“I just have a little more rubbish for you to dispose of, that’s all. I can make it worth your efforts.”
“I told you. No more. No.”
“What? You don’t like money no more?”
Mhlongo fidgeted, feeling the knife he always kept sheathed in his pant leg. “I don’t want to deal with your kind.”
“You think you be something special?”
Mhlongo sneered.
Sy continued his probing. “What is wrong with my kind?”
“I don’t want nothing to do with the people moving you’re doing. What you do it has no respect in it.”
“Oh, so you are so mighty. Killing all the animals is okay. I could call the park and your precious respect would be gone.” Sy adjusted his flat cap lower across his black eyebrows and held his hand to his ear like a telephone.
“I’m sure the baas would believe an old drug runner.” Mhlongo fingered the knife.
“Don’t even think about pulling that thing out and sticking me. You and me, we’re the same. We want something and don’t let anything stop us.” Sy gave a rough, mirthless laugh. “You don’t want to make an enemy of me.”
“No. I just don’t want to do your work.”
“Last time you was happy to. Does your precious buyer and smuggler know you left a body in the veldt?”
Mhlongo shrugged and narrowed his eyes. “That was your doing too.”
“That photo man had sniffed around my, uh, storage shed. He saw you killing animals in your uniform. See? We are just alike. It was good for everyone. You helped us both.”
Mhlongo didn’t answer.
“You made me a big favor that day, Mhlongo. I am grateful. Now, I just want a little help once more.”
“Go dump your ‘rubbish’ off Crocodile Bridge yourself.”
“What if a patrol comes by?” Sy tried to sound innocent but Mhlongo wasn’t fooled.
“Alright. There’s a predators’ route off the S84 on a dirt road. But do it yourself. No one has taken pictures of me this time.” Mhlongo turned and stalked away despite Sy’s protests.
Chapter 9
Sounds of stirring in the campgrounds woke Tabitha. Reality returned sharp and bright. The idea of death cut through her consciousness and she groaned.
According to Uncle Phillip’s calendar, she had a morning meeting with the assistant park director. He was second in command to the park’s first black director. She needed this interview and the others today that would give her enough information to put together the first round of stories. Maybe one of these people would have information that could help her see what Phillip had been doing last week that led to his death. Besides, Uncle Phillip would want her to meet the deadlines despite what had happened. He wouldn’t want her to give up. She chewed her lip as she bent to wash her face. It was the thought of the picture/story package which brought her back to the missing images. He’d been here for nine or ten days. If he only shot ten rolls a day, somewhere around a hundred rolls had evaporated. And that would be a conservative estimate. They certainly hadn’t walked off into the bush. She needed to find them, or an explanation. His final artistic work deserved some recognition.
As she got dressed for the day, she thought through the questions she’d ask at the interviews. She used a hot washcloth to try to remove the majority of the wrinkles from her clothes—a long khaki cotton skirt with an orange band around the hem, and a cream blouse. A business suit didn’t seem appropriate for the safari atmosphere, so she hadn’t brought one.
The morning air was humid but not unpleasant. Tabitha fidgeted in her bag with her notebooks and pens as she walked across the campgrounds. She’d done many interviews, but she’d expected Phillip to be around for moral support. She didn’t have much appetite but she stopped for an essential coffee on the camp patio, then made her way to administration and found the office of the assistant director, Thaddius Mpande. Like the other offices she’d seen, Mpande’s had the same white institutional linoleum tiles on the floor and dusty green on the walls. The large painting of a leopard on one wall, more windows and a bigger metal desk showed the man had more power in the authority chain than the owners of the other offices. She smoothed her shirt and sat straighter in her chair. She could do this.
Mr. Mpande arrived a half hour later and Tabitha set about the interview, though half of her mind was distracted with the events of the last few days. She was glad she’d brought her recorder, so it could catch what she missed when her attention strayed. After talking about camp policy and tourism, Tabitha asked about the conservation group, the Schopenhauer Factor, that Phillip had encountered.
Mpande turned frosty immediately. “I’d rather not comment on the Schopenhauer group.”
“Why?” Her curiosity was piqued by his resistance.
“Off the record?”
Tabitha nodded. She had to get more information to get started, even if she couldn’t cite a source yet. She just wanted to feature the group for a conservation magazine as Phillip’s email had indicated. His resistance made her wonder what lay behind it.
“They cause problems for the park. I know they mean well, but they don’t offer us any solutions for their complaints. We must not cull elephants nor move them, and yet we have too many for the environment to be healthy for them. We must not put up fences, then the animals are endangered from vehicles and power lines and angry farmers. We must not sell ivory from the animals who die in the park naturally because it will cause poaching, but we have stockpiles of ivory and need money to maintain the park.”
“I thought that had been relaxed recently?”
“It has. We were allowed to sell some small shipments of ivory, but the Schopenhauers were exceedingly difficult, staging protests and challenging our every move in court. We have not received permission for another sale. They don’t seem to realize we are doing our best for the animals in Kruger.” He pressed his lips together and looked away from her. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Tabitha saw that this was a sore subject and it was closed. She’d find a way to find out more elsewhere. She turned to her personal needs.
“Mr. Mpande, I’m not sure if you’re aware that my partner on this trip was found….” She didn’t know how to phrase this. “Did you see Phillip when he asked for the appointment?”
“No, I’m sure I didn’t.” That was no help, Tabitha thought.
“He went missing a few days ago, and I thought perhaps you had some paperwork for me.”
“Ah, yes. I know about this situation. I am very sorry for your loss. I’m sorry we don’t have anything in yet, so I do not have the paperwork for you.” He shrugged apologetically. “It should be very soon.”
She sucked in her cheeks and fought against voicing her irritation. Was “soon” a euphemism for never? A man was dead. She took a deep breath and said neutrally, “I also spoke to Souli about some help to fulfill our contracts. Possibly Daniel, from hospitality?”
“Oh, my. Yes, I’m sure something could be arranged.”
“I need a little help tracking animals and doing some photographing. I’m afraid I need to do that work myself since Phillip is gone and all his film and digital cards seem to be missing. Do you have any information on that?” She cleared her throat and swallowed hard, thinking of Phillip’s beautiful work.
“What are you accusing the park of doing?” Mpande turned testy.
“I just want the film or the cameras, okay? I don’t know where they are and I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”
He seemed placated. “It is highly irregular for things to go missing. We are very careful with our employees.” Mpande began to drum his fingers on the desk. The door behind Tabitha opened and a shy African face poked in through the crack.
“I’m sorry, sir, but there are reports that a poacher has been killed in the N’waswitsontso. The guides are asking for you.”
Mr. Mpande sighed. “What was it this time?”
“They think maybe the
crocodiles, sir.”
Crocodiles? Tabitha felt the coffee in her stomach lurch.
Mpande said, “Okay, thank you. I’ll be to the radio directly.” He passed a hand across his forehead and gave Tabitha a grim smile.
“I’m sorry to interrupt our meeting, Miss. I can arrange something for you tomorrow, yes?”
“Yes, yes, that’s fine. Does this happen often?” Tabitha pointed towards the now closed door.
“Not necessarily, but often the people who are trying to interfere with the wildlife are not experienced animal handlers, and the potential for disaster is very great.” He rose to leave.
Tabitha followed. “I’ll just tag along and see how you handle an emergency at the park.”
“Oh, that’s not necess—”
“No, I’d like to. I want to.” Tabitha used her most authoritative voice as she looked up at the man towering over her in his green park uniform.
“Suit yourself, but you must ask me before you write anything about this.” His dark eyes met hers and she nodded. Tabitha felt a skip of her heart. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to find out.
He rushed off and Tabitha stretched her short legs to keep up. The radio dispatch office was surrounded by glass windows and featured an old-style radio microphone with a button on the side of the bulky base. A rapid-fire discussion ensued over the radio but was conducted in a language Tabitha didn’t know. Was that intentional?
Mpande slapped the metal table, making Tabitha jump, then let out a string of commands. She wondered if this was the way it had been when they found Uncle Phillip. She backed out of the room. Suddenly, the air suffocated her. She wished she hadn’t come.
Mr. Mpande joined her in the anteroom after a few minutes and she asked him, “How many people do you lose out here a month?”
“Oh, this is very unusual. It has been quite some time since we have had a killing in the park. Now two in one week.” He shook his head.
“When was the last one?” Tabitha took a step back, horrified at her morbid curiosity.
“Mmm. It has been some time, I think.” He didn’t meet her eye. “This,” he gestured toward the radio and the large map on the wall above it, “was likely an illegal immigrant crossing our border with Mozambique. They just walk in sometimes, and we can’t guard every kilometer. It’s sad. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go make some calls. You can find your way out?”
“Yes, yes. I’ll be fine.” She followed Mpande into the hall, looking back at the radio room and the map hanging on the wall. Several red Xs dotted the map, along with a host of taped up notes and arrows.
In truth, Tabitha didn’t know her way out, but she figured it might be interesting to see what there was to see. She wandered through several hallways, peeking in doorways and marshaling her confidence to look like she belonged, even though she was conspicuous without a park uniform. She circled back past the radio lounge and looked at the map again through the window. The scribbles and arrows seemed like animal tracking notes. In places, she could make out animal names: lion, hyena family. The red marks were less frequent than the blue arrows. Five red Xs. If they indicated human death, Mr. Mpande wasn’t as forthcoming as he seemed. It had to be poor PR to have a guest nabbed every now and then, or even to lose an occasional illegal immigrant. She stared long enough to see the initials PA by one of the marks. Phillip Adkins? It was at the end of a road not far from the camp. A dead end in more ways than one.
<><><>
Thaddius Mpande ripped the phone handle from its cradle and bashed the numbers with his large finger. He gripped the receiver hard, his hand throbbing. “Souli?”
“Yes, sir.”
“There is a problem developing,” Mpande said.
“Problem?”
“We’ve got another one down on the N’waswitsontso, and we’ve got the bloody journalist with the man last week asking questions and nosing in.”
Souli made a clicking sound with his tongue in answer to Mpande’s disturbing information.
“I can’t have her jeopardizing the entire investigation.”
“She won’t. She doesn’t even know. It’s okay. Not to worry.”
“No, I am worried.” Mpande chewed the inside of his cheek. “I think we should follow her and make sure she can’t interfere, doesn’t interfere.”
“You think this is necessary? I am thinking it may be too much,” Souli said.
“No. I don’t care what you have to do to the work roster, but you must put someone onto her.”
“I do not think the director would like it.”
Mpande spoke louder than necessary. “I am the director when he is away. Do you understand this?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. No need to trouble yourself, boss.”
Mpande ran a hand across his eyes. “Sorry, Souli. There is much pressure on me these days. Just have someone watch her from a distance.”
“Maybe I will do this thing myself. I think we can spread our facts out among too many people, and it will not be good for us.”
“Okay, okay. Just watch her.”
Chapter 10
Mhlongo wisely stayed on the ground where Pieter had knocked him, waiting to see what Pieter would do next. He touched his lip and his hand came away with blood on it. “Baas, he was a danger to our operation. He took pictures.”
Pieter growled incoherently and kicked Mhlongo where he lay. He swore in his native Dutch. He kicked again then walked away, running his fingers through his sun-lightened hair.
“How did you find out?” Mhlongo asked, as if it were a casual conversation.
“I have my sources,” Pieter said emphasizing the word my, his back still to Mhlongo. When he had heard the news of the photographer’s death, he knew it had been Mhlongo. The man was a rogue. He wished he didn’t need him at the moment. First he got the truck involved with Sy, with his drugs, and now this. Pieter longed for the days when poaching was only animals and there weren’t characters like Sy lurking about to prey upon everyone with a beating heart and no compunctions. Pieter had to get out before it was too late.
“No more bodies without my permission. Do you understand? What language do I need to speak to you? Do you understand me?”
Mhlongo narrowed his eyes but nodded.
“Once I leave the country with the shipment, I don’t care who you kill or who you work with when I’m not here. For now, I need your undivided attention and,” he raised his voice, “obedience!” He turned and glared down at Mhlongo. “I’m not above killing you if it saves my operation.”
He kicked Mhlongo again and heard a satisfying gasp from the tough little bantu. Pieter walked to his bakkie and called back, “And I want half of whatever Sy gave you. It’s myMY lorry.” He slammed the door and drove off in a spray of dust.
Chapter 11
“Daniel,” Tabitha called across the campground. “Daniel.” He was outside the library, walking away from her. The camera bag weighed her down as she tried to jog. How on earth did Phillip do it? Of course he probably weighed at least a hundred pounds more than Tabitha’s petite 112. “Daniel!”
This time the large man turned. He recognized her with a wide grin and came towards her. “Oh, Miss. I thought I heard my name.”
Tabitha caught up to him, gasping for breath. “I wanted to catch you this morning to see if anyone talked to you.” She bent forward to lower the bags and suck in a lungful of air.
“I was going to the office to find out which rondavel you were in. I have been assigned to assist you today.”
“Oh, that’s terrific.” She tried to even her breathing. Apparently she was more out of shape than she’d realized.
“Shall I?” He gestured to the bags.
“Here, take this one. I can do my fair share.” Tabitha released her hair, which was pinned under the camera bag strap.
“What is it you wish to photograph out there?”
“I guess a little of everything, since my uncle’s film is all gone. I need animals of course, some t
ourists doing the safari thing. Maybe a few guides.”
“His film is gone? What is this?”
“I don’t know. I’ve looked everywhere I can imagine, but his film is missing, along with his new digital camera and cards. It doesn’t make sense to me that his cameras would be in their bags, but the film not be somewhere obvious. Plus the digital equipment is missing. That’s definitely suspicious.”
Daniel nodded and looked thoughtful, but said nothing.
They approached the rental truck near the thatched main office, where Tabitha had left it the previous night. She tossed Daniel the keys and jumped in.
Daniel waved to a fellow employee as he pulled the truck from the camp. “Is it possible that he would have taken the film to a shop for processing?”
“I suppose, but it’s slide film. He couldn’t do it here in the park. He would have had to go into a city, but he wouldn’t have left the film bags there too. That doesn’t sound right.” Tabitha creased her forehead. It might be worth finding the nearest processor.
“No, I see your point.” They drove in silence for a few moments. Daniel turned off the road and shut off the engine. Tabitha looked up from loading film in a camera. At first, she didn’t see the Cape buffalo. He had sculpted out a space in the crisp shrubs beside the road. One horn had broken off.
“They are very dangerous,” Daniel whispered.
Tabitha tried to balance the 300mm lens on the edge of the car door with its monopod leg. She shot a couple of frames, hoping and praying some of the settings were correct. She really wanted a vertical shot of this guy’s big frame nestled in the brown sticks of the vegetation. The lens slipped as she rotated it and banged against the car frame with the screech of metal on metal. Tabitha flinched. The Cape buffalo snorted. Daniel started the car and backed a few yards further away from the creature.
Killed in Kruger Page 4