Deadly Harvest

by Michael Stanley

  “Rra Maleng. I live not far from here, on Dedia Street in Extension 33.”

  Witness nodded, wondering why she was taking her time.

  “It seems there are a lot of bad things happening in this area at the moment.” She glanced at Witness waiting for a response. He sat impassively, jaw clenched, and his foot tapping furiously.

  “First your daughter—­I’m so sorry that she’s missing. And now Bill Marumo.”

  Witness had to clasp his hands together to stop them from shaking. When was she going to accuse him?

  “I only heard about your daughter last Friday. The Broadhurst police let things slip. They should’ve reported that she was missing to me immediately. I really apologize for that.”

  Now Witness was puzzled. Why didn’t the policewoman get to the point? He stared at her.

  “Rra, are you all right?” she asked, frowning.

  Witness nodded.

  “Rra Maleng, please tell me about the Friday evening when Tombi went missing.” Samantha took out her notebook.

  She’s not here about Marumo! he thought. She doesn’t know! He took a deep breath and started talking.

  “It was a terrible day.” The words came out in a croak. He cleared his throat and continued. “I was at home cooking supper . . .”

  “You were cooking supper?”

  “Yes. My wife died last year . . .”

  “I’m sorry. Please continue.”

  “As I was saying, I was at home cooking supper. . . .”

  For the next half hour Witness recounted the fateful weekend when Tombi disappeared—­the community coming together to help search for her, the father of one of Tombi’s friends who saw a white car drive off in the distance just after he’d seen Tombi on her way home, the prayers at the church, the lack of interest by the police. But the worst was the waiting and waiting for her to come home.

  Samantha didn’t interrupt his story but sat quietly taking notes. When he stopped talking, she asked for clarification on a number of points, including the name of the man who had seen the car, something that hadn’t appeared in the police reports. Eventually she closed her notebook.

  “Rra Maleng, have you heard of Lesego Betse?”

  Witness shook his head. What was this about? he wondered.

  “She was a young girl who we think was killed for muti . . .”

  Witness gasped at the mention of muti.

  Samantha leaned forward and touched his knee. “I don’t know whether that was what happened to Tombi, but it’s a possibility. My job at the CID is to investigate missing children, so I want you to think whether any men were paying attention to her. Did she ever mention anything to you?”

  Witness relaxed again. “I never saw anything like that, and she never mentioned anything to me. Maybe you should speak to her school friends.”

  Samantha opened her notebook again and took down the details.

  “Rra Maleng, please let me know if you think of anything or hear anything. Anything at all. Anything you haven’t told me. It could be important.” She gave him her card.

  She stood up and extended her hand. “Thank you for your time. My sympathies again.”

  Witness was so weak from stress that he was barely able to stand to walk her to her car. As the Toyota disappeared, leaving a trail of brown dust swirling above the sandy street, Witness stared after it. “Thank you, Lord,” he said out loud. “You know what I did was just.”

  He turned and walked back into his small house to resume packing.

  Fifteen minutes later, he carried his suitcase, the plastic bags, and boxes to his car. He returned to the house, closed all the windows, drew the curtains, and gave one last sad look around the house where he’d lived for the past seven years. He wondered whether he would ever see it again.

  Witness locked the door and drove away. He’d call the mines when he was far from Gaborone.

  TWENTY

  KUBU LOOKED AROUND THE table at the assembled CID staff. Mabaku looked worried. Not much had changed in the last thirty-­six hours to give him comfort. If anything, the issue of the gourd that Kubu had discovered made things worse. It seemed likely that Marumo had been involved in something very unpleasant. That would open a gamut of new potential motives and possibilities.

  Samantha looked disturbed and unhappy. Her hopes of Marumo as a hero had been dashed by his murder. And by his use of muti.

  Mabaku turned to Zanele first. “What have you got, Zanele?”

  She shrugged. “Not much more, Director. But we have two pieces of hair that don’t come from Marumo or Jubjub. Black African, I’d say.”

  Mabaku perked up. “That’s good. If we catch a suspect and can DNA-­match the hair, we’re home.”

  Zanele nodded. “Doesn’t help us find the murderer, though.”

  Mabaku already knew that. “What about Kubu’s gourd?”

  For a moment Zanele said nothing. “It’s not good. It’s a mixture of all sorts of stuff. Some common herbs and so on. But we’ve looked at it under a microscope, and I’m sure that it contains animal remains. There’s a reasonable chance they’re human.”

  Kubu looked around the table again, assessing how the team was taking this news. Samantha clasped her hands tightly in front of her and avoided his glance. Ian MacGregor looked as relaxed as usual. Mabaku frowned, obviously concerned about the new complications. The others looked uncomfortable or plainly scared.

  “We have to find out what it is and where it came from,” Kubu said. “We already have the dog’s head issue. Now we’re talking muti. There was always something about Marumo—­I admit I didn’t like him—­but there was a confidence that was unnatural. Definitely unnatural.”

  “You think it could link to motive?” Mabaku growled.

  Kubu shook his head. “Once you’re mixed up in this sort of stuff, it could be anything.”

  “You’re not suggesting a demon or a tokoloshe?” It was the beefy Detective Thibelo who asked this in a tentative voice.

  Kubu looked at him sharply. “No, of course not, we all know that’s nonsense.” He stopped and glanced at each of the other CID detectives in turn. He got several nods in response, but they didn’t meet his eyes. “But there could be witch doctors who need to be paid, maybe relatives seeking revenge, perhaps someone wanted to steal the so-­called magic. I don’t know. There are lots of possibilities now.”

  Mabaku looked unhappy. “We keep this quiet. You all understand? We don’t want to alert the culprit if there is a connection, and we certainly don’t want a media field day. Marumo supporters will say it’s a smear and link us to the government. This doesn’t go outside this room.”

  Kubu nodded firmly, but he wondered about it. ­People had seen him bring in the gourd; ­people had seen Zanele working with it. He was pretty sure it was already an open secret.

  “It may be the best lead we’ve got. Ian, can you get your friends in South Africa to help us get the DNA information quickly?”

  Ian nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.” He paused. “As for the autopsy, nothing unexpected there. One of the stab wounds went into the heart, as I thought. He would’ve died very soon after that.”

  “What have the rest of you got for two days’ work?” Mabaku’s tone suggested that it had better be something.

  Thibelo stuck up his hand. He’s regained some courage, Kubu thought.

  “We’ve done door-­to-­door.” He looked at his notes. “Not much to report, but one man noticed a beaten-­up blue Volks­wagen parked outside the Falcon Crest Suites. There’s a place there where you can pull off the road. It’s a short walk from Marumo’s house. He noticed it because it looked out of place. He thought perhaps it had broken down. He’d taken his dog for a walk, and when they came back the car was still there.”

  “What time was that?” Kubu asked.

  “He th
inks it was about seven when they came back.”

  “Any chance he remembered all or part of the registration number?”

  Thibelo shook his head. “He was sure it was a local number. But that’s all.”

  Kubu sighed. An old blue Volkswagen that might possibly be involved didn’t offer much to go on. Mabaku started to say the same thing, but Samantha interrupted.

  “I’m sorry, Director. It’s just . . . Well, it’s a really long shot, but . . .”

  “What?” asked Mabaku, irritated.

  Samantha hesitated. “I interviewed a man called Witness Maleng this morning. It was about the disappearance of his daughter. When I first arrived he seemed very nervous. I even had the feeling he might not talk to me. He calmed down a bit, but he was very bitter about his daughter. He felt the police hadn’t done enough soon enough to find her. I think he believes she’s been abducted for muti.”

  She paused, and Mabaku interjected, “You think he could be connected to Marumo because of the gourd?”

  Samantha nodded. “I was thinking about what Kubu said about relatives. And his car was a battered blue Volkswagen Golf.”

  Suddenly there was complete silence around the table. All were focused on the first distant scent of prey.

  Kubu shrugged. “Maybe he was nervous that you had bad news about his daughter. We don’t even know if the Volkswagen Golf was connected to the murder, and there must be dozens of them around.” Samantha started to protest, but Kubu held up his hand. “Having said that, it’s definitely worth following up. I’d like to do that right away.”

  Mabaku nodded. “I agree. As soon as we’ve finished.” He recalled the Daily News report that had run in the morning and turned to the detective who had been manning the phones. “Anything from the public on the hotline?”

  “Half the callers were sure the government was behind it,” the man replied. “Some just phoned to have their say. Then there were a few cranks. One confessed, but he didn’t even know where Marumo lived. We’ll follow up what we can.”

  So this is what we have, Kubu thought, a gourd of muti, a blue Volkswagen Golf near the scene, and a bereaved man. It was tenuous, but he had a hunch there was a connection.

  TWENTY-ONE

  IT TOOK WITNESS LESS than two hours to drive to Jwaneng. He turned off the Trans-­Kalahari Highway and followed a sign to the Circle Filling Station. He was pleased to see that it had a Chicken Licken fast-­food restaurant next to it.

  He put two hundred pula of gas into the car—­leaving him with less than a thousand. He asked the cashier to let him look up the number of the Jwaneng Mine in their phone directory. Then he called the mine, and the switchboard put him through to Human Resources. They said there were vacancies, and he arranged an interview for that afternoon at four o’clock. He felt his luck was about to change.

  It was not yet noon, so he decided to find a cool spot and try to sleep.

  WITNESS DOZED ON AND off until about an hour before his appointment. He returned to the gas station and used its toilet facilities to wash and tidy up as much as possible.

  Half an hour later he presented himself to the receptionist at Human Resources, filled out the usual paperwork, and waited for the interview. It was brief, and he was finished by 5 p.m. They would contact him in the next two days, he was told.

  Witness was in a quandary about what to do. Should he wait in Jwaneng until he heard whether he had the job—­working in the pit—­or should he drive to Orapa and apply there? The problem was that Orapa was about an eight-­hour drive, which would cost him a large portion of his remaining money.

  He decided to wait in Jwaneng, particularly since the man who had interviewed him seemed positive. He found a liquor store and bought two cartons of Shake Shake beer. Then he went to the Chicken Licken and walked out with a large order of LekkerBig chips and a packet of Soul Fire sauce. He drove around until he found a place, a little out of the way, where he could park for the night and sleep in his car.

  He hoped he would sleep better—­another night of Marumo’s terrified face popping into his mind would not be good.

  Still, he felt his luck had turned. He’d get the job at the mine and would disappear from sight.

  TWENTY-TWO

  KUBU AND SAMANTHA WAITED until about five before they left for Witness’s house; they decided to drive separately since Samantha lived close by. As Kubu followed Samantha’s old Toyota, he wondered what to expect from this man who had just lost a daughter. Could Witness Maleng have turned his grief into rage and then murder? And, if so, why Marumo? Or did he somehow know that Marumo had muti in his desk? Did he think some witch doctor had killed his daughter for Marumo? As for the blue Volkswagen, there were many on Gaborone’s streets. Was it just a coincidence that a car that looked like Witness’s was parked near Marumo’s house on the night of the murder? The man who reported the car hadn’t seen it in the neighborhood before.

  Kubu thought it unlikely that Witness was responsible for Marumo’s death, but they needed to check it out. After all, Mabaku was on a mission. If they left a single stone unturned, there’d be trouble.

  Kubu pulled in behind Samantha, climbed out of his Land Rover and joined her in front of the small house. The curtains were drawn, and there was no Volkswagen in the drive.

  They banged on Witness’s front door, but there was no response. They circled the house but the windows were closed.

  “Let’s check with the neighbors. You take that one. I’ll take this.” Kubu walked to one of the houses and knocked on the door, but there was no reply. He glanced at his watch. It was nearly half past five. Maybe they haven’t got back from work, he thought.

  He looked over to see how Samantha was faring. She was talking to an elderly woman, so he walked over to join them.

  “This is Mma Bule. She’s been at home all day,” Samantha said, closing her notebook. Kubu nodded as Samantha continued. “She saw me this morning, and says Maleng drove off after loading his car not long after I left. She doesn’t know where he was going.”

  “Dumela, Mma Bule,” Kubu said. “How’s Witness been since his daughter disappeared?”

  “Eish.” She shook her head. “I think the spirits are in him. Ever since Tombi didn’t come home, he’s been a different person. He loved her very much, and, after his wife’s death, this must be too much for him. Tombi was such a good girl. They were always happy together.”

  “How did his wife die?” Kubu asked.

  “Of the AIDS! They were very happy together, then she told him that she had it. Witness was very angry that she wouldn’t tell him how she got it. She died very quickly—­just over a year.”

  “Did he talk to you about who may have taken Tombi?”

  “No. Everyone tried to help, and we looked everywhere. It’s so sad. Then he started drinking, and many times I saw his friends bring him home late at night.”

  “Do you know where he went to drink?”

  “Everybody around here goes to BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL. It is a shebeen not far from here, on Letsopa Street.”

  Kubu glanced inquiringly at Samantha. She nodded. “I know where it is.”

  “AAII. HE WAS ANGRY. Sad and angry.” Big Mama wiped her brow with a dishcloth from behind the bar. “Until Tombi disappeared, he didn’t come here very often. Never drank very much and was always quiet. I think he preferred being at home.”

  Kubu and Samantha didn’t say anything.

  “But after Tombi couldn’t be found, he started coming here a lot. And drank too much. Sometimes he was so drunk that his friends had to take him home.” She looked at Kubu. “I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen. He drank and drank and would sometimes cry into his beer. It was so sad. He loved Tombi so much, especially after his wife died. She was all he had.”

  “Did he ever suspect anyone of taking Tombi?” Kubu asked. “Did he ever mention anyone who
might have done it?”

  Big Mama shook her head.

  “No. Eventually he thought someone must have put a curse on him. He said it was the only way to explain why a good man like him could lose everyone he loved.”

  “Did he suspect anyone?” Samantha asked.

  “No, but I suggested he visit Mma Gondo.”

  “Mma Gondo?” Samantha asked quietly. “Who’s she?”

  Big Mama looked at her curiously. “Everyone knows Mma Gondo. She’s a very powerful witch doctor.”

  Kubu stiffened, and Samantha inhaled sharply.

  “Big Mama,” Kubu said taking out his notebook, “tell me about Mma Gondo. Everything you know.”

  Big Mama pointed to a small table in the corner. “Sit there.”

  She then went through the door behind the counter.

  Kubu and Samantha looked at each other, then walked over to the table and sat down. A few moments later, Big Mama reemerged with a tray on which there were three plastic glasses, a pitcher of water, and a Tupperware container of ice cubes. She filled the three glasses, pushed the Tupperware container into the middle of the table, and sat down.

  “Help yourselves to ice.”

  She leaned back in the chair.

  “About a week after Tombi disappeared, Witness came to me and said he was convinced that someone had put a spell on him. There was no other reason that made sense. He was a good man, then his wife died, and now his daughter had disappeared. It had to be a spell.”

  She took a deep drink.

  “He wanted me to confirm this.”

  “Why you?” Kubu asked.

  “He thought I was a witch doctor. But I’m not. I’m a traditional healer. Anyway, I told him about Mma Gondo. Now she is a witch doctor—­a powerful one, known far and wide.”

  “Does she deal in muti?” Samantha interrupted.

  Kubu raised his hand, indicating that she should be patient.

  “Yes, she does. But not in human body parts, as far as I have heard. Animals, yes. Plants, yes. But not humans.”