Deadly Harvest: A Detective Kubu Mystery

by Michael Stanley

  Kubu took the piece of paper from Mabaku and headed to his office.

  He immediately phoned Forensics and asked to be put through to Helenka Koslov, a young Russian woman who had emigrated to Africa both for its wildness and its warmth. Forensics immediately saw the benefits of having an outstanding IT person on its staff and hired her right away. Her skills had already been used to convict several people on identity-theft charges, as well as one potential bank robber, who had left an electronic trail as obvious as a herd of elephants.

  “Yes?” Helenka said as she answered the phone.

  “Helenka,” Kubu replied, “this is Assistant Superintendent Bengu.”

  “Ah, yes. What can I do for you?”

  “What can you tell me about Hushmail?”

  “You have lover you want to talk to privately, no?”

  Kubu laughed. “I’m afraid not. This Hushmail may be a clue in a case we’re working on.”

  “Okay.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “You use Hushmail if you don’t want others to know about your e-mails. It is very easy to read most people’s ordinary e-mails without difficulty. Hushmail encrypts e-mail and attachments using PGP encryption, so if e-mail is intercepted, it cannot be read unless reader also has access to sender’s private password. This type of service is very popular in countries, like Russia, where government scans many e-mails. Companies also use Hushmail to exchange trade secrets.”

  “The e-mails must be stored somewhere. Couldn’t we get access to them there?”

  “It is possible, but difficult. If I remember, the company is in Vancouver, Canada. You would have to get court order from there to make company to release information. That might be difficult and take long time.”

  “And would they know the real identity of the owner of the e-mail address?”

  “No. Not that even. But could tell you IP addresses of computers sending and receiving messages. IP address is, well, it’s sort of like serial number that computer tells them.”

  Kubu wasn’t a computer expert, but he thought he understood how this worked.

  “If I had a lover with a Hushmail address, would I send her an e-mail from my computer or would I have to sign into Hushmail or would I go to an Internet café?”

  “Ah. Good question. You can send e-mail from your computer. But dangerous because wife could find e-mail in Sent folder. But if you delete it from Sent folder, wife find nothing. But police can find it from ISP if you use their e-mail, even if you delete it. But need search warrant. You know what is ISP?”

  “Yes, Internet service provider,” Kubu answered, trying to keep track of all the alternatives.

  “But, if you use Hotmail or Gmail, more difficult,” Helenka continued. “Police can find e-mail but have to get court order to go to Microsoft or Google. In USA. Take time.”

  “And can someone find out if I have a Hushmail account?”

  “Of course. Local ISP will know you access Hushmail. But won’t know contents of e-mail.”

  “What about if I use an Internet café?”

  “Same as home, except have to know you went there. You still use local or overseas e-mail account. Or Hushmail.”

  Kubu thought for a few minutes. “So, if someone sends an e-mail to a Hushmail address, we have to get a court order in Canada to get any details of who reads it. Right?”

  “Yes. Any more questions?” Helenka was obviously eager to hang up.

  “No more questions, Helenka,” Kubu replied. “But please talk to Detective Khama and prepare an application for a court order in Canada, in case we need it. I’ll e-mail you the Hushmail address.”

  “Okay.”

  “Thanks for your help. I may have more questions later.”

  “Okay,” she said again and hung up.

  Kubu pondered what he had heard and wondered whether he should send an e-mail to the witch doctor from his private e-mail asking for a consultation. After a few minutes’ thought, he decided against it, because it would likely alert the witch doctor that his e-mail scheme had been found out.

  THE CALL CAME AT precisely 4 p.m. Deputy Commissioner Gobey hadn’t expected that. He’d expected the ring in the dark hours of the morning when, perhaps, he’d finally drifted into sleep. He picked up the cell phone, noted the number as private, and answered.

  “Gobey.”

  “Yes. Why, Gobey? Why did you do it?” The voice was cool, almost a whisper, appearing just vaguely interested in the answer.

  Gobey recognized the voice at once. Adrenaline flowed, but he kept his voice calm as he quickly walked through to his PA’s office.

  “Do what? I came to the meeting as arranged. But you weren’t there.”

  He picked up the PA’s pen and scribbled on her blotter: “Trace.”

  “Don’t play games with me, Gobey. You knew you were followed. By the police.”

  “Followed? The police?” Gobey tried to sound surprised. He had to keep the witch doctor talking. Soon they would know where the call originated, and a police vehicle would be on the way.

  “You think I don’t know?” There was a laugh. It started like a deep chuckle but finished as something that should never come from a human throat. Gobey’s skin crawled.

  “I know everything,” the voice continued. “I know where you are, what you’re doing. Everything. Perhaps one of your own people is watching you for me. Or, maybe, it isn’t a person at all.” The laugh came again.

  “What are you talking about? I came to the meeting. Waited as always. But you didn’t appear, so eventually I came home. That’s what happened.” He had to keep the conversation going, had to give them time.

  There was a moment’s pause, and the response when it came was almost sad. “You’re waiting for them to trace this call, aren’t you, Gobey? You’re pathetic. Now listen carefully.” There was another pause, and then the voice said, much more loudly, “I don’t need you anymore, Gobey. Do you understand? I don’t need you anymore.”

  Gobey felt that the phone had become a live thing, writhing in his hand. He nearly dropped it. He wanted to disconnect the call, but he knew he shouldn’t. And the voice came again, “I don’t need you anymore.” Then the connection was broken.

  Gobey dropped the phone and rushed to his secretary.

  “Did they get it?”

  She was speaking to someone on the phone but covered the mouthpiece and turned to him.

  “The call came from a public phone in Africa Mall. A police car is nearly there.” She turned her attention back to the phone.

  Africa Mall! Right downtown! So close. Gobey collapsed into the visitor’s chair and waited. But he knew the witch doctor wouldn’t be there. Knew he would vanish. He wouldn’t be walking around dressed in an animal skin and a mask. He would fade into the shopping crowds. No one would know where to look. Gobey waited a few minutes that seemed endless. At last she turned back to him.

  “They grabbed a man at the phone, but he was the next caller. But he remembered the man who was there before him. They’re getting a description. And checking for other witnesses.”

  Gobey nodded. He knew the value of casual eyewitnesses. They would get more from his own description of the man, even dressed in his witch doctor camouflage.

  “Get onto Assistant Superintendent Bengu and tell him what happened. He should talk to the witness and check if there are any CCTVs around.” Then he walked back to his office and collapsed into his desk chair. His breathing, never easy, became labored. He reached for his inhaler, took a couple of puffs, and tried to calm down. He looked around his office, recalling the witch doctor’s words. He coughed and spotted his cell phone discarded on the desk. He doesn’t need me anymore, he thought. I’ll change the number, but he won’t call again. He doesn’t need me anymore.

  He gathered some papers and shoved them into his briefcase, closed down his computer, and grabbed his jacket.

  “Lori, I’m going home. I don’t feel too well. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  The PA looked at
him with concern. “Yes, of course, rra. I’ll arrange everything. I hope you feel better for the weekend.”

  Gobey nodded, tried to smile, and left.

  HE HAD JUST TURNED into the main road when his phone rang again. He checked the number and switched the call to his hands-free car kit.

  “Hello, Bengu.”

  “Dumela, Deputy Commissioner. I’m following up on the call from the witch doctor. Can I ask you a few questions?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Would you tell me exactly what he said? It’ll take a while to get the recording.”

  Gobey told him.

  “What did he mean by ‘I don’t need you anymore’?”

  Gobey shook his head. “I’ve no idea.” But a cold wave ran up his spine. “Have you traced the owner of that house?”

  “The registered owner thinks it’s empty. He was pretty upset that someone was using it.”

  “Was he telling the truth?”

  “I think so.”

  “Where could he have been? He obviously watched and saw that I was being followed. That’s why he always comes after you’ve been waiting for a while. He—or some helper—is checking. We should’ve been more careful.”

  “We didn’t realize he was that clever. But we’ll get him. He had to walk to the shack; you said there was no car there the other times. Someone will have noticed him.”

  “It won’t do me any good.” Why did I say that? Gobey asked himself. Suddenly he had an overwhelming feeling that something was watching him from the backseat. The feeling was so strong that he turned at once and was surprised to see the seat empty. When he turned back to the road, a truck had cut in front of him, and he had to slam on the brakes. His tires screeched.

  “Bengu, I’m in traffic. I need to concentrate. Call me later if there’s anything else.” He cut the connection.

  He was sweating and wheezing. The shock of the truck, he thought. And the thing in the back . . . He shook his head. Nothing was in the back. But his skin crawled.

  He dug in his pocket for the inhaler.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  “THE WITCH DOCTOR HAD to get to the house, which means he either drove or walked. Somebody had to see him.” Kubu wrestled with the wheel of the Land Rover as one of the front wheels hit a deep pothole.

  “You still believe your informant?” Samantha asked. “I think his story was just a setup to deflect attention from himself. Have you checked him out?”

  “Yes, we’ve checked him out and believe he’s telling the truth.”

  “And you still can’t tell me who he is?”

  “Unfortunately I can’t. I tried to include you but wasn’t able to. He made it absolutely clear that if anyone else knew about his involvement, he’d refuse to provide us with any information. Director Mabaku reluctantly agreed to that.”

  “A high-up man, that’s what’s clear to me.”

  Kubu didn’t reply. He’d spotted the house he was looking for and was happy to change the subject.

  “There’s the house we’re told the witch doctor uses. We’ll park around the corner and walk to it. I picked up the key from the owner earlier this morning. Zanele should be here soon. I suggested that she come alone, not with the whole team.” He paused. “Not that it makes much difference after Wednesday night.”

  He parked, and they walked the few hundred yards to the house. Next to the front door was a light with a naked bulb. Kubu looked at it carefully.

  “The bulb is okay,” he said. “Maybe that’s what he uses to signal his clients to come in.”

  When Kubu tried to unlock the door, the key didn’t work.

  “He’s changed the lock,” he said. “Damn!”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Let’s take a look.” Kubu walked slowly around the small house, carefully avoiding a footprint in the sand near the back door. He pulled out a small camera and photographed it. There were also tire tracks nearby. Kubu photographed those, too. Then he tried the key in the back door, but it didn’t work. All the windows were shut and apparently covered with heavy blinds. It was impossible to see in.

  “I’m going to call the owner.” Kubu pulled out his notebook and flipped through it until he found what he wanted. Then he took his cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

  “Rra Mogwe? This is Assistant Superintendent Bengu again. I’m at the house, but I think the locks have been changed.” He paused to listen. “Are you sure? Thank you. I’ll let you know what I find.”

  He hung up and walked once again to the back door. “He says the back door has always had a suspect strike plate. He says a good kick will dislodge it and not damage the door any more than it is. Of course, if the witch doctor fixed it, we’ll be in trouble.”

  He positioned himself in front of the door, steadied himself by holding Samantha’s shoulder, and gave the door a solid kick next to the handle. The door crashed open. Kubu nodded to Samantha. “Let’s take a look.”

  When they realized that there was no power, and no light coming in the windows, Kubu walked back to the Land Rover and fetched a flashlight. After putting on their boot covers and gloves, they walked in, closing the back door behind them. Then they searched the house, avoiding touching anything. Other than two chairs and a small table, all they found were a few candles and a kerosene lamp.

  “Zanele isn’t going to find much here,” Samantha commented.

  “We’ll see,” Kubu responded. “She finds stuff that no one else can see. Let’s go and walk around the area and see what we can learn.”

  AN HOUR LATER, THEY met in the Welcome Bar No. 2, which was only a few blocks from the house. Both Samantha and Kubu ordered Coca-Colas, two for him and one for her. They sat down at a corner table to compare notes.

  “I didn’t learn anything,” Samantha said. “No one said that they’d seen anything or anyone out of the ordinary. And nobody had ever seen anyone go in or out of the house. It’s really bizarre.”

  “Did you get any sense of whether they were afraid when you spoke to them?”

  “No, I didn’t. They all seemed to be relaxed.”

  “Only one of the people I spoke to had anything to report. He goes for a walk every day, past the house. He happened to notice fresh footprints at the front door about two weeks ago. But he says he’s never seen anyone go in or out. He also didn’t seem scared at all.”

  “The witch doctor is obviously a real person,” Samantha said, “but he certainly tries hard to be invisible. I’m beginning to understand why Mma Gondo said he was.”

  Kubu glanced around. There were two large rooms. The one they were in had a dozen or so tables and a bar counter with a couple of men leaning against it; the other was a game room. There were a few pinball machines, one of which was being used by a teenage boy, who kept shaking it and banging on its side. A couple of his friends looked on. There was a foosball table, which was not being used, and a small pool table on which a quiet game was in progress between two well-dressed men, probably taking a break from work. And in the corner was a computer with a handwritten sign above—“InterNet cafee—10 pula 4 15 mins.” What was a little odd was that whoever used the computer had their back to the wall so that the screen couldn’t be seen by passersby.

  “I’ll be right back,” Kubu said, standing up. He wandered into the game room and watched the pinball game for a few moments. Then he spun the handles of the foosball machine as though he were an expert player. Finally he walked over to the man using the computer. The man was so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn’t notice Kubu until he was right next to him. With a start, he closed the window he was watching, but not before Kubu saw a couple of naked women entwined on a bed.

  “Dumela, rra,” Kubu said with a smile.

  The man was flustered. “Yes. Dumela.”

  “Can you tell me a bit about this computer?”

  “Um, I just use it every now and again. To do e-mail.”

  Kubu nodded. “So, it’s connected to the Interne
t?”

  The man nodded, still embarrassed.

  “Is it used a lot?”

  The man nodded. “Yes, it’s the only Internet café nearby.”

  “Anyway, sorry to disturb you. Please get back to your e-mail.” Kubu gave the man a big smile and winked. He walked back to the table where Samantha was still sitting.

  “Shebeens have certainly changed since I used to go to them.” Kubu smiled. “And that was a long time ago and not very often. Then they were just rooms where you could buy beer and a few spirits. Now they look like entertainment centers.”

  “Should we talk to the owner?”

  “Of course, but after I’ve finished my drink.”

  IT TURNED OUT THAT the owner rarely visited the premises, but the establishment was run by a manager, who was behind the counter, chatting to customers. When Kubu and Samantha asked to talk to him privately, he took them into a back room that served as an office.

  “We have a very mixed crowd here. On the one hand, we have businessmen, and a few doctors and nurses because there’s a clinic nearby, and we also have construction workers and people who only work occasionally. They’re the ones who seem to spend most of what they earn on beer.”

  “Over the past month or two, have you noticed anyone unusual? Someone who seems nervous or keeps checking his watch as though expecting an appointment?”

  The man shook his head. “The most unusual thing around here is how many of the professional guys use the computer to access porn sites or Facebook. They must be chatting to someone they don’t want their wives to know about.” Kubu nodded knowingly.

  Kubu thought about what Gobey had said about leaving a message on a website. It would certainly be easy for the witch doctor in normal dress to check any website in complete privacy right here in the shebeen.

  “Do you have a pay phone anywhere?”

  The man shook his head. “No, but there’s one a block down the road on the corner.”

  Kubu turned to Samantha. “Samantha, please could you go and get the number of the phone and check that it’s working.” Samantha nodded and left.