by Tony Park
Sean caught up with her, overtaking the canine handler. ‘We can let the dog go on ahead if you like.’
Mia shook her head. ‘No, I want to see where Bongani got to before the rest of us mess up the spoor. I’m only going to get one good look at this before the rain washes it away completely.’
‘OK,’ Sean said. ‘But only because it’s you and I know how close you are to your master tracker’s qualification.’
‘Thanks,’ Mia said. She was the first to recognise and appreciate the tracker dogs’ phenomenal abilities, but following scent, just like her looking for tracks, meant taking in only one piece of this puzzle. A dog could not think like a human, and nor was it as devious – or as cruel.
Mia followed the spoor down into the stream bed. A trickle of water was now flowing in the deepest part of the sandy watercourse. She came to an area of flattened sand.
‘This is where he sat, resting or hiding; he even lay down for a while,’ Mia said, wiping rainwater from her face.
She carried on, the others content to leave her in silence, not commenting or venturing opinions. Mia felt the pressure start to build, just as it had during her last assessment for her master tracker’s qualification when the two men who had carried out the assessment scrutinised her every move and muttered quietly to themselves as she, and they, inevitably came to the conclusion that she would not pass.
She had failed. She had been tracking a lion – a lioness in fact, moving about on its own. It was a difficult and potentially dangerous animal to track. A pride of lions, anywhere between four and twenty-four animals, was easier to follow because of the sheer amount of spoor, but it was easy to lose the trail of a single animal. Lions were generally sociable animals, so Mia knew that if this female was on her own then it was either because she had been injured and become separated from the pride, or she had left of her own volition, most likely because she was heavily pregnant and about to give birth to cubs, or she had just done so and was hunting or returning to wherever she had stashed her young.
Every theory about why this animal might have been alone spelled danger. An injured animal would be under pressure, hungry and extremely defensive; however, by reading the spoor Mia had seen no evidence of blood trails or limping, which would have been indicated by the damaged leg leaving a fainter paw print. Also, judging by the distance between the tracks the animal had been making good speed, with a healthy, natural gait. She was a big girl, as well, Mia had noticed from the size of the pug marks, meaning she was in her prime, and this tended to discount the theory that she might be an injured loner.
If she had not yet given birth the lioness would be acutely aware of her vulnerability, and quick to defend herself. If she had given birth her protective instincts would be in overdrive. Lionesses left the pride to give birth and to tend to their newborns because the tiny cubs were at risk of being trampled or otherwise injured by the boisterous, downright violent day-to-day life of lions; it was only once the cubs had their little eyes open and were mobile enough to keep pace with the pride that their mother would return to the fold with them.
Several times Mia had lost sight of the big cat’s tracks, but that in itself was not unusual. Rocky ground, water and other variables made it hard to spot spoor, but tracking was also about knowing an animal’s patterns of movement, behaviour and individual habits. Mia had known there was a waterhole nearby and that given the time of day the lioness, assuming she had cubs and needed to ensure she was lactating sufficiently, would need water.
Mia had headed towards the waterhole, sure she would pick up some clear tracks at some point, but it didn’t happen. She had begun to doubt herself. Backtracking, she had returned to the last identifiable pug mark, but then the self-doubt had overcome her.
‘Mia?’ Sean said.
She realised she had been standing in the rain, staring down at the last clear footprint the poacher had left on his return to the stream. She had followed his spoor out of the snaking sandy bed, and then back into his lying-up position, and now there was no sign of him.
Mia ignored Sean for another few seconds. In front of her were half a dozen granite boulders, sticking up from the sand, worn smooth by generations of seasonal rain.
She looked back at Sean. ‘He might have used these rocks, like giant stepping stones, to confuse us – me.’
‘The dog?’ Sean said.
Mia wavered, doubting herself once more. She needed time to put herself in the poacher’s mind, but time was something they did not have. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Bongani standing beside her.
‘You can do this,’ he said.
She shrugged off his touch. She was the head ranger on the Lion Plains reserve and she knew that several of the other male guides, most of whom had been sent home because of COVID, resented the fact that a woman had been promoted above them and still had a job. She often felt she had to be twice as good as the male guides just to be treated as an equal. Now, she had many people watching and the added pressure of tracking a man who had just tried to kill one of their own. ‘In this rain, with so many tracks? Bongani, I . . .’
‘He is a man, so he does not think like an animal. He is smarter, though perhaps also arrogant. He will have made a mistake somewhere around here, and if he has not today, then he will next time.’ Bongani surveyed the sand. ‘There is the boy’s spoor.’
Mia followed Bongani’s finger, pointing the way the boy Sipho had passed through the gully and left.
Mia sighed and looked back at Sean. ‘Get the dog.’
Phillip came up and Askari bustled past her, straining at his lead and sniffing the ground, sucking up scent like a vacuum cleaner. The dog went past one, then a second boulder and then dropped down on his haunches, to his belly.
‘He’s indicating,’ Sean said.
Phillip moved forward, then waved to them to approach.
On the ground was a green canvas satchel bag.
Mia stopped and let Sean go past her, but instinctively she looked for spoor around the bag. It didn’t make sense. There was no sign the poacher had lain or rested there, or knelt to check or retrieve something from the bag, which he had subsequently abandoned. There was no tree which could have snagged the carry strap and the bag was too big to have slipped from his shoulder unnoticed.
‘Sean . . .’
‘I’m on it,’ Sean said. ‘It could be booby-trapped. Stand down,’ he said to Phillip, who motioned for Askari to stand, then gave the Malinois his rubber toy to chew on, as a reward for finding the bag.
Sean picked up a stick and dropped to his knees in front of the bag. He used the tool to carefully peel back the front flap of the satchel.
‘Shit. Get back,’ Sean said. ‘Grenade.’
Mia and Bongani backed away as Sean dropped to his belly in the wet sand, in order to peer inside the bag without further opening or disturbing it.
‘Bongani and I are going to cast further down the spruit, to see if we can pick up his spoor again,’ Mia said.
‘OK.’ Sean continued looking in the satchel, presumably for trip-wires or other detonation devices. ‘Just keep your distance.’
Mia and Bongani skirted the boulders and moved along the stream bed, both of them searching the ground intently.
Bongani shook his head. ‘Nothing.’
Mia straightened her back and brushed away the wet hair plastered to her face. ‘He can’t have just bloody disappeared.’
Bongani was silent, but he was looking at her. ‘No,’ he said eventually.
Mia held up a hand. ‘Don’t give me that look.’
‘What look?’
Bongani glanced past her, to Sean, who was still preoccupied. Nevertheless he lowered his voice. ‘You know there is something going on here, Mia.’
She sighed.
It was Bongani’s turn to hold up a palm. ‘Remember, I told you
about my cousin, the ranger.’
Mia put her hands on her hips. ‘Yes, Alfred. You told me he was part of a reaction team chasing a poacher north of here and the man disappeared.’
Bongani nodded. ‘The poacher turned himself to water, Alfred said.’
Mia closed her eyes against the rain and the thoughts, the ghosts, the demons that were creeping their way up her spine, chilled already by the rainwater running under her collar, and lingering at the corners of her subconscious vision.
There were things she believed. When she passed an umkhanyakude, the beautiful, almost iridescent fever tree, she would rub her hand over the lime-green bark, and the fine golden pollen would stick to her palm. This she would smear on her forehead for good luck, to help her in whatever endeavour she was undertaking. Sometimes, she thought, it helped her find a leopard for a demanding guest. She had anointed herself on the morning before she met Graham.
And yet, she had performed the same ritual on the morning of her last assessment, when the lioness had evaded her.
Bongani pointed to her wrist. ‘Why do you wear that isiphandla? To impress people by pretending to be the white Shangaan woman, to remind them you were brought up by my people?’
She did not like his mocking tone, nor the challenge he was laying down to her. Mia fingered the knotted bracelet of goatskin and hair on her right wrist. ‘You know I respect your culture – our culture. I wear this in honour of your mother, may she rest in peace. I was honoured to be given it at the cleansing ceremony for her; you know that.’
‘You say you are one of us . . .’
It was the same with any faith, she told herself. One could be a good Christian without believing everything in the Bible. Surely it could be the same with the customs of Bongani’s people – her people – that beliefs could be a guidebook to living a good life, full of parables and old wives’ tales meant to teach people by example, and nothing more.
‘Your mother’s religion taught you that a man rose from the dead,’ Bongani continued. ‘I, too, am a Christian, and I believe that is true.’
‘We’re not talking about miracles here, Bongani.’
‘Agreed. This man has vanished. We are talking about the opposite of a miracle here.’
‘What?’ He was speaking in riddles.
‘Evil.’
Chapter 7
Sannie accompanied Nomvula back through the stumps and furrows of the former orchards into the main street of Killarney. People watched them, from front doors and windows, or from old chairs on their stoeps as they walked down the dusty street.
They had taken a walk around the new library, but had found no tracks or any other sign of Lilly around the building, which was locked. Peering in through the windows they could clearly see there was no one inside the sparsely furnished two rooms.
A stray dog darted away from them. Nomvula pointed out the home of Sonto, the last girl who had seen Lilly.
‘I must go see to my other grandchildren, Captain.’
‘Sure,’ Sannie said. ‘Go to them. I will call you if I have further questions.’
As Sannie came abreast of a side street she saw a man in dirty two-piece overalls stop and stare at her. The man paused, as if he didn’t know which way to go, then ran off, down the street. Another man emerged from behind the house and when he saw Sannie he, too, ran.
These two skelms were running like they had done something wrong.
Sannie set off after them. At least she was dressed for a pursuit, in sensible, sturdy boots and her blue trousers and short-sleeved uniform shirt.
She had thrown herself into her fitness in the last few weeks, hitting the treadmill that she and Tom had bought for the kids – though they rarely used it. Running was not advisable around Hippo Rock, because of the potential for dangerous game such as leopard and hyena, even the occasional lion, to join in the chase for joggers.
The nearest of the men had a fifty-metre head start on her, but Sannie was fast. The second man was clearly not a good runner.
‘Stop, police!’
Here and there neighbours emerged or popped their heads out of windows to see what the fuss was about. A couple of young men whistled, either derogatorily at Sannie or in encouragement of the fleeing men.
‘Stop!’ Sannie turned down a side alley. She drew her Z88 pistol as the men led her past the rear of a line of houses, backtracking in the direction she had come from.
The first man charged on, but the second, struggling, turned his head to check on her as he ran. Distracted, he tripped and sprawled in the dirt.
Sannie closed the distance between them and got to him as he was getting to his feet. He pulled a small knife from a sheath on his belt.
Sannie levelled her pistol at him. ‘Drop that, now!’
The man seemed to realise she was serious and dropped the knife.
‘On your knees, hands behind your back.’
The man complied, albeit slowly. Sannie went to him, holstered her pistol and cuffed him. She lifted him to his feet and spun him around. ‘What the fok were you playing at, man? I could have shot you. Why did you run?’
He glared at her.
‘Captain?’
Sannie turned and saw Nomvula emerging from the rusty rear gate of a modest green-painted house.
‘I heard your voice,’ Nomvula said, then looked to Sannie’s captive. ‘Solly?’
The man glanced at her, but said nothing.
‘Oh, Captain,’ Nomvula said, ‘I think there’s been a mistake.’
Sannie nodded to the man, Solly. ‘He ran when he saw me.’
‘Poor Solly,’ Nomvula spread her hands wide, ‘he is like a child, you know, not fully developed. He cannot speak.’
Sannie frowned. ‘Can he hear?’
‘Yes.’
Sannie looked to the man. He nodded, but now looked fearful and she wondered if he was more worried about Nomvula’s stern look than being chased by the police.
‘He works at the charity project,’ Nomvula said. ‘He is one of our gardeners.’
‘Why did you run?’ Sannie asked him.
Solly looked to Nomvula and then back to Sannie with a flick of his head, as if asking Nomvula to speak on his behalf.
Nomvula sighed. ‘Solly has been in trouble with the police a few times, nothing serious, but minor theft from the local stores. He is a bit of an outsider. We have taken him in on the project, partly to keep him safe.’
Sannie looked him up and down. By the state of his clothes and face it looked like he had been working hard, and his body smelled of sweat. ‘Turn around.’
Solly presented his back to her and Sannie undid his handcuffs. Solly rubbed his wrists and backed away from her.
‘What about the other one?’ Sannie asked Nomvula.
Nomvula drew a breath and nodded. ‘Ai, ai, ai, Richard. Something of a troublemaker, but so many of our young men have been in trouble. It is the unemployment, Captain, the lack of opportunity for them. The new South Africa has not been kind to everyone.’
That was an understatement, Sannie thought. ‘Go home,’ she said as sternly as she could to Solly, who turned and walked away from her.
‘Tell the other one, Richard, that I want to talk to him, if you see him. He may have seen something suspicious around where Lilly disappeared.’
Nomvula put a hand to her mouth, as if the mention of her granddaughter had brought her fears back to the surface, which it probably had. ‘Of course, Captain, I will.’
Sannie touched the peak of her cap, put away her handcuffs and walked back to the main street, towards the house where Sonto lived.
She found the dwelling Nomvula had indicated and knocked on the door. She heard a child crying inside and the door was opened by a woman with a baby in her arms – the child was the source of the noise.
The woman eyed
her suspiciously. ‘Hello, how are you?’
‘Fine, and you?’
The woman nodded and bounced her baby a little, cooing in its ear.
Sannie introduced herself and held up her identification card. ‘I am looking for a girl named Sonto, does she live here?’
The woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’
‘I need to ask her some questions about the disappearances of Lilly and Thandi.’
‘My Sonto had nothing to do with that.’
From further inside the small house, perhaps the next room, Sannie heard the tinny sound of rap music playing on a phone.
‘It’s important,’ Sannie said.
The woman frowned. ‘What is important is that I have no job any more. This stupid situation means we have no money, no food. Why aren’t you doing something about that?’
‘Don’t you think the disappearance of two children is important?’
The mother pressed her lips together and then looked over her shoulder. ‘Sonto!’
The girl appeared in the doorway, tall and pretty, her hair elaborately braided. She froze when she saw Sannie’s uniform.
‘Come here, girl,’ the woman said. ‘This police lady wants to talk to you.’
Sonto looked around, as if for a means of escape. Sannie saw the back door, which probably led to the privy out the back, and stepped in. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong, Sonto, and I’ve done enough running for the day.’
The mother scoffed. ‘I saw you chasing that boy, Solly. Why are you harassing us poor people?’
Sannie ignored her. ‘Sonto, where can we speak in private?’
‘Mama,’ Sonto said beseechingly.
‘You are not taking my child to prison.’
Sannie sighed. ‘No one is going to prison. Sonto, don’t you want a walk in the fresh air?’