Facets of Death Page 16

  Kubu’s mouth watered. “Goat stew! I love that! But we must have the fish or it will spoil, and I’ll have wasted my money.” He frowned, then smiled. “I have an idea. Let’s have both. We’ll have two courses tonight like the fancy restaurants. First the fish, then the stew. It’ll be a feast!”

  Amantle hesitated, clearly tempted. Wilmon stood by with a small smile. If Amantle didn’t see through Kubu’s ruse, he certainly did. After a moment, Amantle accepted the fish and took it to warm in a pan over her wood stove, where the stew was already simmering, spreading tempting aromas.

  Kubu needed something to take his mind off how hungry it made him. He turned back to his father. “And how are your herbs coming on, Father?”

  “Let me show you.” Wilmon was visibly pleased to be asked, as Kubu knew he would be.

  “Supper will be ready in five minutes,” Amantle called after them as the two men walked outside.

  They walked to the back of the house, where Wilmon grew a variety of plants and herbs that he used to make potions and salves for various ailments. What had started purely as a hobby had expanded to a small enterprise because of Wilmon’s reputation for providing inexpensive but effective treatments. Wilmon pointed out one that alleviated fevers.

  “The doctors would give you an expensive medicine instead.” He shook his head. “The problem with doctors is that they know nothing about the traditional remedies that our people have used for hundreds of years. I could teach them a thing or two.”

  Kubu nodded. “You certainly could, Father. And they’d be better doctors for it.”

  Wilmon gave an approving nod. “Let’s go in. We mustn’t let your mother’s food get cold.”

  Chapter 60

  They settled around the table, and Wilmon said grace, giving special thanks for having their son with them. When he was finished, Amantle dished up the fish, and they tucked in. Kubu would have liked a glass of dry white wine to cut the rather greasy batter, but drinking alcohol at the dinner table would have scandalized his parents, so they drank water as usual.

  When the last chip had disappeared from the plate, Amantle asked if the men had had enough to eat and if the goat should be saved for the next day. Kubu assured her that he wasn’t full and was soon enjoying the meat, tasty, if tough, in its thick gravy.

  Kubu was bursting to tell them about his new life, and he started between mouthfuls. “I can’t believe I’ve only been at the CID for four days. So much has happened! Of course, the big case is the Debswana diamond heist, but I’ve been working on all sorts of things already. It’s all so interesting. It’s hard to believe that the government is paying me to do this.”

  Amantle looked worried. “I hope you will keep away from the tsotsis.”

  “Mother, I will investigate whatever crime my boss assigns to me. I can’t choose.”

  “But you must be careful. There are some very dangerous people in Botswana these days.”

  Wilmon shook his head. “I am told that they are from South Africa.”

  “One strange thing,” Kubu continued, “is how the other detectives behave. I don’t think they like me because I became a detective straight from university. A few have tried to make it difficult for me, but I ignore that. And some don’t seem to like it that I want to work hard.”

  “Typical government workers!” Wilmon grumbled. “Pay them a fortune, and they do nothing.”

  Kubu decided not to engage because he knew his father’s position would only harden if he did.

  To change the subject, and rather to his surprise, he started to tell them about Joy. “I also met a very pleasant young woman. She’s not a policeman, of course. She works in the records department. But she was so helpful and got me the information I needed right away…” His voice trailed off, and he looked down at his plate.

  Amantle pounced. “You like her? What is her name?”

  “Joy Serome.”

  Amantle thought for a moment. “Serome is not a very common name. There is an old lady of that name who lives near here, but I do not think she has family around here.”

  Kubu concentrated on chewing a particularly tough chunk of goat.

  “But I will ask her. Maybe she has a daughter in Gaborone. It is good to find out about a person’s family.”

  Kubu cringed. What had he done, he wondered. Now Amantle would be asking questions all over Mochudi, and rumours would spread like wildfire. And if she did come across one of Joy’s relatives, Joy might find out, and it would be terribly embarrassing.

  “No, no, don’t worry. She’s just someone I met. I don’t even know her.”

  Amantle gave a knowing smile but didn’t push the subject. “I will clear up. You can talk to your father. You did come to ask him something, did you not? Or was it just this Serome woman who brought you out here?”

  Kubu realised she’d seen right through him, and from his father’s quiet smile, he guessed Wilmon had too. He laughed.

  “You’re right as usual, Mother. But please don’t ask about the Seromes. At least not until…” He broke off, unsure of until what.

  Amantle just nodded and collected the plates. “I will see if there is some bush tea and make it for you.” Wilmon said nothing. He was busy picking goat sinew out of his teeth with a sharpened twig.

  Kubu took a deep breath and turned to the subject of witch doctors.

  “Father, as you know, the CID is investigating the huge diamond robbery from Debswana’s Jwaneng mine.”

  Wilmon nodded. “I have heard about it on the radio.” He was proud of his small transistor radio, which he used sparingly, mainly just for the news, to save the batteries.

  “We have reason to believe that a witch doctor is involved, but we’re not sure how or why. Assistant Superintendent Mabaku wants me to look into it.” He digressed for a few minutes to tell his father about Mabaku and how much he admired him. Wilmon just nodded until Kubu finished.

  Then he said, “Why do you think a witch doctor is involved in the diamond robbery?”

  “Three things have come up, Father, that make us think that. The first was a gift to a pilot who was going to fly from Jwaneng. An old but well-dressed man gave him a package when he left the airport. It turned out to contain a crow with its head chopped off. The next morning the plane caught fire on the runway, but we’re pretty sure it was the result of sabotage. The second thing concerned one of the guards in the armoured vehicle that was transporting the diamonds—a man called Kenosi. His wife said he’d had some contact with a man who promised to help him succeed. Kenosi’s wife was convinced the man was a witch doctor, although she never met him. The third thing was when the box that was supposed to contain the diamonds was recovered in South Africa. It was sealed with some sort of fetish.”

  Wilmon thought for a few moments before he spoke. “And what was the reaction to all this?”

  Kubu laughed. “Everyone was terrified! It’s hard to believe. The airport manager wouldn’t go into his office while the parcel for the pilot was in it. The guard, Kenosi, was probably persuaded to help hijack the vehicle. And the police who recovered the box with the diamonds—the one with the fetish—were too scared to even have it in their vehicle. It’s amazing.”

  Wilmon nodded but didn’t smile. “Please tell me exactly what happened.”

  Kubu did so, and his father listened attentively. At one point, Amantle came in with their tea but left quickly when she caught the drift of Kubu’s story.

  When Kubu reached the point at which the Debswana staff discovered that the box recovered from South Africa was full of gravel, he stopped and sipped his tea. Wilmon did the same, and Kubu wondered if he was going to comment at all. At last his father put down his cup and sighed.

  “My son, you need to understand how these spells actually work.” Kubu opened his mouth to interrupt, but his father held up his hand. “You think it is all nonsense,
and so it is, but that does not mean that it is harmless or that it does not work. These men claim to produce miracles, but only God can do that. What the devil can do is to make men believe, and if they believe, then the witchcraft has power.

  “Think about your pilot on the plane. He was a white man, and he did not believe. It did not occur to him that the fetish had caused the fire. He assumed it was some sort of electrical problem. But those who believed were scared to even touch this material, even though it had nothing to do with them. Similarly, your security guard. He believed that these spells and potions could make him rich and successful, so he was willing to do anything to achieve that. And the fetish that sealed the box? What better way of preventing anyone from opening it? They would believe an awful curse would descend on them. No lock is as safe as that.”

  Kubu stared at his father. As far he could remember, it was one of the longest speeches Wilmon had ever made. He was not a man of many words, but those he uttered usually were carefully chosen.

  “So, you think this witch doctor was using his power to somehow control the robbers?”

  Wilmon nodded. “But not the way you are thinking. He was using his reputation and their fear and belief. That is psychology, not magic.”

  Kubu shook his head. He was beginning to get confused. “So, he has no real power at all?”

  “My son, you are not listening to my words. He has great power—because people believe. But that is the limit of his power. Your white pilot had no interest or concern for his spells. He realised that sabotage was the cause of his accident.”

  “So why would the witch doctor even give him the package? What did it achieve? That’s been worrying me.”

  Wilmon rubbed his chin and didn’t respond for what seemed like a long time. “I do not know the answer to that. Perhaps this man truly believes he can control the natural world, that he is the devil’s creature. Or maybe he does not really understand…”

  Kubu thought about it all for a few seconds. “Father, you’ve helped me a great deal. But how can I find out more? I need to trace this man. Who might know where to find him?”

  Wilmon shrugged. “If he has the power of fear, few will talk about him. The risk is great, even if it exists only in their own minds.”

  “But surely someone…”

  Wilmon rose, consulted a small notebook, and jotted down a name and a number for Kubu. “This man is in Gaborone. He will talk to you if you tell him you are my son. Whether or not he can help you, I do not know.”

  Shortly after that, Kubu thanked his father for his advice, took his leave of his mother, and started the trip back to the city. Fortunately, at that time of the evening on a weekday, the road was not busy, and he could drive and think at the same time. He felt he had a stronger understanding of what he was up against but still no clear way to take the investigation forward. He was beginning to think that this witch doctor might be a much more difficult adversary than he had supposed.

  FRIDAY

  Chapter 61

  When Mabaku arrived at his desk on Friday morning, he phoned Kubu. “I need to speak to you. Please come to my office.”

  Kubu was there in about thirty seconds flat.

  “Yes, sir?” he asked, concerned that Mabaku was going to reprimand him for not having made progress with finding the witch doctor.

  “Sit down. Any progress on finding the witch doctor?”

  “No, sir. But one of the few facts we have doesn’t make sense. And that is, why the witch doctor would give the pilot a fetish. Most whites aren’t bothered by such things. The witch doctor would certainly know that. So why do it?”

  “Well, one possibility would be…”

  At that moment the phone rang.

  “Assistant Superintendent Mabaku.” And a few seconds later, “Yes, Director. Of course, I can take the call, sir.”

  Kubu stood up to leave, but Mabaku waved him back to his chair.

  “Colonel Venter, Director Gobey says you have some information for us about what happened in South Africa. May I put you on speakerphone? One of my colleagues, Detective Sergeant Bengu, is with me. He’s also working on the case.”

  After receiving Venter’s consent, he pressed the button on his phone. “Go ahead, Colonel.”

  “Director Gobey probably told you,” the heavily accented voice boomed out of the phone, “that I was puzzled why the Motswedi police were out looking for smugglers. And why were they so heavily armed, hey? For gunrunners, maybe, but for okes smuggling animal hides? Nee! It didn’t make sense, hey. So, I decided to shake the bushes to see what fell out.”

  Mabaku indicated to Kubu that he should take notes.

  “And you know what fell out, Assistant Superintendent? Vrot fruit! There were some bad apples in the tree, my friend. Very bad apples.”

  Venter stopped, and Kubu and Mabaku looked at each other, wondering if Venter was expecting a reaction.

  But Venter continued. “I went to Motswedi and threatened to take out my sjambok and whip them if they didn’t tell me why they went out that night. Have you ever seen someone’s back after a sjambokking, Assistant Superintendent? It’s not lekker, hey. Anyway, eventually, one of the men told me they’d received a tip. That a Land Cruiser filled with guns and things was coming through a hole in the border fence. And the men were very dangerous and would shoot if the police tried to stop them. And there was money hidden in the front seats. Lots of money. So, when they saw the Cruiser, they tried to stop it, but the okes inside started shooting. At least that’s their story. Anyway, then the police opened fire, and the okes in the Cruiser had no chance. The police took the money and brought the box and the guns back to the station. Then they phoned Zeerust and reported what happened. At least, sort of what happened.”

  Mabaku started to ask a question, but Venter interrupted him. “I’ll fax you my report. It has all the information. Then, you can phone with any questions. Okay?”

  Mabaku thanked the colonel and promised the Botswana Police Service would follow up on their side of the border and keep Venter informed. Then he hung up.

  “Well, well. This could be a breakthrough. And you’ve got yourself another job, Detective Sergeant. After we get the report, go down to where they went through the fence and scout around. See if you can pick up anything useful.”

  “Sir, does Colonel Venter really whip his men to get information?” Kubu asked, appalled that a policeman could act that way.

  Mabaku shrugged.

  Kubu hesitated, none the wiser. “Sir, there is a problem about going to the fence.”

  Mabaku frowned. “Yes?”

  “Sir, if I have to stay overnight, I don’t have enough money to pay for it. I haven’t received my first month’s pay yet.”

  “Tell the hotel to send the bill to the CID. We’re good for the money. If they won’t let you stay, tell them we’ll look into all their licences and tax returns and everything else.”

  “Yes, sir.” Kubu stood up and returned to his office.

  What a wonderful job I have, he thought as he settled back in his chair. Always something interesting going on.

  Chapter 62

  While he waited for the fax from Colonel Venter, Kubu thought about how to carry out Mabaku’s instructions. Several issues that Colonel Venter had mentioned niggled at him. He wasn’t sure where Motswedi was, nor whether that was where the robbers had come through from Botswana. The colonel had referred to a hole in the border fence but hadn’t told them where it was. Presumably more detail would be in the report. Then there was the issue of the person who’d tipped off the Motswedi police. If he knew the robbers were going to cross the border into South Africa, he might know a lot more about them and their movements.

  He needed that report.

  In the meantime, he needed to find out where Motswedi actually was, and for that he needed a map of the area of South Africa bordering
Botswana. He didn’t know where to find one but could guess who would. He almost jumped out of his chair.

  However, halfway to the records building, his pace slowed as he started to have second thoughts. Perhaps Joy would think he was an idiot because everyone else knew where to look for maps. Alternatively, she might think the whole thing was just a ploy to see her again, which, of course, he knew it was. He stopped. He should rather ask Elias. Then Elias might suggest the records office, and then he would have a reason to go there.

  Get a grip on yourself. You have a reasonable question. At worst, she’ll just say she doesn’t know. Then you can go back to Elias.

  He started walking again and was soon in Joy’s office. Tentatively, he rang the bell. After a moment, Joy appeared from the back room, holding a half-eaten muffin.

  “Sorry, Detective Sergeant.” She held up the muffin. “Breakfast! I got a bit delayed this morning.”

  Kubu’s heart sank—she was being so formal. “Oh, I’m sorry. Shall I…um…shall I come back…er…later?”

  Joy shook her head and smiled. “No, no, it’s fine. Did you have more questions about those files you took?”

  Kubu realised he should have brought them with him to return. “No, thank you, I’m still studying them.”

  He couldn’t think what else to say. Joy waited.

  After what seemed forever, he remembered the map. “Actually, I want to ask your advice. I need to see a map—a really good one—of the area of South Africa next to southeastern Botswana.” He felt pleased with himself for getting it out sensibly, but Joy looked pensive, and his heart sank.

  She’s going to ask why I came here instead of—

  “I think I may have something,” she said and disappeared into the back room. After a couple of minutes, she was back, without the muffin, but carrying a rolled-up map, which she spread on the desk. As soon as she unrolled it, it coiled up again, so the two of them had to hold the corners down. It was a detailed topographic map of southeastern Botswana, but it also included the bordering region of South Africa.