Deadly Harvest (32 page)

FIFTY-FIVE

W
HEN THEY LEFT THE
interrogation room after listening to Rampa's confession, Kubu was thoughtful. “We must bring in Sunday Molefe again. Rampa's confession contradicts his story.”

Samantha nodded. “I'll do it.”

Kubu walked a bit farther, then stopped. “Rampa certainly wants us to believe he's not a killer.”

“That was all bullshit,” Samantha exploded. Kubu looked at her askance—­it was the first time he'd heard her swear.

“All he admitted to was picking up and burying bodies,” she continued. “That's a clever way to avoid a murder charge. I want to do to him what he did to them! Show him the knife, cut off his balls, and then work up from there. Hanging is too good for him! We should . . . we should . . .” Words failed her.

“But are we sure he's guilty of the murders?” Kubu asked mildly.

“Of course he's guilty! He buried a butchered child with your little girl's sister, and put the albino in Ndode's grave. And there'll be lots of others, if we can find them without digging up every graveyard!” She was so angry that she slapped the wall.

“He's admitted burying the bodies.”

“You can't believe his pathetic story about doing it because he's terrified of some witch doctor? He
is
the witch doctor!”

Kubu sighed. He very much wanted Samantha to be right. And yet there were things that worried him. Rampa worried him. In the face of all the evidence they'd produced, the man stuck to his unlikely story.

He had another thought.

“Is it possible that he has a split personality? He really believes there's another person because there's another
personality
?” Even to him it sounded unconvincing, and Samantha gave a derisive laugh.

“He's so good at lying, he's even getting to you,” Samantha spluttered. “He lied to his funeral parlor clients as he cut bits out of their dead loved ones and then buried them in the wrong graves. He lied to his witch doctor clients about what he could do for them. And he lied to those poor little girls when he gave them lifts in his car.” To Kubu's embarrassment, she started to cry. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm fine. Just give me a few minutes.” She walked away quickly toward her office.

“What was all that about?” Kubu discovered that Mabaku had walked up behind him during Samantha's explosion. We don't need a meeting room, Kubu thought. Everyone's in the corridor anyway.

“Samantha's furious about Rampa. She wants him to confess, grovel, and beg for mercy while she personally tightens the noose around his neck. And she really wants to do something much worse to him than that.”

“And you don't think he deserves it? I'm inclined to agree with her.”

Kubu turned to look at his boss. For someone discussing a mass murderer, he thought, Mabaku sounds in a remarkably good mood.

Mabaku caught his inquiring expression. “I've just been to see the commissioner. He's very pleased with our work on this case. He wants it all neatly wrapped up, implicating Marumo as much as possible, and the late deputy commissioner not at all. I said I thought we could manage that. He spoke very warmly about us.” He raised his eyebrows. “About
both
of us.”

The commissioner was another person who would like Rampa hung, drawn, and quartered, Kubu thought. I disliked the undertaker from the first day I laid eyes on him, but they all seem to be missing one point: we haven't established that he's guilty of the killings.

Mabaku gave him an encouraging slap on the back. “Let's get it all tied up, Kubu.” Then he strode off to his office with a cheerful wave.

J
OY HAD INVITED
P
LEASANT
and Bongani to join them for supper that evening. Joy cooked a big pot of chicken curry—­hot the way the adults liked it—­and a small pot of curry-­flavored stew for the girls. Tumi pronounced the adult version “burny” and wouldn't eat it. Nono was less fussy, but she also preferred the milder variety.

Pleasant smiled as she watched the children dig in. Her interest suggested that she was picking up tips for the not-­too-­distant future.

As usual, Nono finished her food while Tumi was still fiddling with hers. “Aunt Pleasant,” she said, “Tumi and I are
real
sisters now.”

Pleasant laughed. “Of course you are!” She knew all about Kubu and Joy's plans to adopt her. Nono smiled her beautiful smile.

Bongani finished crunching a poppadum. “I see you're a big hero again, Kubu. Not only did you catch Bill Marumo's killer, but you've arrested a
muti
murderer. The undertaker thing is headlines in all the newspapers.”

“The trouble with the press is that today's hero is tomorrow's nobody at best, and tomorrow's villain at worst,” Kubu replied. He spooned desiccated coconut and banana slices onto his second helping of curry, and then mixed in several tablespoons of Mrs. Ball's chutney. He wished he had a spicy gewürztraminer to go with it, but had to make do with a chenin blanc.

“Where does the case go from here?”

Kubu shrugged. “We still have to establish just what Rampa actually did and did not do. It'll be a while yet.”

“The
Daily News
is speculating that Witness Maleng is also linked to Rampa.” Bongani hesitated. “The piece reads as though that tidbit came from a police source,” he added shrewdly.

“There's a lot we don't know yet. I think some ­people may be getting ahead of themselves.” Kubu felt uncomfortable about the whole issue and changed the subject. “Tell us about your big project.” Bongani got the message and enthusiastically launched into the plans for his upcoming research study in the Okavango Delta.

A
FTER THE GUESTS HAD
left, the girls were asleep, and the cleaning up had been done, Kubu and Joy snuggled into bed. Both were relaxed but tired, and a cuddle seemed in order, but Joy sensed that Kubu was distracted.

“You're not happy about this case, are you, Kubu? I could tell by the way you cut off the discussion at dinner. Something's worrying you.”

“It's just that everyone has declared the case solved—­a nice, satisfying outcome with no embarrassment to important ­people. The evil witch doctor doing unspeakable things in a funeral parlor. Great for the
Daily News
.”

“But maybe that's how it was?”

“Maybe.”

Joy dropped it and soon drifted to sleep. But Kubu lay awake, turning over in his mind the various issues that bothered him.

The worst of them was the briefcase. Rampa claimed the witch doctor had given it to him, claimed it contained something important. He'd refused to say what, and Samantha had contemptuously dismissed his story as another of his web of lies.

But how
had
he obtained the briefcase?

Kubu rolled over, wishing he could put it out of his mind and fall sleep. Instead, he tried to track the briefcase from Marumo to Rampa. Marumo's assistant had seen him leave with it, and he'd had no time to take it anywhere on his way home. So it was with him when he was murdered. Although Rampa had no alibi for that night, all the forensic and circumstantial evidence pointed to Witness Maleng, none to the undertaker.

So who could have taken the briefcase? Jubjub? There was a thought. Perhaps she, not Marumo, was in league with the witch doctor? Perhaps the
muti
was for her, to help snare the politician. Maybe the dog's head was also involved somehow. Yet she didn't strike Kubu as smart enough to set up that misdirection. He shook his head and pulled up the blankets to better cover his substantial girth. Joy grunted and snuggled closer to him.

Of course, there was the sergeant in charge of the crime scene. But Kubu knew him. He was old-­school and as straight as they come. Even if that were not the case, why would he take the briefcase? No one had suggested anything in it was valuable.

The only other person at the scene was the neighbor, Dr. Pilane. What possible use could he have for Marumo's political papers?

Kubu's musings were disturbed by a scratching noise in the ceiling. Could it be the wind? It sounded more like a creature—­maybe a rat or a mongoose. He sighed. That would be bad news. He didn't like poison and traps with Ilia and the girls around. He lay still and concentrated, but the noise didn't come again.

None of it made sense. Maleng must have taken the briefcase, and somehow the witch doctor—­Rampa or whoever it was—­got it from him. Had Maleng made another visit to Mma Gondo? A visit that she hadn't mentioned? Another loose end.

He rolled over again and wondered if there was any more of Joy's excellent
melktert
that they'd had for dessert. Perhaps a mouthful or two would settle him down. He climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb Joy, and decided to check on the girls on his way to the kitchen.

Tumi and Nono were fast asleep in their room, breathing softly; two little angels. Kubu stood and watched them, smiling. Then they triggered a thought and his face fell. The two children murdered for
muti
had known their abductor. Why would they know the undertaker? Were funerals
that
common? He shook his head. He felt that somewhere during the case Nono had given him a clue. Was it that Nono knew Rampa because of Seloi's funeral? He shook his head. It was something else . . .

Suddenly he heard the scrabbling sound in the ceiling again. Almost certainly a rat. Maybe a nest of rats. He sighed. There was nothing he could do about it tonight.

He found one piece of
melktert
left and polished it off. I'm missing something, he thought. With the rats and the girls and the
melktert
, I'm missing something. I must put it aside and let my subconscious work on it.

After that he went back to bed and was soon asleep.

T
HE N
EXT MORNING HE
woke with no new insights. After the disturbed night, he was grateful that it was Sunday, so he didn't need to rush. It took him a while to get going, but a shower woke him up. At breakfast he told Joy about the noises in the ceiling and promised to look into it, adding that it was probably the tasteless unsweetened muesli she was making him eat that attracted the vermin. Joy replied that he should stop talking nonsense and finish his coffee or else they'd be late for their visit to his parents.

Nevertheless, they were there in good time and, as usual, the girls were the center of attention and spoiled by everyone. It was a relaxed day, and Kubu found that he was beginning to accept his father's inevitable decline, and that he could still enjoy his company. He was glad of the pleasure Wilmon clearly took in both girls, and no longer corrected him when he referred to Nono as “your daughter.”

And he managed to keep the mystery of the
muti
murders in the back of his mind.

FIFTY-SIX

J
OSHUA
G
OBEY SAT IN
the study of his elegant home in Phakalane and sweated. The air-­conditioning isn't set low enough, he thought. But he knew that wasn't the real problem. The real problem was the witch doctor sitting in jail being grilled by Mabaku and his men. How long would it take before he broke? If he couldn't save himself with his powers, he wasn't going to save Joshua.

He'd practiced his response to the inevitable questions. He'd deny everything. He'd claim that the CID was trying to discredit him in order to smooth its director's path to the deputy commissionership. He'd be scandalized by the suggestions of his involvement and go straight to the commissioner with his grievances.

After all, nothing linked him to Owido or to the witch doctor. He'd been so careful about that. But he worried about what surprises Forensics might have in store. In fact, he was sure Mabaku would find incriminating evidence whether it was there or not. It was certainly what
he
would do if their roles were reversed. He cursed under his breath and wiped at the dampness on his brow.

So when his cell phone rang, and he didn't recognize the number, he was curt.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Joshua, it's me. Listen very carefully.”

Joshua felt the blood drain from his face as he recognized the witch doctor's voice.

“Where are you? Why're you calling me? Did they let you go?” His voice was a croak. Suppose the man was calling from the CID, and the call was being recorded? His hand shook so badly that he nearly dropped the phone.

The response was laughter, the witch doctor's unpleasant laugh that was all sarcasm and no humor.

“Let me go? Do you think I would allow the police to catch me? Do you think my powers are worth
nothing
?”

“But I read . . .”

“You read about a man who's my servant. He does what I say. He knows nothing about me—­as little as you do. He disposed of bodies when I'd finished with them, that's all.”

Joshua felt a wave of relief mixed with something else. Elation? Yes. His faith in the witch doctor's promises and powers was restored.

“That's fantastic!”

“Joshua, you seem to forget. I'm invisible unless I choose to take human form.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Now we want the police to tie up this case and move on to something else. So that we can get back to what's important.”

“What if they discover that this undertaker—­what's his name—­isn't you?”

“Then we could have a problem. I don't want any more interference, any more delay. You must make sure that doesn't happen.”

“Me? What can I do? That isn't my department! The CID is under a man called Mabaku.” Joshua paused and closed the door in case his wife walked past. “Can't you get rid of him? That would solve all our problems.”

“I'm not going to do everything by myself. You're senior in the police and have the ear of the commissioner. Make sure Rampa is charged with the killings.”

“How can I do that? I know nothing about it.”

“Here's something that should help you. The police either know already or soon will: Rampa has Marumo's briefcase. The one that disappeared the night he was murdered. So he's implicated there, too.”

“Marumo? The politician?”

The witch doctor sighed. “Remember you're headed for the top, Joshua, just as long as you do precisely what I tell you.” The line went dead.

Joshua leaned back in his chair and swallowed. For the first time he consciously realized what he'd done. He'd put himself in the witch doctor's power. A deal with the Devil, he thought. I made a deal with the Devil. Those stories always end badly. The Devil always wins. He felt the dampness on his forehead again. This time it was cold.