Deadly Harvest: A Detective Kubu Mystery

by Michael Stanley

  “And where was the male of the eighth buried?”

  “I can tell you which cemetery, but you’ll have to go there to find out which plot.”

  “May I see the documentation that came from the city?”

  Tibone stood up and went into a side room. Kubu could hear filing cabinet drawers being opened and shut. A few minutes later, Tibone returned with paper in hand. Kubu glanced at it. It seemed genuine.

  “Do you remember how the body got here?”

  Tibone shook his head. “When I came to work on the eighth, the body was already here. Rra Rampa said it had been dropped off the evening before, after I left.”

  “Did he say where it came from?”

  “I assume it came from the morgue. That’s where a body like that would end up before being buried.”

  “Rra Tibone, you’ve been very helpful. Thank you. Could you make a copy of this document, and then I’ll be off.”

  KUBU CLIMBED INTO HIS car and slumped in the seat. He’d hoped that his insight the previous evening would have yielded some dramatic results, but that hadn’t happened. He felt like returning to his office.

  If I’ve come this far, I’d better follow up, he thought without enthusiasm. So he headed for the city offices. When he arrived, he explained that he was trying to find more information about the man whose documentation he had. The receptionist was obviously displeased with the interruption, but disappeared, clutching the copy. Kubu sat down and waited.

  About ten minutes later, the woman returned with an elderly man, who walked over and introduced himself.

  “I’m manager here. May I ask where you got this document?”

  “Why do you want to know that?” Kubu asked. “Is there a problem?”

  “Well, it’s not genuine. We have no record of such a person.”

  Kubu jumped to his feet and snatched the document. “Are you sure?”

  The man nodded. “No doubt about it. We send out duplicates of records we keep here. There’s no original for that one.”

  “Is it possible that it’s been misplaced?”

  The manager shook his head. “Of course, mistakes are possible. But the number on the document isn’t in the right sequence. It doesn’t match with the date. That document’s forged!” The man was offended, as though it were a personal insult. On the other hand, Kubu was ecstatic.

  “That’s wonderful news! Thank you. Thank you. I’ll see you later.”

  With that, Kubu almost ran from the building, leaving the manager staring after him, open-mouthed.

  KUBU HAD PHONED AHEAD, asking that Mabaku and Samantha meet him on his return. So when he burst into the meeting room, they were already there.

  “This had better be good,” Mabaku grumbled. “I’ve got five reports to write today.”

  “It’s better than good,” Kubu exclaimed. “I think we may have him.” He sat down, then jumped up again and told them about Coffin Major and Coffin Minor and his realization that the albino had to have been buried alone in a coffin. He explained how he’d obtained a copy of the burial documentation from Rampa’s funeral parlor for an unknown person buried just after the albino died. He finished by saying that the city told him that the certificate was not genuine. It was a fake; a forgery; they had no record of such a person.

  “Now we have reason to exhume the body! The state needs to know who it is! In the meantime, I’m going to interview Rampa.” Samantha had never seen Kubu so revved up. It was quite endearing.

  RAMPA WAS BUSY PREPARING for a funeral the next day, but Kubu insisted that they talk in private. Once they were in Rampa’s office, he passed him the copy of the document he’d been given by Rampa’s assistant.

  “What do you make of this, Rra Rampa?”

  “It’s a burial document from the city. Where did you get it?”

  “It’s a copy of the certificate for one of your clients. He was buried on the eighth of May.”

  Rampa looked at the certificate again more carefully. He was quiet for a few moments. “Oh, yes. Identity unknown.” He shrugged.

  “How was he brought here?”

  “By ambulance. I accepted the body and the paperwork.”

  “Did anyone help you with this?”

  “The ambulance man brought the body in.”

  “Rra Rampa, that document is a forgery. What do you say to that?”

  “It’s a forgery? I’m very surprised.”

  “Didn’t you check that everything was in order? You told me last time that you do everything by the book.”

  “An ambulance delivers a body with what appears to be genuine documentation. What am I to do?” Rampa was clearly agitated. “I can’t go to the city every time and check. That’s plain nonsense. I’ve a business to run.”

  “Did you recognize the ambulance or the driver?”

  “No. I don’t pay attention to those things. All I’m interested in is the body and the documentation.”

  “Where do you think the body and the ambulance came from? They had to come from somewhere.”

  “From the state mortuary! Where do you think they came from?” Rampa was beginning to raise his voice.

  “I don’t think there was an ambulance. And I think you know very well where the body came from.”

  “What are you saying? That I killed the man? You’re crazy.”

  “Rra Rampa, we have a report of an albino who’s missing. And we have a man who says he helped abduct an albino. During the abduction, his partner sent a text message to your phone. We know that’s true. You say it wasn’t meant for you. How convenient! A couple of days after the albino was last seen, a mysterious ambulance delivers a body to you, and you claim you obtained a burial document. Yet there’s no such record at the city. What do you want me to think? That all of these things are unrelated? I don’t believe in coincidences, Rra Rampa. I think you are using your business to make muti from human body parts. Sometimes you take them from the people you are burying, sometimes you kill people for them.”

  “You’re crazy! Get out of my office.”

  “Rra Rampa, we are going to exhume the body that you so conveniently buried. I expect a positive response tomorrow. In the meantime, I have a constable stationed at the grave to make sure you don’t disturb it overnight. And I have two others patrolling the cemetery to ensure nobody does anything else to disturb our case.”

  “Get out!” Rampa screamed.

  Kubu got to his feet and leaned toward Rampa.

  “Your spells aren’t going to help you now, Rra Rampa. You’re not an invisible witch doctor anymore. I see you very clearly!”

  With that, Kubu turned on his heel and walked out.

  FIFTY-TWO

  IT WAS 6:30 A.M. on Wednesday, and the sun was still below the horizon. Although the air temperature wasn’t really cold, an unpleasant wind was coming from the west, and the three men standing around the grave were wearing sweaters.

  “Reminds me of Scotland,” said Ian MacGregor, the pathologist. He wasn’t keen on early rising or cold weather, and wasn’t used to either in Botswana. Kubu grunted and returned his attention to the two cemetery workmen who were digging open the grave in front of them. They had used a backhoe to dig down the first three feet, but now couldn’t use it, for fear of disturbing the remains. At least the burial was recent so the ground was relatively soft. Screens had been erected around the grave for privacy and to prevent any inadvertent disturbance to the neighboring graves.

  “I hope this is necessary,” the cemetery officer said. “I don’t like this sort of thing in my cemetery.” Kubu didn’t think it was worth responding.

  The digging continued, and the only sound was of the spades going into the ground and the earth being added to the pile at the head of the grave. Slowly the pit deepened until the workers were in it up to their chests. Then came a different sound.

  “We’ve hit the coffin,” one of the diggers said. “We’ll have to dig around it so that we can get the ropes underneath to winch it up.”


  Kubu felt a twinge of excitement. Detective Thibelo had the undertaker under surveillance. If the body in the coffin was the albino, he would arrest Rampa at once. The witch doctor would be in custody, Mma Gobey would be spared the embarrassment of further questioning, and the news of the arrest would even overshadow the Marumo case, especially if Rampa could be made to confess to being the source of Marumo’s muti and the murderer of the missing children. And, no doubt, Mabaku would get the deputy commissioner position he deserved. Kubu brooded about that. We’ll miss him, he thought.

  After some effort, the workers in the grave had hooked up the coffin, and one was guiding it as the other winched it to the surface. The rough pine exterior was stained, and the box wasn’t sealed well enough to stifle the smell. Kubu was glad of his mask. Ian didn’t seem to notice; he watched the coffin rise with interest.

  At last it was brought to rest on the dolly, which would be used to wheel it to the waiting vehicle for transportation to Ian’s mortuary.

  “Can we look into it here?” Kubu asked.

  “Certainly not!” the cemetery officer responded. “We’ll be opening to the public soon. There’ll be dreadful disturbance if you lift the lid of this coffin now. You have your body; get it out of here.”

  “He’s right, Kubu,” said Ian. “I think we should do this at the mortuary. Whoever’s in this coffin, I’m going to need to do an autopsy. We may as well deal with everything there.”

  Kubu had no option but to be patient a little longer.

  IT WAS AN HOUR later by the time they wheeled the coffin into the pathology laboratory at the Princess Marina Hospital. Kubu wanted to be present when the coffin was opened, but as the lid was removed and the stench of putrefaction filled the room, he regretted it. Ian looked into the box. “Certainly not an albino,” he said. “Look at the hair.”

  Kubu looked for himself and saw black curly hair and dark skin broken up by decay.

  He pulled back. “I was so sure,” he said.

  Ian glanced up at him, then immediately back at the body as though he resented being distracted from his new interest. “Well,” he said. “Your undertaker’s still in deep water. Very deep, I’d say. This is a normally pigmented black male, and he looks pretty well fed to me—even overweight. I doubt he’s an indigent or unknown person. What was he doing in a pauper’s grave? Well, we’ll know more when I’ve done the autopsy.” He glanced up at Kubu again. “Do you want to stay?”

  Kubu shook his head. He thanked Ian for his help and left to find fresh air.

  Who was the man in the coffin? A well-fed individual, who was secretly buried in a pauper’s grave? Was this another murder, and if so, for what motive? Or was a body indeed delivered to the funeral parlor in an ambulance as Rampa insisted?

  They needed to search for an appropriate missing person. He started to call Samantha on his cell phone to do that, when he realized how he’d been had.

  “HE SWITCHED THE BODIES, Samantha,” he told her. “He knew there was a chance the extra grave would be discovered, so he swapped the murder victim with one of his clients. Of course, after a few years it wouldn’t matter anyway; there’d be no evidence of the murder left.”

  Samantha asked what they should do next, and Kubu took a few moments to think about it.

  “He won’t have kept an extra body for long. We should check all the burials Rampa did around that time. I’m going to ask his assistant, Robert Tibone.”

  KUBU FOUND TIBONE MUCH less cooperative than he’d been on the Monday before.

  “Rra Rampa is not in, Assistant Superintendent. He may be some time. I don’t think you should wait.”

  “That’s okay, Rra Tibone. I think you can help me.”

  Tibone shook his head. “Rra Rampa was very angry about the help I gave you before. I thought I was going to be fired. He shouted and screamed at me. And his orders were quite explicit. If you have a search warrant, we cooperate; otherwise nothing.” He folded his arms.

  Kubu pulled up a chair and sat down. He wasn’t going to be brushed off that easily.

  “Rra Tibone, when I took that photocopy from you, I thought I was getting a copy of the city documentation for the burial of an unknown man. Did Rra Rampa tell you that the document turned out to be a fake? The city has no record whatsoever of that person. The document was forged.”

  Tibone’s mouth hung open as he digested the implications. “That’s impossible.” He paused, and then added, “He didn’t tell me that.”

  “So, you see, your boss is in very big trouble indeed. Now the question is whether you want to be associated with that trouble—when you’re looking for another job, for example—or whether you want to be the person who helped the police get to the bottom of the matter.”

  Tibone swallowed. “I can’t help you. He’ll kill me if he finds out.”

  Kubu shook his head. “I just want some information. You don’t have to give me anything, just answer a few questions. And it’s information I could find out by other means anyway, so no one can trace it back to you.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I just need the names of other men whose funerals you handled on the seventh, eighth, and ninth of May. You told me about them on Monday anyway.”

  Tibone hesitated, then turned to his computer and read out the names and the dates of the funerals. If he was curious about why Kubu wanted the information, he gave no sign of it. He breathed a sigh of relief when Kubu had what he wanted and left.

  BACK AT HIS OFFICE, Kubu phoned the appropriate department at the city and asked for the manager who’d helped him before. Soon he had the information he wanted—the ages and causes of death of the five men whose funerals Rampa had handled over the key three days. All he needed now was information from Ian. As if on cue, the pathologist phoned.

  “I’ve just finished the autopsy, Kubu. I thought you’d want my preliminary findings.”

  “Very much!”

  “Natural causes.” Ian sounded almost disappointed. “He died of a massive heart attack. It’ll take longer to check for drugs and whatnot, but I’m pretty sure there was no foul play. He was overweight and smoked. Heavily by the looks of his lungs.”

  “How old was he?”

  Ian had to think about that. “I’d say mid to late fifties. Early sixties at the latest.”

  “Fifty-nine?”

  “That would fit.”

  “Well, Ian, our friend is Aka Ndode, late of Broadhurst. Died of a heart attack on the twenty-fifth of April, 2012, buried by Funerals of Distinction on the eighth of May, 2012.” Kubu quickly explained Rampa’s deception. “One of the other deceased men died of heart failure, but he was seventy-eight.”

  “Get me Ndode’s dental records, and we’ll be sure.”

  Kubu thanked him and mused about the protocol of what he should do next. In his own mind he was certain that Owido was buried in Aka Ndode’s elegant coffin with, no doubt, a fine headstone on order. So he was within his rights to open Ndode’s grave without reference to the family. But he felt that was the wrong thing to do. The wife’s grief was still fresh. What if she came to the grave to be near her departed loved one and discovered an open hole with her husband gone? It was out of the question. His next visit would have to be to the widow.

  THE NDODE RESIDENCE WAS a middle-class house on Kgame Street. The garden was neat, the house recently painted. Kubu knew that his visit, so soon after the funeral, would be a most unwelcome intrusion.

  A neatly dressed woman answered his knock.

  “Mma Ndode? I’m Assistant Superintendent Bengu of the Botswana Police. I phoned earlier and asked for a few minutes of your time.” He showed her his identification.

  “Oh, yes, rra. Please come in.” She led him to a sitting room where the furniture was carefully positioned, the cushions plumped, the side tables clean and polished. Neat, thought Kubu, is what seemed to characterize this couple. Even the funeral would have fitted with that. Until now.

  Once they were seat
ed, and he’d refused refreshment, Kubu started to explain the matter as best he could.

  “Mma, I’m very sorry to disturb you when you are in mourning for your husband.” The woman nodded, idly playing with the black-cloth mourning strings she was wearing round her neck. “It’s in connection with your husband’s funeral that I wish to speak to you,” Kubu continued. He hesitated, trying unsuccessfully to find a gentle way of breaking the news. “I’m sorry to tell you that a terrible mistake occurred at the undertaker’s premises. Two bodies were switched and buried in the wrong graves. Your husband was one of them.”

  The woman sat for several seconds trying to digest this. “You mean I didn’t bury Aka? How can that be? That very morning I saw him in the coffin that Rra Rampa helped us choose. How could there be a mistake?” He could hear the growing tension in her voice.

  “It’s very regrettable, mma,” Kubu said. “A very strange story indeed. But all is well. Your husband’s remains are absolutely safe, and as soon as the whole matter has been cleared up, he’ll be placed in the correct coffin and restored to his proper resting place. If you and your family would wish to be involved with that, it can be arranged, of course.”

  Mma Ndode thought about that. “Why are the police involved? Why haven’t I heard from Rra Rampa? He was so helpful before . . .” She was close to tears.

  “Mma, you can appreciate that when such a serious event occurs, the police have to be brought in. To ensure that the remains are safe and properly treated.” He thought it tactful not to mention Ian’s activities of that morning. “I’m sure Rra Rampa will speak to you in person. He’s very busy trying to discover exactly what happened, and he’ll want to tell you himself when he finds out.”

  “Who . . . who is in Aka’s grave?” Tears filled her eyes and started to run down her cheeks.

  “We’re not sure at the moment. We’ll know soon.”