Mabaku grimaced. He realized that Kubu could well be right. “If Joshua’s corrupt we have to stop him. We can’t allow him to get to be deputy commissioner.”

  “It’s the witch doctor, Jacob. We’ve got to get the witch doctor. That will let us tie in Marumo and discredit Joshua at the same time. To say nothing of destroying an evil monster.”

  “I still think it’s Rampa, wheals or not. He’s a psychopath.”

  Kubu sat and thought it through, trying to find holes in his reasoning. At last he shook his head. “Jacob, I’m sure Rampa is telling the truth. He isn’t the witch doctor; he’s just been doing his dirty work. If he were the witch doctor, and Joshua has been involved with him, why is Joshua pushing so hard to get him convicted? If he takes the commissioner’s deal, he’d be exposing people like Joshua. It makes no sense. The evidence doesn’t add up.” He told Mabaku about the briefcase and the other issues that had been bothering him. He hesitated, and then added, “Actually, I have an idea who it might be, but it’s far-fetched, and I haven’t had a chance to follow up. But even if that turns out to be wrong, I think there’s a way we can discover who the witch doctor really is.” Then he outlined the plan that had been forming in his mind while they’d been talking.

  Mabaku listened the whole way through, his face expressionless, and when Kubu had finished he sat and thought for more than a minute.

  At last he said, “You realize that if Joshua is corrupt and involved with people like this witch doctor, you’re putting more on the line than our careers? If he gets the deputy commissioner job, he’ll make it his business to destroy both of us. With what we know, he won’t want us around. Not in the police force. Not anywhere.”

  Kubu nodded slowly. Mabaku stared at him, thinking about the times over the years when Kubu had been right and the times when he’d been wrong. At last Mabaku nodded. “Okay, we’ll give it a try. Let me know what you need. If we’re wrong, I just hope we live to regret it.”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  JOSHUA WAS DAYDREAMING. HE was certain, after his earlier meeting with the commissioner, that he would soon be appointed as his deputy. Then it would be only a few years before he would find a way to move up again. The commissioner was getting on in years, and Joshua was sure that he could be encouraged to retire if the right pressures were brought to bear.

  He smiled at the thought of what he would be able to do from that position. A new house on the golf course, not just one nearby; a new car—an upgrade to his already three-year-old BMW; and exotic vacations around the world, tacked on to his state-funded official trips.

  He was pleased he had fought back the fear that had initially gripped him at the witch doctor’s place out of town. He now had the power to succeed.

  He leaned back and closed his eyes.

  The intercom on his phone brought him back to the present.

  “The commissioner for you, rra,” the tinny voice said.

  Joshua pushed the blinking button.

  “Gobey,” he said with authority.

  “Joshua.” The commissioner’s voice sounded hesitant. “Joshua, I spoke to Director Mabaku and urged him to do what you recommended.”

  Joshua smiled—his ploy was going to work.

  “However, there’s a problem.”

  Joshua sat upright. “A problem, Commissioner?” he asked.

  “Yes. Mabaku just called me back. It seems that he and Assistant Superintendent Bengu no longer think that the undertaker is the witch doctor.”

  “Of course he’s the witch doctor!” Joshua almost snapped at the commissioner.

  “I have to say that they were quite convincing. There’s lots of circumstantial evidence, but very little that would stick in a courtroom. And the man has suddenly been covered with welts. He says that the witch doctor has put a spell on him, and he’s going to die.”

  “He’s just doing that to himself. He doesn’t want to be tried and hanged. He’s trying to divert attention by using his powers.” Joshua felt his stomach tighten.

  “Well, that may be the case, Joshua, but at this point they’re only going to charge him with offenses with respect to the burials. If they find better evidence, they’ll charge him with the murders also. But in the meanwhile, they’re looking for somebody else.”

  Joshua didn’t reply as he started to weigh the consequences of what he’d just heard.

  “I’ll let you know if they find anything significant,” the commissioner concluded and hung up.

  Joshua sat for several minutes before he replaced the handset. And when he did, it rattled against its cradle.

  In a matter of moments, his life had changed. Before the commissioner’s call, he was contemplating the benefits of being promoted. Now he was terrified that everything he had could be ripped from him, that all his dreams could be shredded. If they found the real witch doctor and made him confess, it would be the end for him.

  He needed to find the witch doctor before that happened; needed to use the powers the witch doctor had given him.

  Joshua jumped up and rushed out of the office. “I’ll be back in half an hour,” he called to his assistant. He almost ran to his car, then drove to Broadhurst Mall. Minutes later he was seated at a computer amid a number of tourists also using the Internet café.

  He clicked on the icon for the browser. The short time it took to open seemed interminable. As soon as he could, he opened his webmail, typed in a Hushmail address, and sent an e-mail: “Need to talk. SOON!! Please.”

  BY THE TIME HE returned home that evening, Joshua hadn’t heard from the witch doctor, so he went straight to his office to check his e-mail just in case the witch doctor had replied that way. But there was nothing.

  Maybe they’ve caught him, he thought. Maybe it’s already too late. He wiped his brow with his hand, feeling the dampness. What if they forced him to name his clients and what they’d done? He’d be ruined. He started fantasizing that he would be saved by the witch doctor committing suicide as
the police burst into his place or by the witch doctor being shot by the police as he tried to escape. But he realized that this was all wishful thinking.

  He was very distant during dinner with his wife. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he said. “I’ve something on my mind from the office. I’m going to have to work this evening.”

  As soon as he finished dinner, he returned to his study. He kept his cell phone close by and checked his e-mail frequently for something to do, even though he knew it would be of no avail.

  He nearly sent a second e-mail but pulled himself together and decided not to. The witch doctor normally took two days to reply. He had to try to be patient.

  JOSHUA CHECKED HIS E-MAIL before and after breakfast, and frequently at the office. Still no reply. Several times he used his office phone to call his cell phone to check if it was working.

  By lunch, he couldn’t stand it any longer and returned to the Internet café.

  “Must talk to you. Urgent!” It took all of two minutes to send the e-mail, and he snapped at the attendant for charging him the minimum of half an hour.

  “Can I carry forward the minutes that are left?” he asked.

  The attendant shook his head. “No, rra.”

  “You’re cheating everyone,” Joshua snarled. “I’ll never use you again.”

  He stormed out onto the sidewalk and looked around. A man leaning on the side of a white car on the other side of the street caught his eye. Wasn’t that the same man he’d seen outside police headquarters when he left there twenty minutes ago? He walked briskly to his car and drove off. In his rearview mirror, he saw the Toyota do a U-turn and pull in several cars behind him. He was being followed.

  JOSHUA CANCELED THE THREE appointments on his calendar that afternoon, spending the time closeted in his office. When his assistant opened his office door to tell him that one of his appointments hadn’t received the cancellation and was waiting outside, he shouted at her to leave him alone. She scuttled back to her desk, wondering what was going on. Her boss had never behaved in such a bizarre fashion before.