Deadly Harvest (25 page)

He was breathing heavily as he left, slamming the door on Wilson Demene.

K
UBU HAD TO CALM
down before he could tell Samantha what he'd done to make Demene confess. She was delighted, but Kubu shook his head.

“It was risky. We needed a breakthrough quickly, and you'd established that he was the weak link. But it wasn't good police work. He could have laughed in my face and my credibility would have been gone.”

“But it worked!”

“Yes, it worked.” Kubu allowed himself a wry smile. “But we were lucky. There were many other possibilities. But we trusted your instincts, and this time we were lucky.” He paused. “Did you get to the bottom of the butcher's story?”

Samantha nodded. “I also wasn't exactly honest with him, either. I told him he was the main suspect in a murder investigation. After that he was only too happy to tell me about the man he met at the
shebeen
. Seems he was buying game meat through the back door—­not supposed to be sold commercially. I don't think he'll try that again.”

Kubu chuckled. “Good! Now we need to start behaving like detectives again. First, we'll arrest Molefe on suspicion of assault and kidnapping, and get Zanele's ­people to go through his car, particularly the trunk. Get his cell phone and Internet records. Then we must check the spot where Demene said they attacked Owido and the place where he said they dumped him, and especially look for vehicle tracks there. Also get formal statements from Big Mama and the ­people at the
shebeen
—­they'll be used to doing that by now. When we've got him cold, we offer Molefe a deal. He's not going to fall for the sort of mumbo jumbo that worked with Demene, but he'll know that it's often the middlemen in
muti
murders who end up in jail, because no one will finger the witch doctor. But it's the witch doctor we want.”

“Yes, Kubu,” Samantha exclaimed. “And we will get him!”

FORTY-THREE

W
HEN
K
UBU
AND
S
AMANTHA
arrived at Molefe's house, there was no sign of his battered Volkswagen. They'd brought a constable with them; Samantha's description of Sunday Molefe had suggested that he may be dangerous and that backup might be required. Kubu sent the constable around the back of the house to check escape routes, while they approached the house from the front. However, banging on the door produced no response.

On the third try a neighbor came out and informed them that Molefe was out, and that she was trying to have an afternoon nap. Kubu was worried and wondered whether Molefe had discovered that the police had grabbed Demene, but that seemed unlikely. There was nothing to do but wait.

Half an hour later Samantha spotted his Jetta coming down the street toward them. They let him pull over and get out of the car before all three of them approached him in a line so that he was trapped between them and the vehicle. He stood with his back to it and watched them.

“What do you want?”

Kubu stepped forward. “Are you Sunday Molefe?”

The man nodded slowly.

“I am Assistant Superintendent Bengu of the CID.” Kubu held up his identification but didn't get too close to Molefe. “I believe that you can help us with our investigation into the disappearance of a man called Mabulo Owido. I have to ask you to accompany us to the police station.”

“Right now? I've got important things to do today! Are you arresting me?” Molefe looked angry, and his fists clenched reflexively.

“If necessary.”

Molefe considered the matter. “All right, I'll come with you.” He turned and carefully locked his car. “I need to go to the toilet first.” He started toward the house, but Kubu blocked his way. “You can go at the CID. It's not far.” Molefe took a moment to assess Kubu's bulk, Samantha's slight build, and the burly constable. Then he shrugged and allowed them to herd him into the backseat of Kubu's Land Rover. The constable climbed in next to him. Kubu locked the doors, and they drove to the CID in silence.

O
NCE T
HEY WERE SETTLED
in an interrogation room, and Molefe had been warned that his answers would be recorded and could be used as evidence, Kubu asked him about Saturday, the fifth of May. Molefe was calm and told the same story he'd spun to Samantha, starting with the drinks at BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL and finishing with when he and Demene had left the Gaborone Sun. Kubu took notes, nodding from time to time. When Molefe was finished, the detective sat for several moments as though digesting the man's evidence. Then he sighed.

“Rra Molefe, much of what you've told us is lies. We know this because your friend Wilson Demene has given us a full statement. So we know that you were paid to abduct an albino—­any albino, but Owido was unlucky that you found him. We know that you followed him, attacked him, and abducted him. According to Demene, you abandoned him where a witch doctor was going to pick him up. Of course, that's his story. Maybe you actually murdered him for money or some other reason. So we already know that you are guilty of assault and kidnapping. We may later charge you with murder, conspiracy to commit murder, or being an accessory to a murder.”

Kubu rubbed his cheeks, feeling the scratch of late afternoon beard.

“Your best bet is to tell us exactly what really happened that night and who you were working for. You and Demene are just the hired help; we know that. We want the man behind this crime. If you help us get him, we can consider a deal for you. You know perfectly well what the witch doctor was going to do to the albino, but you can say that you didn't. That way you won't find yourself hanging at the end of a rope.” He glared at Molefe, but the man held his stare. Half a minute passed before he replied.

“What I've said is true. Demene has told you lies! Why has he said these terrible things about me?” Then another thought struck him. “Maybe he's said nothing. Maybe you're only telling me this to try to confuse me. Maybe you're telling Demene that
I
said
he
attacked this albino. You're just fishing. What evidence have you got? Nothing. Because there isn't any.” He folded his arms. “I've nothing else to say.”

And that was that. Kubu tried threatening, cajoling, leaving him to stew for half an hour, letting Samantha try on her own. Nothing worked. Molefe was a very different character from Demene. When Kubu mentioned the awful things that could happen to persons who injured albinos, Molefe laughed. Eventually he demanded to speak to a lawyer.

At that point Kubu gave up, thoroughly frustrated. “Very well, Molefe. You've had your chance, and you won't get another one. I'm charging you with aggravated assault and kidnapping. And you're wrong about evidence. You can't imagine what we can find with modern forensics. We'll find plenty of evidence—­in your car, on your clothes, through your cell phone. You'll have your lawyer, but that's not going to help you one little bit.”

He walked out and slammed the door.

FORTY-FOUR

T
HE MORNING AFTER
M
OLEFE'S
arrest, Kubu went to report developments to Mabaku. “We may have a breakthrough, Director,” Kubu started, after settling in the most comfortable chair in front of Mabaku's desk. “Do you remember Big Mama from the BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL
shebeen
?”

Mabaku nodded.

“On Monday afternoon, she phoned me to report a missing person. He was to meet some ­people on Saturday night at the
shebeen
, but didn't turn up. Big Mama tried to contact him at his place of work to find out what had happened but was told he hadn't been at work for a week.”

Mabaku frowned. “You've got better things to do than run around trying to find someone who has probably taken an unauthorized vacation with a woman he's just met.”

“That's true, Director. Normally, I wouldn't pay attention to such a call. But when Big Mama told me that the missing person was an albino, I paid attention.”

“Shit!” exclaimed Mabaku uncharacteristically. “An albino missing?”

“Yes,” Kubu said. “That's what I thought. There's too much talk of
muti
to ignore it.”

“So, what have you done about it?”

For the next twenty minutes Kubu recounted the events of the previous day—­the confession of Demene, the refusal of Molefe to answer any questions, and his subsequent arrest.

“On what charges?”

“Kidnapping and aggravated assault.”

“If Molefe hires a decent lawyer, he'll be out in no time at all. You've nothing except what one person says. Who knows why he said it. Maybe he can't stand Molefe and is trying to get him put away. Has anyone received a ransom note or some sort of demand?”

Kubu shook his head. “He's not a Motswana. He's from Tanzania.”

Mabaku groaned. “This gets worse and worse.”

“I've applied for a search warrant to go through Molefe's car. Demene says they used that car to take the albino to a remote place outside town, where they left him on the side of the road. Demene also told me that he and Molefe had been hired to abduct an albino—­any albino. That sounded like a witch doctor wanting an albino for strong
muti
to me.”

Kubu was about to try to link this with Gobey's witch doctor, when Mabaku's telephone rang.

“Miriam, I told you I didn't want to be disturbed!” Mabaku listened to the response. “Okay. Please put him through.”

He waited several seconds before the caller was on the line, a worried frown on his face. “Commissioner,
dumela
, rra. What can I do for you?”

Again he listened, this time for longer.

“That's terrible news, Commissioner. He brought so much to the force. He'll be sorely missed. Thank you for letting me know.” He replaced the receiver, stood up, and went to the window. Kubu said nothing, but he was sure he knew what the news was about.

Eventually, Mabaku sat down. “Deputy Commissioner Gobey died this morning. Of emphysema.”

They both sat lost in their thoughts: Mabaku wondering how this would affect his bid for the deputy commissioner job, Kubu thinking of the witch doctor's curse.

It was Mabaku who broke the silence. “Emphysema is, of course, the
official
cause of death. I think we both know what the real cause was.” Kubu nodded.

Mabaku leaned back in his chair and tapped the desk. Again Kubu said nothing, waiting to see what his boss was going to do.

Then Mabaku picked up the phone again. “Miriam, please get an appointment for me with the commissioner. This afternoon, if possible. I have a very important matter to discuss. It's imperative I see him.”

He hung up and turned to Kubu. “I have to tell the commissioner about what Gobey told us. I want his permission to dig into Gobey's records and so on to see if we can identify his informant.”

“But, Director, can't that wait until Gobey's position is filled? You have to be the favorite for the position. You don't want to muddy the waters with an investigation into witchcraft. You know how unsuccessful those have been in the past, and it could damage your reputation. We all want you to get the promotion you deserve.”

“I don't think we can wait. Who knows how long it will take for the commissioner to make the appointment. And it seems we have some leads now that may be useful. I'm going to have to take my chances.”

Kubu stood up and extended his hand. “Jacob, it's an honor to work for you.”

Before Mabaku could shake Kubu's hand, the phone rang.

“Yes? Four o'clock? Thank you.”

He leaned back. “For better or for worse, I'm committed.”

K
UBU CAME OUT
OF
Mabaku's office and headed directly down the corridor to where Samantha had a desk. It was in a tiny alcove off an interrogation room—­Mabaku had found it for her to give her a little privacy. Kubu knocked, went straight in, and settled in the bare wooden chair in front of her desk. Samantha looked very surprised to see him there. “Hello, Kubu.”

He nodded in greeting. “Deputy Commissioner Gobey passed away this morning at his home.”

“Oh . . . I didn't know. I met him once, and he was nice to me. I'm sorry. Was it cancer?”

Kubu shook his head. “He was cursed by a witch doctor. Not
a
witch doctor,
the
witch doctor.”

“The witch doctor? But how do you know? Oh . . .” Samantha caught on quickly.

Kubu nodded. “He was the informant. That's why I couldn't tell you. He insisted that no one else was to know unless he gave permission. It's too late for that now, it doesn't really matter anymore, and you have a right to know. But keep it to yourself.”

Samantha thought about it. “I thought he was ill; that's why he was retiring.”

Kubu nodded. “Yes, he had emphysema, but had years to go. It was the witch doctor's curse that killed him.”

Samantha hesitated. “Actually, he did it to himself. Because he believed he would die, he did. It was all in his head.”

Kubu shrugged. “You're always looking for a rational explanation, Samantha. And maybe you're right. But either way, I think it's murder like all the others.”

Samantha let it go. “What do we do now?”

“Now,” he said, “we find out who this witch doctor really is, and then we make him pay for his crimes. We're going to start with Molefe.”

E
VEN THOUGH HE'D KNOWN
the commissioner for years, Mabaku still felt intimidated going into his office. After all, the man was the most powerful person in the police force.

After the usual pleasantries, Mabaku cleared his throat.

“Commissioner, I have a very delicate issue to raise. I can't tell you how awkward I feel, particularly at this sad time. But I believe I could not wait, now that the deputy commissioner is dead.”

The commissioner treated Mabaku with a taste of Mabaku's own medicine. He glared and said nothing.

For the next thirty minutes Mabaku outlined the various
muti
murders and the discovery in Marumo's house of
muti
made with human remains. Mabaku ended with a detailed recounting of what the deputy commissioner had told him and their failed attempt to catch the witch doctor.

“One other thing, Commissioner. Two days ago we received a credible report of the disappearance of an albino. Through a bit of luck and good detective work, we have a confession from a man who says he and another man abducted the albino and left him on the side of the road out of town. We checked the spot, and it looks likely that the marks in the sand are consistent with what the man claimed. We are in the process of checking phone records and have a warrant to search the second man's car. That's the vehicle that the first man says was used to transport the albino.” Mabaku paused and let the commissioner think it through.

“Why are you telling me this now? It could have waited at least until after the deputy commissioner's funeral.”

“Commissioner, we think the albino's life is in danger, if he's still alive. So we need to move as quickly as possible. What I want is your permission to examine the phone and appointment records of the deputy commissioner and to interview his staff, in an attempt to find out who his informant was. That may be the quickest way to identify the witch doctor.”

The commissioner stood up and walked to a side table and poured himself a glass of water. He gestured toward Mabaku, asking whether he'd like one. Mabaku shook his head.

After the commissioner had sat down again, he spoke in a quiet voice. “Jacob, you and I have known each other for nearly twenty-­five years. I think we respect each other.”

Mabaku nodded.

“I think also that we both held Deputy Commissioner Gobey in the highest esteem.”

Mabaku nodded again.

“What you are asking me to do—­even the
appearance
of an investigation into his affairs—­will sully his reputation. I can't do that to him or his family.”

Mabaku's shoulder slumped. He'd tried but lost.

“But . . .”

Mabaku looked up.

“But, if you can guarantee that this investigation can be done extremely discreetly, that no one will be suspicious, then you should go ahead. We need to deal with these despicable murders. However, if it comes out that you are investigating the deputy commissioner, I will deny any knowledge of what you are doing.”

He paused.

“Understand?”

Mabaku nodded firmly. “Thank you, Commissioner. I won't let you down, I promise. Thank you.”