Shooting Butterflies

by T. M. Clark

  ‘Mum, we should go back to Cape Town if he is here,’ Josha said.

  Tara ran her hand over her son’s cheek. ‘You weren’t supposed to hear that,’ she said, ‘But thank you, Josha, I think we are safer here. I think that Wayne, Jamison and all the game guards in Kujana can keep us safer on our own home ground.’

  ‘You could have a point there,’ Gabe said.

  Tara continued to rub her chest. Looking around a bit, scanning every face in the crowd.

  ‘When we leave here today, it would be good to have you checked out, Tara, make sure it’s just superficial bruising.’

  ‘What’s a doctor going to do?’ she asked.

  ‘Make sure there are no broken bones. Normal doctoring things,’ Gabe said.

  ‘I hate it when you are so practical,’ she said. ‘There is nothing broken as far as I can tell, just a bad bruise. I’ll take some Panado if it’s still sore then, and Wayne can rub some onika oil in later.’

  ‘When did you become Miss Tough Nut again? Oh wait, that was when you became a farmer’s wife, I remember that day …’

  She smiled at Gabe. ‘You should. It was just a few months ago and you walked me down that aisle!’

  ‘Oh yeah, that part I would never forget.’

  Tara smiled weakly. ‘Gabe,’ she said. ‘How feeble have I become that I’m sitting here inside hiding, and Wayne is out there tracking my own father’s killer? I should be strong and out there with them. He has been my burden all these years. It’s not fair that I have passed the problem onto Wayne.’

  ‘Not passed, shared. That’s what family does, Tara, they share good and bad,’ Gabe said.

  ‘Poor Wayne, I seem to be sharing more bad then good.’

  ‘Rubbish. The two of you look like a couple still on honeymoon. You are perfect for each other and I’m so glad that you got back together.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way, Gabe, you are still my best cousin in the whole wide world, and I wouldn’t have had this happiness if it wasn’t for you,’ Tara said.

  She watched as Gabe looked around too. Looking for a ghost from their past that was now haunting their future.

  ‘Gabe, I still can’t fathom just what the hell Buffel is doing with those girls,’ Tara said.

  ‘Jamison won’t tell me, he clams up every time I ask him. It’s like whatever is happening is so bad that a grown man can’t talk about it,’ Gabe said. ‘My gut is still telling me muti trade, a white man selling white human parts on the market … it’s plausible. Sangomas would come from far and wide to buy muti from him. A white Karoi.’

  Movement caught his eye at the front of the tent. ‘They’re back,’ Gabe said and she looked over to where Wayne and Moeketsi hurried towards them.

  She could read fear, stress and trouble on Wayne’s face.

  ‘Where is Jamison?’ she asked.

  ‘He took him. We saw him hit Jamison across his head with a thick stick, and toss him into the back of his bakkie. He got away,’ Wayne said. ‘We need the police to help us. He has kidnapped Jamison in front of witnesses now, we have proof to follow him to the ends of the earth.’

  CHAPTER

  29

  Radio Waves

  Hluhluwe Police Station, South Africa

  12:30pm

  The SAP sergeant behind the counter rubbed his chin. ‘Kidnapping. No, that happens in America, not here in Africa.’

  ‘He hit him over the head, and took off in his bakkie, I’d say that what he did was kidnapping,’ Wayne argued.

  The sergeant nodded.

  ‘He has my business partner, I gave you his numberplate, what more do you need to find him?’ Wayne asked.

  The sergeant scrounged around the counter looking for a pen.

  ‘Oh for Christ’s sake,’ Wayne swore. ‘We are not asking you to solve world peace, just stop him killing Jamison. We have to find him—’

  ‘We will. His bakkie is easy enough to spot with his Zimbabwe number plates,’ the policeman said. He took the piece of paper that Moeketsi had written the numberplate down on, and disappeared into the back room.

  ‘Why is it always so hard to get the police to move at anything other than Africa speed?’ Wayne complained.

  Gabe shrugged his shoulders, knowing it was a rhetorical question. ‘I’ll be with Tara and Josha in the truck. I know Moeketsi is with them, but I—’

  ‘Thank you, Gabe,’ Wayne said, putting his hand on Gabe’s shoulder. ‘It’s better with you there too. Can you make sure that Moeketsi has checked in on Ebony again. It’s been half an hour already, the extra guards should be at her house.’

  ‘Will do,’ Gabe said and he walked out the police station into the parking lot.

  He opened the door of the Mack truck. ‘No news from any truckers yet?’ he asked Moeketsi, as he climbed up and sat next to Josha.

  ‘Nothing. I’ll give it another five minutes then repeat the emergency call out. If that bakkie is in this area, they will close their net and someone will call it in. The truck drivers will want the reward for information that Wayne offered when he first radioed the details. Big cash offered just for spotting the bakkie and keeping tabs on it was a smart thing to do.’

  Gabe nodded. ‘Only it could create other problems for him further down the track—’

  The truck’s CB radio crackled and then an African voice shouted loud and clear into the cab.

  ‘Wild Translocations, Wild Translocations, this is Donkey Freight 1, come in—’

  Moeketsi reached for the mouthpiece. ‘Donkey Freight 1. Moeketsi from Wild Translocations here.’

  ‘Just saw that white bakkie with the Zim plates you guys were looking for, driving into your Kujana Farm driveway. I have pulled off and am watching that he doesn’t come out again.’

  ‘Thank you, Donkey Freight 1. Either wait now, and once we get there we can sort out your reward, or next time you are in the area, drop in. We will keep a beer cold for you.’

  ‘Counting on it! I have time. I’ll wait until I see you, just to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.’

  ‘See you soon. Thank you, Donkey. Wild out.’

  ‘Donkey out.’

  Gabe jumped out the truck and ran for the police station. He pushed the station door open. ‘He went to your place. Donkey Freight 1 just called his location in on the radio, Buffel turned into Kujana Farm!’

  The policeman pushed through the internal door speaking at the same time. ‘That registration comes back to a Kirchman Bernard Potgieter.’

  ‘Thank God,’ Wayne said. ‘Who?’

  ‘So you found him?’ the policeman asked, both speaking over each other again.

  ‘Kirchman Bernard Potgieter,’ the policeman repeated. ‘No Buffel in his name.’

  Wayne looked at the policeman. ‘Okay, thank you.’ He took a moment, then added. ‘And yes, the truckers came through for us, they have located him. Now get your vans to Kujana Farm, we are going to need help to stop a murder!’

  Together Wayne and Gabe sprinted back to the trucks.

  Wayne didn’t need to open the driver’s door, because Moeketsi was busy jumping out. He already had the engine started and running for him.

  ‘Thanks,’ Wayne said as he climbed in, and Moeketsi slammed his door.

  ‘You okay back there, Tara?’

  ‘Dandy. Always wanted to be hunted like an animal, kicked in the chest and travel at high speed in a huge Mack truck. Just get home so we can save Jamison.’

  Wayne smiled. This was the woman he knew. The woman he loved. The fighter. The one whose dry sense of humour made him laugh at inappropriate times.

  His wife.

  He glanced at the gold ring on his own third finger, that she had so recently put there, and he couldn’t help but smile. They were together now, and they were living their happy ever after they should have been allowed to choose when they were just teenagers and in love.

  He heard Gabe close the passenger side door. ‘All aboard?’ Wayne asked as he put the truc
k in gear and took off. ‘Josha, how are you holding up?’

  ‘Fine,’ Josha said, sitting in the middle seat between his dad and Gabe.

  ‘Would you like to hail Ebony on the radio for me?’

  Josha grabbed the CB and called on their private channel. ‘Wild Translocations home base two.’

  ‘Home base two,’ Ebony said, obviously waiting by the radio for some news on Jamison.

  Josha passed the mouthpiece to Wayne.

  ‘Ebony, keep your house locked up and the alarm switched on. Stay inside. Buffel is on his way into Kujana. I’m hoping that the police will not be that far behind us. We just left the station. Only they called him Kirchman Bernard Potgieter, not Buffel.’

  ‘Okay,’ Ebony said.

  ‘Hang in there, Eb, we will get him back—’

  ‘I know,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Those extra guards should be at your home, Ebony, you know those men. They are all black, don’t shoot them. Don’t let any white man in that house, Eb, even if he says he is the police. Wait for us.’

  ‘I know him,’ she said softly. ‘I won’t let him in.’

  They heard a child start to cry in the background and then someone else soothed it.

  ‘Ebony, who is inside your house with you?’ Wayne asked.

  ‘Your mother. She has been listening in on her CB radio, and she put your ridgebacks in her Mercedes Benz and drove down the farm road and came to be with me.’

  ‘My mother?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, she wanted to help. I have your dogs inside my fence and I gave her the kids to look after while I got everything else ready.’

  ‘Ebony, you are a genius. Hang in there. Stay safe.’

  ‘Oh Wayne, your mother said she knows how to use a weapon, I’m assuming that giving her a hunting rifle would be alright.’

  Wayne smiled. ‘I don’t remember her ever shooting, but that’s not to say she doesn’t know how to use a weapon … I wasn’t always at home—’

  ‘Hurry, Wayne,’ Ebony said.

  ‘I’m pushing, Eb, we are flying, believe me. We’ll get there in no time.’

  He handed Josha the mouthpiece, and put both hands on the steering wheel. The junction in the road to turn off left towards the farm was coming up, and he needed both hands and to use his exhaust breaks to slow considerably to navigate it safely. Despite the urgency to get home to Kujana, he had his family in the truck with him and they were precious to him. The Mack slowed down to a crawl and rounded the steep turn, then Wayne pushed his foot on the accelerator and picked up speed again, quickly passing the speed limit.

  Suddenly Gabe snapped his finger. ‘The connection, I know the connection. I got it, Tara, I found the connection. It’s so him! The link as to why Buffel could so be the same man who is killing the girls now, because he saw a killing like that when he was just a kid.’

  ‘What?’ she asked from the back.

  Gabe turned towards her. ‘Impendla. I knew that name. He’s one of the dead children mentioned in that newspaper cutting. Now the police have called Buffel by his whole name, Kirchman Bernard Potgieter, it makes perfect sense. Kirchman Bernard Potgieter – the mission reverend’s child – was the survivor who didn’t get used in the tree ritual from that article that I found when I first worked in the Bulawayo paper. The old one from 1946 about native witchcraft and sacrificing children in the Karoi area when a chief died, and hanging them in a tree.’

  ‘So why would he kill the girls?’ Wayne asked.

  Tara said, ‘It all fits. When Jamison told us of his cousin Gibson watching him, he said Gibson spoke of his mumblings, of wanting the butterfly to save Impendla. In his own warped way, he probably believes that by replicating the ritual he witnessed, that this boy Impendla was involved in, he would save his friend. Save his soul, help him cross over to the light, the other side to be with the ancestors. The belief in the afterlife is strong in the black community in Zimbabwe, perhaps Buffel was influenced more by that than his father’s Christian ways.’

  ‘You knew this man’s name all this time, Gabe?’ Wayne said.

  ‘No. No one called him that when we were growing up, it was always just Buffel. I never put two plus two together. That he was the young missionary’s son. The big neighbour from next door. We were kids, Tara was twelve and I was twenty. We didn’t have the training or experience we do now. But if it is him, only he knows where the missing girls are, or what happened to them,’ Gabe said.

  ‘Shit,’ Wayne said.

  CHAPTER

  30

  Bunkering Down

  Kujana Farm, Hluhluwe, South Africa

  12:30pm

  Buffel hated being disorganised.

  He hated spur of the moment decisions without planning.

  Taking Shilo in front of everyone had been one of those moments.

  If only that farmer and Shilo hadn’t chased him.

  He’d only gone to the auction to check the information he had was correct. Then he was going to stake out their ranch and learn the routines.

  He wasn’t ready for a confrontation.

  He had been spooked when they had recognised him in the tent and given chase. His impromptu kamikaze escape had almost worked. Except Shilo had taken him by surprise when he charged him by his bakkie. He didn’t think Shilo had it in him to take him on, in hand-to-hand combat. Shilo knew his strength, and even at sixty-three he was a stronger man than most.

  He had underestimated Shilo’s determination and rage. Grabbing a stick from the back and knocking him out had been his only choice. But then he had thought that if he had Shilo, then the farmer would follow, and that he would bring Tara with him.

  He would get his Butterfly for Impendla.

  So he had lifted Shilo into his bakkie and driven away.

  The only place he knew that the man would follow and bring The Butterfly was Kujana Farm. He already knew the way there. He had stopped on the side of the road and tied Shilo up by both his hands and his feet before moving him to the front seat. Shilo had started to groan and wake while he was tying him tightly to the passenger seat.

  He cursed that Shilo was too big to fit in the hidden compartment under the back seat where he’d smuggled his little butterflies through the border posts.

  He began the drive towards Kujana Farm.

  Shilo groaned again.

  ‘Shut up, quit moaning like that!’ Buffel said.

  ‘Shit, Buffel, you son of a bitch. What the—’ Shilo surfaced enough to realise he was tied up. Tight. ‘You fucking lunatic. Untie me. Let me go!’ But as he struggled, he hit his head on the headrest, and groaned at the pain.

  ‘I should have hit you harder across that thick head you savage good-for-nothing kaffir. Then I wouldn’t have to listen to your voice,’ Buffel muttered.

  ‘Any harder and I would have been dead,’ Shilo said as he attempted to move against the rope that held him to the chair.

  ‘You might still get your wish. Stay still, man. Wriggling is not going to loosen that rope.’

  ‘Fuck it, Buffel! Get these bladdy ropes off me. I know what you do with people you take hostage. No fucking way are you doing that to me!’

  ‘I remember it like it was yesterday! Now shut up before I shut you the fuck up!’

  ‘Buffel, stop this bakkie and let me out. You can’t do this, people would have seen you at the auction, the police will get involved. This can’t end well for you. Think, man, this is not the type of thing you do, you plan things. Untie me!’

  ‘I just want The Butterfly. Then Impendla can cross over and be with his ancestors. He will bring her with him to save you.’

  ‘The Butterfly? Tara? You can’t still be after her all these years?’ Shilo asked.

  Buffel rocked in his seat as he drove. ‘The Butterfly. I need her to set Impendla free.’ He looked across at Shilo.

  ‘Who is Impendla, for God’s sake?’

  ‘He was taken. The Karoi, she killed him. She hung him …’ Buffel’s voice dro
pped off as if speaking the words pained him too much to talk.

  ‘Buffel, you can stop this, you can end it. Let me go. Piss off back to Zimbabwe. I haven’t broken my oath. All these years, I haven’t talked. I never told anyone your name. No one needs to know, just leave me here on the road. Let me go!’

  ‘But you might. You still might. Now stop talking,’ Buffel said, ‘before I stuff something in your mouth to shut you up or better yet, I can stop and get the tranqs from my hunting bag.’

  Buffel thought about the tranquillisers, how he might need to adjust the dose for Shilo. The shots he gave the girls when he took them to accompany Impendla would be too weak.

  The first girl he had given the tranquiliser to in Cape Town had died too quickly, and he had learnt to decrease the dosage, keeping the girls barely alive, silent and immobilised as they were hidden in his bakkie beneath his seat, with the sheep he was transporting covering any noise or smell they made, until he could take them to his shrine. Only there could he spill their blood. Only where it was sacred for Impendla.

  He had learnt that a child couldn’t have as much of the chemicals as a wild animal.

  Soon he might need to give a similar amount to Shilo. He didn’t want to kill him just yet.

  He wanted Shilo alive.

  ‘Why are we going towards my farm?’ Shilo asked, breaking into Buffel’s thoughts.

  ‘He will bring The Butterfly home,’ Buffel said.

  There was a long silence. Then Shilo spoke, ‘No. Buffel, listen to me. Wayne is a Recce. A true fucking Recce, an operative, not a desk jock. You know their reputation. They are legendary for being fucking psychos. Do you seriously think that he will let you get away with this? He will never let Tara go, you won’t get her. Stop the bakkie. Don’t try and fight Wayne for Tara. It won’t work. He will kill you!’

  Buffel stopped the bakkie again on the side of the road. He grabbed a rag out of the side panel in the door as he got out and walked around to the passenger side. He climbed in the back, and put the rag over the top of the seat, and against Shilo’s mouth.