Deadly Harvest (33 page)

Part Seven

POISONED CHALICE

“Commends th' ingredience of our poison'd chalice

To our own lips.”

MACBETH
, ACT 1, SCENE 7

FIFTY-SEVEN

O
N
M
OND
AY MORNING
J
ACOB
Mabaku was at the CID early, as was his habit. He liked to be on top of his work, not let it pile up on him. He checked e-­mail, but not much had come in over the weekend, so he sat back in his chair and gazed out at Kgale Hill.

I'll miss it, he thought. The view of the hill; working with Kubu, despite all his foibles; the satisfaction of solving a hard case and bringing the felons to justice. And in many ways I have more freedom here than I'll have in the administration and management role of deputy commissioner. He sighed. But I'm not getting any younger, and I've been in this position for ten years. It's time to move ahead if I can.

There was a knock on the door, and Miriam came in.

“Director, Mma Maria Gobey is here. She says it's a personal matter, and can you spare her a few minutes.” Miriam looked uncertain. She liked the director's office to run like clockwork, and Mma Gobey's visit was unexpected.

“Of course,” Mabaku said, rising. He went into the outer office to welcome Mma Gobey personally. He persuaded her to have tea and asked for coffee for himself. While they waited for the refreshments, he asked her about her family and how they were all coping with the loss of her husband. She was polite, but not very forthcoming. Her mind was obviously elsewhere.

At last the refreshments had been served, and the office door was closed.

“Director Mabaku, I'm sorry to take your time. But a certain matter has been weighing on my mind. I keep asking myself what Tebogo would've wanted me to do. I relied on him so much. I never had to make a decision on my own in all the time we were together. But that's past now.”

Mabaku nodded but said nothing, allowing her to take the time she needed to get to the point.

“Your assistant superintendent said that Tebogo would have wanted me to do what I can to help you. I've thought about it, and I believe that's true. So I want to tell you what Tebogo said to me; then perhaps I can forget about it.”

Still Mabaku waited. He had a feeling that what she wanted to tell him was important, but that she might change her mind if pushed. In the end, she blurted it out.

“It's Joshua. My nephew. Tebogo found evidence that he's corrupt. And somehow he knew that Joshua was seeing a witch doctor. One of the really bad ones, he said. I think it may well be this man Rampa you have in custody.”

“Did he tell you anything else? How he knew about your nephew seeing a witch doctor? Why he thought he was corrupt?”

“Not about the witch doctor, no. But Tebogo said Joshua had bought expensive things—­the house and the car—­and paid cash for them. Cash he shouldn't have had.”

She told Mabaku what details she could remember, but there was little more to add. Finally she said, “I think you're an honest man, Director Mabaku. Tebogo wanted an honest man to succeed him.”

When she'd left with his thanks, Mabaku returned to the contemplation of Kgale Hill. Mma Gobey had offered him a powerful weapon against her nephew. Any evidence of impropriety would sink Joshua's chances of the deputy commissioner job. But it would be a challenge to find that evidence: Joshua certainly wasn't stupid. As for the witch doctor, Mabaku didn't want to pursue that aspect at all. He wanted to avoid anything that would link the witch doctor to Tebogo Gobey. And, anyway, Rampa was safely in his cell.

T
HE
J
OSHUA
G
OBEY WHO
walked into the commissioner's office on Monday morning was a different man from the one who'd sweated through Sunday. He'd pulled himself together, realizing that his interests and those of the witch doctor were irrevocably aligned. His confidence restored, he felt able to deal with whatever was thrown at him. He shook the commissioner's hand firmly and accepted his offer of coffee.

The commissioner asked about his aunt, and Joshua assured him that she was doing well under the circumstances. He had no idea if that was true, but he sounded convincing. When the coffee came, they turned to business.

“Commissioner, I'm the last person to criticize how things are done in another man's department. You know that I like to delegate authority, give ­people room to develop.” He paused and was pleased to receive an encouraging nod.

“I just think the Rampa case should move a little faster. There's a lot of anger out there.”

“I think Mabaku and his ­people have done a pretty impressive job,” the commissioner retorted, “grabbing that undertaker and spotting the swapped bodies.”

“Absolutely. But now we must get it tied up. Rampa has been murdering little girls and using their body parts for
muti
! ­People out there are very angry and suspicious. There must be no hint of a cover-­up. You remember the Mogomotsi case.”

The commissioner nodded. Many senior ­people had been embarrassed over that one.

“A quick indictment, no suggestion of uncertainty. That's what we need.” Joshua paused. “Perhaps a little pressure could be applied to get a confession.”

The commissioner frowned. “What do you mean by
pressure
?”

“I was thinking of offering a deal if he confesses—­maybe an insanity plea. Otherwise we let him go.”

“Let him go?” The commissioner's jaw dropped.

“He wouldn't last five minutes on the street. He knows that. I think he's very grateful to be in custody at the moment.” Joshua paused again, as the commissioner nodded slowly.

Joshua changed tack. “You know about the briefcase, of course?”

“Certainly. How do you know about it?”

“From a friend in Forensics. Anyway, it seems Rampa was involved in Marumo's murder, too. I'd charge him with that as well—­that he and Maleng did it together. It probably won't stick in court, but so what? By that time the focus will be on the murdered kids. Maleng can hang on his own for Marumo.”

In spite of himself, the commissioner was impressed. While he was a solid policeman first and foremost, he appreciated the political skills needed to handle tricky cases like this one. Perhaps he'd been a bit premature in leaning toward Mabaku for his deputy. Mabaku understood politics but would always follow the book. He'd see how Mabaku reacted to this less conventional approach.

“You certainly have some good points, Joshua. I'll have a word with Mabaku and the prosecutor.” He nodded, thoughtful.

Then they turned to other matters until the commissioner had to move on to his next meeting.

K
UBU POURED HI
MSELF A
cup of tea and then settled down in his office. He wanted to review all the evidence in the cases from scratch, but, instead, he stared out of the window and thought.

A memory of Nono. His subconscious was trying to tell him something, but the message was getting lost in translation. Perhaps he should drop it, he thought, frustrated. In any case he was the only person in the CID who wasn't convinced that Rampa was the killer.

Suddenly a memory popped into his mind. For a moment it seemed to make sense, but then he shook his head. The idea was completely ridiculous. But he couldn't push it back to the oblivion from which it had emerged. It niggled at him, offering some answers but raising new questions.

He picked up the phone and asked Samantha to bring all the case materials for the
muti
murder investigations and join him in the meeting room.

She arrived with her arms full of files, and he helped her set them down on the table. After a distracted greeting, Kubu started sorting through the files, but he couldn't find the one he wanted.

“The rental cars,” Kubu said. “Did you check the rental cars again?”

Samantha shook her head. “Rampa has a white Toyota, so that would fit the Tombi abduction. He was running a funeral at the time Lesego disappeared, so couldn't have been in Mochudi. Probably Molefe kidnapped her.” She paused. “I was just going to come to tell you about him when you phoned. I brought him in yesterday and told him that now both Rampa and Demene had implicated him. He eventually confessed to abducting Owido, but insisted he knew nothing about the reason. He thought it was a bad joke.”

“Good work. That's three confessions. But none to the murders.”

Samantha was a bit disappointed with his reaction; Kubu was clearly distracted. She could only guess at what was bothering him.

“Can you get the Marumo stuff? I want to—­” Kubu was interrupted by his cell phone. He glanced at the caller ID, frowned, and answered it. After listening for a few moments, he said, “I'll be right there.” He disconnected, then turned to Samantha.

“Rampa's been screaming in his cell. They went to look, and his body's covered with wheals as though he's been lashed. We'd better go and check what's going on.”

W
HEN
K
UB
U AND
S
AMANTHA
arrived, a doctor was examining Rampa.

“What happened?” Kubu asked. “Did someone attack him?”

The doctor shook his head. “It looks more like a rash. I've treated it with a cortisone cream and something to soothe the pain. I think he'll be okay.”

“Any idea what caused it?”

“He won't talk to me, but it could be an allergic reaction to something he ate.”

Kubu turned his attention to the undertaker. He was lying on his bed at the angle that caused the least of his body to be in contact with the mattress. Angry red streaks, slightly raised, crisscrossed his body. He was moaning softly.

“Rra Rampa, do you want to tell me what happened? Did someone do this to you?”

Rampa looked up and nodded. “I told you. His spells and curses aren't stopped by walls. He knows I helped you. I'm finished now. I'm finished.”

“Rra Rampa, this is all in your head! He can't do anything to you here. You're doing this to yourself.”

The undertaker rolled to face Kubu, ignoring the pain.

“Policeman, you know nothing. You're like someone who doesn't believe in TV because he's never seen a set. Ask your boss how he got to be at the top. Ask his boss. That's how it works. That's how it is.” He groaned and lay back. Samantha looked at him in horror.

“My boss got his job because he's excellent at it, that's how,” Kubu said angrily. But he had a sudden uncomfortable thought about Tebogo Gobey.

Rampa sneered at him. “Go away,” he said. “Leave me alone.” Then he refused to say anything more.

Walking back to his office, Kubu said to Samantha, “Are you still so sure he's the witch doctor? Do you think he'd do that to himself?”

She looked unhappy. “He's mad. He believes in evil magic and spirits and devils. Who can say what his mind does to him?”

If it
is
his mind, Kubu thought uncomfortably. But he said, “It may be an idea to have a psychiatrist take a look at him.”

Then his cell phone rang again. Miriam this time.

“Samantha, the director wants to see me right away. And it's nearly lunchtime. Will you get those files, and I'll meet with you as soon as I'm free?”

M
A
BAKU STARTED TALKING
ALMOST
before Kubu was settled in his chair. Although he was going by the book, he couldn't disguise his enthusiasm for tripping up Joshua. First he filled in Kubu on his meeting with Mma Gobey, and his subsequent thoughts on investigating Joshua's finances. He brushed aside the witch doctor connection, adding, “I just had a call from the commissioner. He's keen to move rapidly on Rampa. He's worried about public reaction if it looks as though we're marking time. Apparently Joshua's been sticking his nose into that also. He thinks we should charge Rampa in the Marumo case.”

Kubu shook his head. “We can't charge him in the Marumo case. There's no evidence he was anywhere near the scene, and absolutely no motive. Even if Marumo was one of his clients, what reason would he have to kill him?”

“Maybe they fell out. There was the dog's head, remember.”

Kubu sighed. “I don't think Rampa even
is
the witch doctor.” That got Mabaku's attention, and Kubu told him about Rampa suffering a psychic lashing.

Mabaku frowned. “He could be doing it to himself to put us off. No, I think our strategy is clear. We go after Joshua on the corruption issues, and we try the commissioner's approach on Rampa.” He told Kubu about the choice to be offered to the undertaker: cooperate and avoid the death penalty, or be released to the anger of the ­people.

Kubu shook his head. “Rampa is more scared of the real witch doctor than he is of us, or the ­people on the street. And forget about trapping Joshua; he's too smart for that.”

“He can't hide all that money!”

“Why not? A few big wins at the casino, taxes all paid. How are you going to prove differently? Maybe we'll get him eventually, but by then he'll be nicely installed as deputy commissioner with you reporting to him, and the commissioner will be obliged to support him not to lose face.”