Deadly Harvest

DEDICATION

For Alice Mogwe and Unity Dow

Who fight the battles we just write about.

NOTE

The ­peoples of southern Africa have integrated many words of their own languages into colloquial English. For authenticity and color, we have used these occasionally when appropriate. Most of the time, the meanings are clear from the context, but for interest, we have included a Glossary at the end of the book.

For information about Botswana, the book, and its protagonist, please visit http://www.detectivekubu.com. You can also sign up there for an occasional newsletter and to become a Facebook fan.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Words in square brackets are approximate phonetic pronunciations. Foreign and unfamiliar words are in a Glossary at the back of the book.

Bengu, Amantle
  Kubu's mother [Uh-­MUN-­tleh BEN-­goo]

Bengu, David “Kubu”  
Assistant superintendent in the Botswana Criminal Investigation Department [David “KOO-­boo” BEN-­goo]

Bengu, Joy
  Kubu's wife [Joy BEN-­goo]

Bengu, Tumi
  Joy and Kubu's daughter [TOO-­me BEN-­goo]

Bengu, Wilmon  
Kubu's father [WILL-­mon BEN-­goo]

Betse, Dikeledi  
Orphan girl. Sister of Lesego [Dick-­eh-­LEH-­dee BET-­seh]

Betse, Lesego
  Orphan girl. Sister of Dikeledi [Leh-­SEH-­go BET-­seh]

Big Mama
  Owner of the BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL
shebeen

Demene, Wilson
  Rough character [Wilson Duh-­MEN-­neh]

Dlamini, Zanele
  Forensic expert [Zuh-­NEH-­leh Dluh-MEE-­nee]

Gobey, Joshua
  Nephew of Tebogo Gobey. Head of police diamond division [Joshua GO-­bee]

Gobey, Maria
  Tebogo Gobey's wife [Maria GO-­bee]

Gobey, Tebogo
  Deputy commissioner of the Botswana Police [Teh-­BOW-­go GO-­bee]

Gondo
  Witch doctor [GON-­doe]

Khama, Samantha
  First female detective in the Botswana Criminal Investigation Department [Samantha KAH-­muh]

Koma, Constance
  Lesego and Dikeledi Betse's aunt and guardian [Constance KO-­muh (“o” as in English word
or
)]

Koslov, Helenka
  IT expert in the Botswana Police

Mabaku, Jacob
  Director of the Botswana Criminal Investigation Department [Jacob Mah-­BAH-­koo]

MacGregor, Ian
  Pathologist for the Botswana Police

Maleng, Tombi
  Daughter of Witness Maleng [TOM-­bee Muh-­LENG]

Maleng, Witness
  Father of Tombi Maleng [Witness Muh-­LENG]

Marumo, William “Bill”
  Charismatic opposition party politician [William “Bill” Muh-­ROO-­moe]

Mogomotsi, Segametsi
  Real teenager killed for
muti
in 1994 [Seh-­guh-­MET-­see Mo-­go-­MOT-­see (“o” as in English word
hot
)]

Molefe, Sunday
  Rough character [Sunday Mo-­LEH-­feh (“o” as in English word
hot
)]

Nono
  Young girl [NON-­o]

Oteng, Jubjub
  Bill Marumo's girlfriend [JOOB-­JOOB o-­TENG]

Owido, Mabulo
  Tanzanian [Muh-­BULL-­o o-­WEED-­o]

Pilane, Jake
  Doctor. Neighbor of Bill Marumo [Jake Pi-­LAH-­neh]

Pitso, Jacob
  Freedom Party candidate

Rampa, Kopano
  Undertaker [Ko-­PAH-­no RUM-­puh]

Serome, Pleasant
  Joy Bengu's sister [Pleasant Seh-­ROE-­meh]

Sibisi, Bongani
  Professor of ecology at the University of Botswana [Bon-­GAH-­nee See-­BEE-­see]

Tibone, Robert
  An assistant to Kopano Rampa

Tobogo, Tole
  Partner of Constance Koma

Van der Meer, Kees
  Professor at the University of Botswana [CASE fun-­der-­MEER]

CONTENTS

Part One

SOMETHING WICKED

“By the pricking of my thumbs,

Something wicked this way comes.”

MACBETH
, ACT 4, SCENE 1

ONE

A
S S
HE WALKED HOME,
Lesego's head was full of Christmas. She knew her sister would save some of her tips and buy her a small present. Lesego had no money, so she was making Dikeledi a doily from scraps of red material left over from her needlework class. She was trying to embroider “Dikeledi” across it in blue, but she'd made the first letters too big, and the whole word wouldn't fit neatly. She frowned. She was going to have to start it again.

Lesego was carrying a cloth bag heavy with shopping and another with her schoolbooks and, even though it was a threadbare hand-­me-­down, her school uniform was hot. She was already tired when she came to the steep hill leading to her aunt's house in the upper section of Mochudi. She sighed, and her eyes followed the road upward, causing her to miss her footing. She stumbled, nearly dropping her shopping. The two potatoes she'd bought rolled from the top of the bag toward the road, and her shopping list, which had been shoved between them, fluttered into the weeds on the side of the road. She gave a small cry and scurried after the potatoes; her aunt would be furious if she lost anything. Just as she retrieved the fugitive vegetables, a red Volkswagen pulled over and stopped next to her. The driver leaned across and opened the passenger door.

“Hello, Lesego,” he said. “Jump in. I'll give you a lift up the hill.”

She gave a grateful smile and wrestled her shopping and schoolbooks into the car. “Hello, rra. It's very kind of you. It's a long hill.” He smiled back, put the car into gear, and started on the road up. There was a click as he engaged the door locks. Lesego took no notice. She looked around.

“This isn't your usual car.”

“You're very observant, Lesego. My car is at the garage. They loaned me this one while they ser­vice mine.”

She nodded, wondering about ­people who were so rich that they could just lend you a new car with no trouble. But she thought it would be rude to say that, so instead she pointed at her supplies.

“I got everything my aunt wanted except the two sweet potatoes. They were too expensive—­and old as well—­so I bought two ordinary potatoes instead, which were cheap. Do you think she'll be cross?”

“I'm sure she won't be. It was a sensible decision.”

She nodded, relieved.

When they reached the top of the hill, she turned to the driver.

“You can drop me here if you like, rra. I can walk home now. Thank you.”

But the car started to move faster now that it was on the level.

“Let's go for a short drive first,” he said.

“
W
HERE'S
L
ESEGO?”

Dikeledi looked down at her bowl of gravy with a few kidney beans floating in it. She hoped the question wasn't meant for her, but her aunt looked directly at her: “Dikeledi, I asked you where Lesego was.”

“I don't know, Aunt,” Dikeledi said in a frightened voice. “She didn't come back from school.”

“She didn't bring the shopping, either. I gave her money.” This seemed to offend Constance Koma the most. “
Where is she?
”

Dikeledi glanced around the table desperately, looking for rescue. But the boys were silent, their eyes downcast. Surprisingly, it was Tole who came to her aid. The children were supposed to call him uncle, but between themselves they had other names for Constance's partner, with his bad breath and groping hands.

“Who cares where she is, Constance,” Tole said. “She probably stayed over with a friend. We'll give her a good hiding when she gets back. Teach her a lesson.” He reached across the table, pulled the dish of
pap
toward him, and dug into it with his fingers. “Let's eat.”

“We haven't said grace yet!”

Tole hesitated, still holding the lump of
pap
.

“For-­what-­we-­are-­about-­to-­receive-­may-­the-­Lord-­make-­us-­truly-­thankful-­Amen.” He dipped the ball of
pap
into his watery gravy and slurped it into his mouth.

The boys started to eat the same way, and Dikeledi joined in, hungry despite her worry for her younger sister. Her aunt scowled at her but said no more.

Soon the food was all gone.

“The
pap
was burned,” Tole said. “And there wasn't enough.”

“If you got off your ass and found work, we'd have more,” Constance said.

“Don't talk to me that way!”

Constance just looked at him. After a few moments he shoved back his chair and stalked out. They all knew where he was going—­to the Bootleggers Bar. He would come back drunk, and Dikeledi wished they could lock the door of the room where she and the boys slept. Putting it out of her mind, she jumped up and started to clear up the dishes. The
pap
had
burned, and the pot would be hard to clean. As she scoured it, she worried about her sister. It was really late now, and a ten-­year-­old girl shouldn't be out.

A
T FIRST
D
IKELEDI COULDN'T
sleep. When she did eventually drift off, her sleep was fitful, and she muttered and tossed, disturbing the boys lying alongside her on the same thin foam rubber mattress. Suddenly she sat straight up and screamed. The oldest boy reacted at once, covering her mouth with his hand. If they woke Constance or Tole, they'd all get a beating. Dikeledi struggled free.

“Oh God,” she said. “It was so awful, so real. I was lying on a table, tied down. It was dark but I saw a knife. A huge knife. It stabbed down, here and here and here.” She pointed to parts of her body. “Oh God!” She started to sob.

“It was only a bad dream, Dikeledi. It's okay. Careful, or you'll wake them.”

Dikeledi just shook her head and went on crying.

T
HE NEXT MORNING THER
E
was still no sign of Lesego. Dikeledi left early, tense with worry, and walked to the café in town where she had a part-­time job, serving customers for tips and a few pula. Slipping out at about eleven, she walked to Lesego's school, which had its morning break then, and found two of Lesego's friends. They both told the same story: Lesego left straight from school to go shopping. No one had seen her since. Dikeledi hurried back to work, sick with fear.

She left the café as early as she could, determined to persuade her aunt to go to the police. Perhaps it was not too late.

“Go away, Dikeledi,” Constance snapped. “Lesego probably skipped school and knows what'll happen to her when she gets back home.”

Dikeledi tried again and received a slap for her trouble, so for the moment she gave up and started on her chores.

By the next day it was clear that Lesego wasn't coming back, and Constance gave in to Dikeledi's pleading. She brought Dikeledi with her to the police, as if to prove her concern to the girl.

The duty constable listened to the full story before he asked any questions.

“Has she ever done this before? Disappeared for a few days?”

“Never. Now she's run off with my money. That's the thanks you get. I took the girls in when their mother died of AIDS. What could I do? They had no father, either. At least no one who'd claim them.” Her hand tightened on Dikeledi's shoulder as if she thought she might also vanish. “And this is the thanks I get. She runs away with my money!”

“How much money did she take?”

“Twenty pula.”

The constable frowned. “She won't get far on that.”

Constance glared at him. “Twenty pula is a lot of money to me!”

The constable nodded. “So you believe she ran away from home. Where would she go? Does she have other relatives here?”

Constance shrugged. “Everyone has relatives. I don't know.”

“Have you asked them if they've seen her?”

“Tole—­that's my man—­asked around. He knows everyone. No one's seen her.”

The constable had run out of questions. “I'll file a missing-­persons report.”

Dikeledi burst out, “Please, can you look for her? I'm sure something awful has happened. Something really awful. I'm so scared.” Tears ran down her face.

“Don't worry, Dikeledi,” the constable said. “We'll look very hard. We'll find her. The police here are very good. We'll find her for you.”

As he watched them go, the constable wondered if they would find the girl or if she even wanted to be found. Maybe she had run away from the hard-­faced Koma woman. But perhaps the sister was right. It wouldn't be the first time something awful had happened in Mochudi.

T
HE NEXT DAY
D
IKELEDI
slipped away from work early and went home past the police station. The same constable was on duty, and she asked him whether they had found anything.

“We asked at the school. They said she was there that day, then she left to buy some things and walk home.”

Dikeledi nodded. She knew this.

“We found a shopkeeper who remembers her. She wouldn't buy sweet potatoes even though they were big and fresh. But she bought other stuff. Then she left.”

Dikeledi nodded again, waiting.

“We haven't found anyone who saw her after that.”

Dikeledi shook her head. “But someone must've. She would've walked up the hill. To get home.”

The constable hesitated, then said kindly, “Dikeledi, perhaps she decided not to go up the hill. Maybe your aunt is right. Maybe she did run away. Would she have a reason to?”

Dikeledi just shook her head, thanked him, and left.

She stopped outside the police station wondering what to do. Lesego might have run away from Tole and Constance—­Dikeledi could understand that—­but she'd never do it without saying goodbye to her sister. Never.

Dikeledi wandered around for a while and spoke to a few more ­people, but she learned nothing new. Eventually she gave up and headed for home. But when she came to the hill, she stopped. There was no other way for Lesego to get to their aunt's house. She
must have
been here. Dikeledi scanned the area. It looked the way it always looked. Houses clustered at the base of the hill, then clinging to the road as it climbed. On the edge of the road ahead, a ­couple of Coke cans, candy wrappers, two cigarette packets, a number of plastic shopping bags, and a grubby scrap of paper. She caught her breath. She recognized the handwriting at once even from a distance, the bottom loops of the
g
's bulging out in the telltale script. She grabbed the paper, her heart pounding. It couldn't be a coincidence. She was meant to find this! She checked it for a message, but it was only Lesego's shopping list. She felt a surge of disappointment, but at least she knew Lesego
had
been here. She shouted and ran back toward the police station.

Dikeledi didn't recognize the man at the front desk, but she blurted out the story to him. He found the constable she'd spoken to earlier. He was eating a sandwich, and wasn't pleased to be disturbed.

“What is it now, Dikeledi? What do you want?”

“Look. I found her shopping list! Where the road goes up the hill. That proves she was there and something happened to her.”

The constable carefully examined the piece of paper on both sides. He shrugged.

“Are you absolutely sure it's hers? Anyway, she could've dropped it on the way
down
the hill in the morning. And even if she was on her way back, it's only a few hundred yards from the shops. Maybe she threw it away when she decided she wasn't going home.” He shook his head. But when he saw the girl start to cry, he added: “I'll get one of the men to look around there and see if we can find anything else.” He pushed the list back at Dikeledi.

Dikeledi grabbed the paper and left, hopeless, ashamed of her tears. She walked home up the hill with the list tucked into her dress. She knew that the list meant something, despite the constable's dismissal. One day it would be important. Until then, she wouldn't tell anyone else about it. Certainly not her aunt. Not even the boys. No one.

It was several days before she had the courage to return to the police station. Again there was nothing new, and she forced herself to wait another week before she went back. The constable grew tired of her and became short and unhelpful. It was clear to Dikeledi that the police were no longer working on the case.

A week went by and Christmas came. Dikeledi and Lesego had always celebrated together. In the past, they found happiness together with their small, secret gifts. But with this lonely Christmas, Dikeledi finally gave up.

She knew she would never see her sister again.