Deadly Harvest: A Detective Kubu Mystery

by Michael Stanley

  The witch doctor nodded. “That’s true.” He paused. “What did you expect me to do about all this?” he asked calmly.

  “I thought it was important for you to know what was happening. Can’t you put them off the track somehow?”

  The witch doctor thought for a few moments. “There is no track. No one can see me unless I want them to. And I will be away for a while. There are people in Zimbabwe I can work with to get what we need. Much more cheaply, too. I’ll set up new contact procedures with my clients. Maybe you will come there to see me. Maybe I will come back here.” He leaned toward Joshua. “Anyway, you have what you need for now, don’t you?”

  Joshua felt a bit dizzy. The background seemed to fade, leaving nothing but the witch doctor. He could now see deep black eyes, staring out at him from the baboon face. The eyes were from very far away. Maybe from another world. But the thought didn’t upset him. He felt relaxed.

  “Yes,” he said. “I have what I need.”

  “You have the power.”

  “Yes,” Joshua repeated. “I have the power.”

  “So there is no problem.”

  “No, there is no problem.” His voice was without intonation.

  “Good. Then we have finished.”

  Joshua nodded. “Yes, we have finished.” He knew it was true and felt relief.

  “You can go now. I’ll contact you when it’s time.”

  “Yes, I can go now. I have what I need.” Joshua rose to his feet, feeling groggy. At that moment, there was a sound of a snapping twig. “What was that?” The effects of the spell vanished, and he was instantly alert again.

  The witch doctor had heard it, too. “Someone’s out there! You said you weren’t followed!”

  “Quiet.” Joshua tried to look through the window into the night, but there was only blackness. Then he heard a scuffing sound, the sound of shoes moving closer, faint, but he was sure.

  “There are people out there. We have to get out of here.”

  A voice from outside shouted, “Police! Open the door at once!”

  “Keep them here!” the witch doctor cried and headed to the back of the house.

  Suddenly everything was clear to Joshua. It was the witch doctor who had let himself be followed. No longer invisible. No longer powerful. He couldn’t allow him to leave the house. If he was caught, Joshua was finished. He pulled the pistol from under his jacket. But at that moment the witch doctor turned and gave an unearthly screech. Joshua fired, but his hand shook, and the bullet went wide.

  There was a crash behind him as the door burst open. Before he could turn, he was knocked to the floor, and the pistol wrestled away. He felt a heavy foot on his neck, and his arms were pulled roughly behind his back and his wrists handcuffed.

  He twisted his head to look for the witch doctor, but he was gone.

  FOR THE MAN GUARDING the back of the house, the night became a nightmare. He was expecting an escaping robber, perhaps coming out, guns blazing. He almost hoped for that. Instead he saw a creature not human—half man, half baboon. He knew at once what it was, and his heart froze. It screeched like something from the pits of hell and, before he could recover, it was on him. He pulled the trigger, but it was too late; bullets smashed harmlessly into the back of the building. The force of the witch doctor’s attack, added to the recoil, knocked him over backward. The last thing he felt was the scalpel going through his throat from ear to ear.

  KUBU HEARD THE GUNSHOT, a cacophony on the radio, and then a burst of automatic rifle fire. Forgetting his own orders to Samantha, he shouted, “Something’s wrong! He’s getting away. Monitor the radio and keep Mabaku informed.” Ignoring Samantha’s protests, he clambered out of the vehicle and lumbered up the road toward the house. He wanted to spot the witch doctor’s car. That’s where he’ll go, he thought. If I’m wrong, and they’ve got him, no harm done. If I’m right, I’ve got to stop him.

  LUCKILY THE MOON GLINTED off the metal of the car or Kubu might have missed it. As it was, he caught the reflection and moved off the road toward it, trying to catch his breath. He could hear the men at the house shouting and crashing around in the bushes. His decision to get involved didn’t seem like a good idea anymore—he wasn’t even armed. But surely the witch doctor wouldn’t get through the cordon?

  Kubu suddenly realized he could be mistaken for one of the suspects. He took some comfort in the fact that the scouts had night goggles, and they would recognize him by his bulk. But to be on the safe side, he moved to the side of the car away from the house.

  The witch doctor came at him out of the bushes screeching as he rushed forward, something in his hand glinting.

  For Kubu, time seemed to stop. Before him was a creature of nightmares, hands out like claws of a predatory beast, awful baboon face, body splattered with the blood of its kill. For a fraction of a second Kubu felt the hopelessness of opposing this evil. Then his right arm flew out, not to ward off the attacker, but to destroy it. His mind boiled with fury; his arm powered by the anger of murdered children. And he screamed back.

  The edge of his right hand caught the witch doctor below the left ear, by good luck just below the wooden mask. He felt something give, and his hand exploded in agony. The scalpel cut into his arm, but then was released, and the witch doctor collapsed to the ground.

  Suddenly Samantha was there. “Kubu, are you okay?”

  For a moment he couldn’t speak, his eyes watering from the waves of pain in his hand. “Yes, I’m fine. Handcuff the witch doctor. I think I knocked him out. Be careful! He has a knife, and he may be faking.” He tried to move the fingers of his hand, but the pain was excruciating, and he stopped.

  Samantha bent over the witch doctor, and Kubu heard the handcuffs close. After what seemed a long time, Samantha spoke. “He’s dead, Kubu. I think you broke his neck.”

  She turned her attention back to him, seeing the blood staining his jacket. “Oh God. You’re hurt. We must get you to a hospital. Where are the others?” She jumped up. “Over here!” she yelled. The assault team called back and moved up.

  “Can you take off the mask?” Kubu asked, nursing his broken hand.

  Samantha pulled loose the Velcro straps of the mask and lifted it off. Now they could see the strange angle of the head on the neck.

  “Yes, it is him,” said Samantha.

  Kubu looked down at the face of Dr. Jake Pilane and nodded.

  SIXTY

  SAMANTHA RUSHED KUBU TO Princess Marina Hospital, but once she was convinced that he wasn’t seriously injured, she left for home, exhausted. Edison Banda waited and drove Kubu home after the hospital had finished with him. They didn’t talk much. Edison was also tired after the long night, and Kubu was in a haze of shock and painkillers, his mind on the events leading up to the witch doctor’s death.

  It was after three when Edison dropped Kubu off and headed home to his bed. Kubu knew Joy would be waiting for him; he’d phoned her from the hospital to let her know that he’d been hurt, but was okay. Nevertheless, when he came in, he could see the worry on her face. I look a mess, he thought, as he tossed his bloodied and ruined sweater over a chair. His forearm was half covered by the dressing over the stitches, and his hand tightly bound with bandages.

  “Oh, Kubu!” Joy cried, running to him.

  “I’m fine, my darling.” He hugged her with his left arm, pulling her close.

  “What did he do to you?”

  He could tell she was close to tears. “The arm is just a flesh wound. And you know I have plenty of that! They put in a few stitches and bandaged it up. As for my hand, I broke one of the bones hitting the witch doctor. But it’s not serious, either. A ‘greenstick’ fracture, the doctor called it. It will bind up by itself. They gave me antibiotics and painkillers. I’ll be fine.”

  He decided not to mention the antiretroviral they’d given him, concerned about the blood from the dead policeman on the scalpel. They wouldn’t know about the man’s HIV status until later in the morning.

/>   Kubu steered her to the couch, and they sat close together, Joy on the left so that he could have his good arm over her shoulder. For a few minutes, it was enough for them to sit together and be still. Then Joy asked, “What happened to him? The witch doctor?”

  Kubu hesitated. “I killed him. I didn’t mean to. He was rushing at me with a scalpel in his hand. I was scared and just lashed out and hit him as hard as I could.” His hand twinged as if recalling the blow.

  “I’m glad,” Joy said. “I’m glad he’s dead. He was an awful, evil man.”

  Kubu shook his head. “We needed him alive. We need to know who his clients were, who his victims were. We needed to show people that he was just a psychopath, to be reviled not feared. He’s escaped what should have been in store for him.”

  But there’s more to it than that, Kubu thought. I killed a man. A bad man, a man who deserved to die, but another human being nonetheless. He dragged me to his level.

  Joy shuddered. “I don’t care. He might’ve got away. I’m glad you killed him.”

  Kubu pulled her closer, wishing they could go to bed, make love, put it all out of their lives, but he knew the moment wasn’t right. And that this was something he would carry alone.

  “Do you want some tea?” Joy asked.

  Kubu would have preferred a stiff brandy, but with all the drugs, that might not be a good idea. “Tea sounds good.”

  Joy went to the kitchen, and Kubu stretched out, allowing the tension to seep out of his muscles, to be replaced by physical tiredness. They would have tea, he would reassure Joy, and they would go to bed. There was much to do in the morning. And the painkillers would wear off at some point.

  He heard a scrabbling in the ceiling and glanced up. The mongoose, he thought.

  Then Joy came back with the tea, snuggling close to him again, and he knew that everything would turn out all right.

  SIXTY-ONE

  DESPITE JOY’S PROTESTS, KUBU decided to go to work after lunch. He had slept soundly until after ten in the morning, when the painkillers started to wear off. His hand throbbed, and he had a headache, but his determination to tie up the loose ends in the witch doctor case was as strong as ever. He phoned Samantha around noon to ask her to pick him up, so they could go through the witch doctor’s house.

  “And get the keys we found in his trousers last night from Zanele,” he said before he hung up. “I hope they’re his house keys. I’m not in the mood to break down a door.”

  “RAMPA SEEMS MUCH BETTER this morning,” Samantha said as they left Kubu’s house. “The rash seems to be fading. Maybe it was just an allergy after all. And he’s being very cooperative now that the witch doctor is dead. We’re getting all the details of where and when he buried the extra bodies. We’ll be able to exhume those children and give them proper funerals.”

  “We’ll still charge him with whatever we can manage,” Kubu growled. “If he hadn’t closed his eyes to what was going on—out of fear and greed—the witch doctor would’ve stopped being invisible long ago.”

  Samantha hesitated, then blurted out, “Kubu, I have to admit I was really scared last night, and I didn’t know why. The witch doctor was dead, but it all felt so wrong. So dangerous somehow.” She hesitated. “And I’ve been sleeping badly. I’m beginning to wonder whether this witch doctor thing is getting to me. I kept hearing something moving in the ceiling.”

  Kubu looked at her sharply. “You, too? It’s rats. Or mongooses. Joy persuaded one of our neighbors to climb up into our ceiling yesterday. I don’t do that sort of thing.” Samantha could well believe that, and the thought of Kubu putting a foot through the ceiling forced her to suppress a smile. “There weren’t any droppings, so it wasn’t rats. But he saw a mongoose climbing through the rafters.”

  “I’m sure that’s what it is,” Samantha agreed at once. “Anyway, I didn’t hear anything last night.”

  Kubu just nodded, and they drove in silence for a few moments. When they stopped at a traffic light, Kubu turned to her. “Samantha,” he said, “I want to tell you what a good job you’ve done. If you hadn’t been so tenacious about following up the muti killings, Pilane might still be out there with his mask and leopard skin and scalpel.”

  “Thanks, Kubu. I thought . . . I thought I’d drive to Mochudi tomorrow in the afternoon and find Dikeledi Betse. I’ll tell her what happened to Lesego. We won’t really ever know the details, will we? But at least she won’t have to wonder about it anymore. Not knowing is the worst.”

  “Like you with Segametsi Mogomotsi?” Kubu asked quietly. Samantha nodded.

  KUBU ENJOYED BEING DRIVEN, because it gave him an opportunity to make some calls. Joy had forbidden him to do any work that morning. Now he was eager to move forward. The first call was to the doctor at Princess Marina Hospital. He listened to the doctor and breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

  Samantha glanced toward him. “Is something wrong, Kubu?” she asked after he hung up.

  Kubu shook his head. “No, everything’s fine.” The policeman who had been slashed to death by the witch doctor the previous night had turned out to be HIV negative.

  Then he called Zanele Dlamini, the forensics expert. She had taken a team to the house that the police had stormed the previous night to look for evidence of the muti murders.

  “It was a gold mine, Kubu,” she exclaimed in a weary voice. “We’ve worked all night and have strong evidence. The back room was spotless, but it still amazes me that smart people don’t know how hard it is to get rid of all traces of blood. The witch doctor must’ve used the table in the middle for his killing. We found blood in some of the seams of the cover, as well as in some of the cracks in the concrete floor.”

  “Could you identify any of it?” Kubu asked impatiently.

  “Yes,” Zanele replied. “Thank God we still have that new DNA machine that South Africa loaned to us. We positively identified that some of the blood was from the albino.”

  “Excellent! Anything else.”

  “In the cabinet, we found a variety of medical things, such as stuff for suturing, anesthetics, such as chloroform, a number of scalpels—”

  “That’s where he got the one that he slashed me with,” Kubu interrupted.

  “And there were various plastic containers and gourds.”

  “Anything useful from any of it?”

  “Yes! And guess whose fingerprints we found on a scalpel from the cabinet. You’re going to love this! Joshua Gobey’s. It is a clear match.” Zanele could not contain her excitement. “I just received the results. It’ll stand up to any scrutiny.”

  Kubu thought for a moment. “This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to call the director and ask him to speak to the commissioner. This is bad news for the police force, and he needs to know. We’re going to ask his okay to get a search warrant for Gobey’s house. As soon as it’s signed, I want you to go through the house and particularly his clothes to see if we can tie him personally to Owido. The print on the scalpel only ties him to the place.”

  “And then?”

  “Then I’m going to interview him later this afternoon to see what his story is. Don’t let news of that print get out. I want to surprise him with it.”

  A few moments later, Kubu ended the call and phoned Director Mabaku to put his plan in place. When he hung up, he turned to Samantha. “I think we’ve got the bastard!”

  A FEW MINUTES LATER, they arrived at the doctor’s house on Pela Crescent. Who would have imagined this quiet little street could have seen so much over the past few weeks? Kubu thought.

  A constable checked their IDs before letting them go inside the gate. Kubu dug in his pocket with his left hand and pulled out the bunch of keys that had been found the previous night in the witch doctor’s civilian clothes. The first one he tried fit the lock, and they opened the door. They decided to do a quick tour of the house to orient themselves. It was a typical suburban home with three bedrooms, one en suite and one that was used as an office.

&nbs
p; “Okay,” Kubu said when they’d finished their tour. “Let’s start! We’ll go through everything, leaving the office for last. That’s where we’re likely to find something, if there’s something to find.”

  For the next two hours, Kubu and Samantha examined every room, every drawer, every cupboard, but found nothing of interest.

  “I’ve never seen a house so neat and well organized,” Samantha commented. “Particularly a bachelor’s. Even his underwear is folded.” She paused. “I assume he was a bachelor. There’s no evidence of a woman here.”

  “Yes, he was unmarried,” Kubu responded. “And did you see the walk-in closet in his bedroom? Everything was hung by color. Blues with blues; greens with greens. I hope Joy never gets to see it. My life would end in misery if I had to live like that. I’m perfectly happy that all my clothes are somewhere under one roof.”

  He looked around. “Have you noticed that there aren’t any pictures on the walls or photographs of friends or family?”

  Samantha nodded. “It’s weird. Almost as though he doesn’t want anything giving away who he is. And there is nothing for music, and no TV.” She shook her head in amazement.

  The two of them walked to the office—the only room remaining to be searched. The wall behind the desk sported two gray metal filing cabinets; the wall to the left of the desk had a single window covered with a thick curtain; and the wall opposite the window was one big bookcase. Kubu turned and looked back at the door. The wall in which it was set was painted a dark maroon.

  “What’s with the wall?” he asked rhetorically.

  Samantha turned and gazed. “Even more weird!” she exclaimed. “Every other wall is white, yet this one is red.”

  “The one he looked at when he sat at his desk!” Kubu commented, shaking his head. “Will you please go through the filing cabinets while I check out his desk? I’ve no idea what we are looking for. If something seems out of place, let me know.”