Deadly Harvest (30 page)

“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

I
T 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.

I
T 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.

“
H
E SWITCHE
D 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.”

K
UBU FOUND
T
IBONE 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.

B
ACK 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.

T
HE
N
DODE RESIDEN
CE 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 seated, 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.”

“And you're sure he's safe? I've heard terrible things. Things about witch doctors . . .”

“Yes, mma. His remains are absolutely safe.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “I'm sorry. This has brought it all back to me. Would you leave now?”

Kubu nodded and rose. “There is just one more thing, mma. Could you tell me who your husband's dentist was?”

“Why do you want to know that?”

“We'll be able to get an absolutely definite identification from his dental records.”

“I could identify him.”

Kubu shook his head. “I don't think that would be wise.”

She understood and gave him the details of the dentist. Then she showed him out.

Before he drove off, Kubu phoned Samantha and asked her to contact the dentist and get the records to the pathologist right away. He also asked her to contact Broadhurst cemetery and arrange another exhumation for the next morning. That would be definite as soon as Ian confirmed the identity of the body in his laboratory.

A
T 8:30 A.M. ON
Thursday, a much more imposing coffin rested on the table in the pathologist's mortuary. When the lid was levered off, Owido's sightless eyes stared up at Ian and Kubu. Even before the autopsy, there was no doubt about the unpleasant and violent nature of his death. Even Ian's face registered shock.