TWENTY-FOUR
IT WAS ALREADY 9 a.m. when Kubu walked into his office. His late dinner and his inability to shut down his mind had caused a poor night’s sleep. He fetched a strong cup of tea, then sat down to a stack of notes. On top was one from Samantha—0800: Please call me when you get in, S Khama.
The note felt formal, which made Kubu realize that he was already thinking of “S. Khama” as Samantha. He reflected for a moment. That’s a good sign, he thought. If that’s how I’m thinking of her, she must be doing a good job.
He phoned her and asked that she come to his office in fifteen minutes. He still needed to attend to the other notes.
“I’VE TWO THINGS TO report,” Samantha said as she settled in one of the chairs in Kubu’s office. “Last night I went to see Marumo’s girlfriend. She says that he always had the briefcase with him. He never even left it in the car if he went into a restaurant or meeting. She swears he would’ve had it when he arrived home.”
“And you checked with the woman down the road, who saw the man running?”
“Yes. She thought he might’ve been carrying something, but she wasn’t sure. I don’t think we learned anything from her.”
“And the police who responded to the call?”
“I spoke to them, too. None of them remember seeing it.”
“I didn’t see it, either,” Kubu said, “but I arrived a bit later. What about the doctor?”
“He says the same thing. He didn’t see it. He says whoever murdered Marumo must have taken it.”
“Did you check with the Freedom Party?”
“Yes, I went there last night. There were still people working. They confirmed that he always had the briefcase and wouldn’t have left without it. They gave me several photos with him holding it. It’s nothing special and didn’t have any distinctive markings. I circulated one of the photos to all the police stations and rubbish disposal people.”
“Did the Freedom Party people say what was in the briefcase?”
“They said the most important was the party’s plan for the next election. If someone in another party got hold of it, it could really hurt their efforts. They claimed that the murder and theft of the briefcase were both politically motivated, probably by the BDP.”
“Why would the BDP do such a thing?”
“They say the BDP is running scared after the by-election and will do anything to stop the Freedom Party.”
Kubu felt depressed. “And I suppose Zanele and her crew found nothing, either?”
“Well, they didn’t find the briefcase,” Samantha said, glancing at Kubu, who leaned back in his chair. “It’s starting to sound like a politically motivated murder.”
“That’s the last thing we need,” Kubu groaned, shaking his head.
“I also checked that the APB went out last night,” Samantha continued. “The Daily News will have a short article in today’s paper, but there won’t be a photo. And some of the TV stations will broadcast a request this morning for the public to keep their eyes open for a Witness Maleng. I sent them all a copy of the picture on his driver’s license. Not very good, but better than nothing.”
“Excellent,” Kubu responded. “We’ll go and see if we can find the witch doctor he consulted, but I’ve no idea whether she’ll be there. We’ll just have to take our chances.”
“I wouldn’t know how to contact a witch doctor.” Samantha frowned. “Would you?”
“No. But I’m sure if you wanted one, all you’d have to do is put out the word and you’d get several phone calls.”
“It’s weird, isn’t it? They’re all phonies, yet they’re such a big part of our culture. People actually believe in them. In this day and age.” She shook her head. “I would’ve thought we knew better today.”
“As long as people believe in them, they’ll be around—whether we think of them as charlatans or not.” Kubu stood up. “Let’s go and meet one.”
FOLLOWING BIG MAMA’S SCRIBBLED directions, Kubu negotiated his Land Rover through the dusty streets until they found the witch doctor’s house.
“She can’t be doing very well,” Kubu said wryly, as he looked at the nondescript structure. “I wonder if that’s her receptionist.” He pointed at an old man who was sitting outside the house on a milk crate.
“Dumela, rra,” Kubu said. “We are looking for Mma Gondo.”
The old man slowly stood up. Kubu thought he could hear the man’s knees creaking.
“She is not available now. Only by appointment. Who wants to consult her? And for what purpose?”
Kubu pulled out his police badge. “If she’s here, I need to see her now.”
The old man squinted at the badge.
“She is very busy, but I will see what I can do.”
A few minutes later, the old man gestured that Kubu and Samantha could enter the house. Once they were in, he pointed to the side room. “There.”
As their eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, they saw an old woman wrapped in a blanket. She had white hair and a heavily wrinkled face.
“Sit over there.” She pointed to two low wooden stools.
Kubu and Samantha sat down and waited.
The old woman stared at them. Eventually she spoke in a husky voice.
“You want to know about Witness Maleng.” It was a statement, not a question.
Samantha gasped. “How did you know that?”
The old woman ignored her.
Kubu nodded. “Yes, mma. We are here about Witness Maleng.”
After a short silence, she spoke. “He came to see me after his daughter disappeared.” She paused again. Kubu and Samantha said nothing.
“His spirit was disturbed and angry. He said he had lost all he had. He wanted to know what had happened to his daughter and whether someone had put a spell on him.” Another pause.
“I told him to look for someone who had recently been nothing and was now something.”
“Why did you say that?” Samantha asked eagerly.
Mma Gondo turned her head slowly and stared at Samantha. “Muti from a young girl is very powerful. It is used to bring success and power.”
“And you believe that nonsense?” Samantha’s voice was tinged with anger.
“Samantha. Please listen to Mma Gondo.”
“Your friend does not believe in the spirits.” Mma Gondo nodded. “But she will learn.”
“Mma Gondo,” Kubu said quietly. “Did you suggest that Rra Marumo was responsible for Witness’s daughter’s disappearance?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Big Mama told me that he came to her shebeen thinking that Marumo was going to win the election even though no one thought he could.”
“You think he killed Rra Marumo?” The old woman looked into Kubu’s eyes.
“Yes, mma. He is a suspect, but we don’t have final proof yet.”
“You asked if I mentioned Marumo’s name. No, I didn’t mention anybody’s name. I told him to look for someone whose luck had changed. That is the way of powerful muti.”
“Do you make muti?” Samantha blurted out.
Again, the old woman stared at Samantha.
“Of course.”
“From children?”
“My child. You know so little. It is not allowed to make muti from humans. And it is not proper.”
“But you said you made muti!” Samantha’s exasperation showed in her voice.
“Muti does not have to use human parts. Most witch doctors do not do that. They think it angers the spirits—harming one person to benefit another. Our muti uses herbs and barks and flowers. And sometimes we use parts of an animal if we can get them—from a cow or a lion. But never human body parts.”
“But some witch doctors do?”
The woman nodded slowly.
“Mma Gondo,” Kubu said quietly. “We need your help. Do you know anyone who would use human body parts to make muti?”
“You understand what you are asking?” She looked into his eyes. “If I say anything, a tokoloshe may kill me when I sleep. Or I may get very sick. Or my children may disappear. Witch doctors who make muti using humans are very powerful. The most powerful.”
Samantha took a deep breath and was about to speak, when Kubu touched her on her shoulder and shook his head. He could sense the anger in her.
“Mma Gondo. You said yourself that killing people for muti is a bad thing.”
Gondo nodded.
“But you know it happens. And unless we stop it, unless we find the few witch doctors who commit such terrible deeds, it will never stop.”
Mma Gondo nodded slowly.
“I am told,” she started hesitantly, “that there is such a powerful witch doctor here in Gaborone. He is much feared. But he is invisible. No one has seen him. All are scared of his powers, so they don’t speak of him or seek him out.”
“So how do people get muti from him?” Samantha looked puzzled.
“Perhaps he has the power to know when someone wants such muti,” Mma Gondo answered.
“This is nonsense!” Samantha was losing patience. “People pay for muti like this. A lot of money, I believe. How do they pay someone who is invisible? It’s nonsense.”
“My child. You are young and keen to stop people harming others. That is good. But you do not yet understand the power of witch doctors. But you will learn.”
“Mma Gondo. We need to know who this powerful person is. We need you to tell us.” Kubu too was getting exasperated.
“I do not know who it is, and even if I knew, I would not tell you. It would be known immediately, and I would suffer from many bad spells. But I hope this thing stops. It is bad for all of us.”
“Mma Gondo. You must tell us! This is a murder investigation. I don’t want to have to take you in for questioning.”
“You can take me in, Rra Bengu, but I have told you all I know. If I knew who it was and I pointed in his direction, my life would be at an end. I do not want that.”
Kubu saw he was getting nowhere. “Do you know of any other witch doctors who also make such muti?”
The old woman shook her head and pointed to the door.
AS THEY WERE WALKING back to the car, Kubu’s phone rang. He listened to the caller for a few moments, then hung up.
“That was Zanele. Marumo’s gourd definitely had human tissue in it. As far as they can tell from a preliminary DNA test they did on hairs they found at his house, it wasn’t Witness’s daughter’s, though. At least that is their initial finding. A more thorough analysis will be available next week.”
“Was it from the girl in Mochudi?”
“They haven’t checked that yet. They’ll have to get a DNA sample from her sister. It was more important to try and tie it to Witness’s daughter.”
“What did you make of Mma Gondo?” Samantha asked as she climbed in the Land Rover.
“I believed her when she said she didn’t know who the witch doctor is. But it’s useful to learn that there’s at least one witch doctor here who uses human body parts. And she did give us one small clue. She said it was a man. I don’t think she would have said that by accident.” He turned and looked back at the house.
“All we can hope for is that he will make a mistake some time. They always do. We just have to recognize it.”
Again Kubu’s phone rang.
“Mr. Director. You have? Where?”
He listened for a short time.
“Jwaneng. He’s applied for a job?”
Again he listened.
“Here’s what I suggest. Ask the mine to call him and tell him they want to give him a job. They should ask him to come to the mine in a couple of hours to finish the paperwork. Please contact the Jwaneng police and tell them to be at the office at that time. They should be discreet. We don’t want him to get wind of what is happening. We should have no difficulty arresting him there. He won’t be expecting us.”
Samantha looked at Kubu.
“Ah, yes,” he responded to some comments from Mabaku. “If he sees that, he’ll try to get away. We should put road blocks on the A2 on either side of Jwaneng. There are no other roads he’s likely to use. Of course, all this assumes he stayed in Jwaneng to hear whether the mine wanted him. But I suspect he did.”
After a few minutes, Kubu hung up.
“As you gathered, Witness Maleng has applied for a job in Jwaneng. Someone in HR read the article in the newspaper and recognized his name. We’re lucky someone is awake. We’re going to try and arrest him there this afternoon.”
He smiled. “Progress at last!”
TWENTY-FIVE
WHEN HE WOKE UP, Witness was ravenous. The previous night’s beer and chips just weren’t enough. He hadn’t slept well, and he had a very stiff neck. Optimistic about the job in the mine, he decided to splurge and have a decent breakfast. He drove back to town and found a small eating place that served pap with a palatable sauce. He washed it down with a large glass of Coca-Cola.
He wondered how to kill a day or two in this little town in which he knew no one. I’ll walk around to see what it’s like. It’s not that big. So after breakfast he started walking.
About an hour later, about 10 a.m., his phone rang.
“Rra Maleng?”
“Yes?”
“This is Jessica from Jwaneng Human Resources. I’m pleased to tell you that we want to offer you a job. Can you come into the office at noon?”
Witness’s heart jumped. His premonition had been right.
“Of course. Thank you so much. The same place as yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Will I start work today?”
“No. You can start tomorrow or the next day.”
“Thank you. Thank you. I’ll see you at noon.”
He hung up, elated.
He started walking again, a spring in his step.
WITH PLENTY OF TIME left before the meeting, Witness strolled around the shopping center, which had the usual assortment of stores. After window-shopping for nearly an hour, he wandered over to an outdoor kiosk for a cold drink. He picked up a copy of the Daily News to see if there was anything about Marumo. He gasped. There on the front page was a headline, SUSPECT SOUGHT IN MARUMO MURDER CASE. Flustered, he pulled out some coins and paid for the drink and newspaper. He walked away to read the article.
The Botswana CID is looking for Witness Maleng, who is a suspect in the murder of the Freedom Party’s Bill Marumo last Saturday. A police spokesman told reporters that Maleng had apparently fled his house on Monday morning, taking all his possessions. The public is asked to keep an eye open for him and to report to the police immediately if he is seen. He is regarded as very dangerous.
Unfortunately a photograph of Maleng was not available at the time of going to press.
Witness’s hands started to shake. He had to get out of Jwaneng immediately. What if the mine had seen the article? They’d arrest him on the spot.
He walked as fast as he could, face down, to where he’d parked his car.
He wasn’t sure what to do. Should he go back to Gaborone, where there were lots of people? Or should he try to make a dash for South Africa? It was easy to walk over the border between Makopong and Bray. He decided to wait outside town until dusk, then head south to the border.
“MIRIAM, I’VE GOT TO see the director immediately.” Kubu was breathless after hurrying from his office.
“Sit down, Kubu,” Mabaku’s personal assistant responded. “Or you’ll have a heart attack. The director’s on the phone with the commissioner. I don’t think he’ll be long.”
Kubu sat down and fidgeted. Then he stood up and stared out the window at Kgale Hill. “Come on, come on,” he muttered to himself. “I’ve got important news.”
He sat down again and picked up a copy of the latest Police News. But before he could start reading it, Miriam told him to go in.
“Director,” Kubu blurted as he came through the door. “Bad news! I just had a call from Jwaneng. Maleng didn’t show up for his appointment at the mine. He should’ve been there over an hour ago. He must’ve picked up a newspaper and seen the report.”
“Sit down, Kubu. And calm down.”
Kubu settled in one of the armchairs. He was about to speak, when Mabaku continued.
“That’s too bad, but it isn’t the end of the world. The roadblocks are in place around Jwaneng?”
Kubu nodded.
“He’s probably waiting for dark. Or he may have tried some back roads. But where’s he going to go? Back to Gaborone? Unlikely. To Namibia? We’ve got roadblocks on the Trans-Kalahari Highway. The only real possibility is South Africa, and that’s a long way south.”
“He could walk across the border. He doesn’t have to go through an official border crossing.”
“Alert all border crossings to be on the lookout for him. Also, as far as I know, there are only two ways out of Jwaneng other than the A2. One goes south, and the other loops around back toward Kanye. Have roadblocks set up on both of those, but quite far away from Jwaneng. If we’re lucky, we’ll get him.”
“Yes, Director,” Kubu said glumly. When the initial call had come in from the mine, he’d thought the manhunt was nearly over. He heaved himself to his feet. “All we can do is wait.”
WITNESS SAT IN THE car on a sandy back street with a hat pulled over his face in case someone walked by. He thought it was still two or three hours to when he could slip unnoticed across the border. At about 6 p.m., as the sky darkened quickly, he decided to leave.
As he turned onto the Trans-Kalahari Highway toward Sekoma, worries crowded his thoughts: What if the police caught him? How could he explain what had happened? What if he couldn’t? How would he survive in jail? He’d heard terrible stories of what happened there.
Still, he thought, Marumo had got what he deserved—raping young women, using muti, and who knows what else. Bastard.
It was now dark, and he was driving quite slowly because his headlights were bad. Suddenly he noticed a police roadblock ahead. He knew these were common—usually checking driver’s licenses and the roadworthiness of the many older vehicles that populated Botswana’s streets. Part of him cautioned him to stop and let the police do their job; another part wanted to make a run for it. The police were obviously searching for him and would arrest him at once—if they recognized him. He pulled his hat lower over his face. He dithered as he slowed down. Should he take his chances and stop?
Just as he was approaching the policeman who was flagging him off the road, he panicked. He pushed the gas pedal to the floor, and the old Volkswagen picked up speed, scattering orange traffic cones. He could see policemen waving at him, and he was sure they were shouting, too.
He looked in his rearview mirror. People were dashing for their vehicles. In seconds they would be after him. The Volkswagen continued to pick up speed. There were rattles everywhere, and at 60 miles per hour the steering wheel developed a severe shake. He held on, continuing to gain speed. At 75 miles per hour, the shaking stopped.
Now he was going too fast for his dim headlights to give him warning of something in the road. He peered forward. Faster, faster he went. Now the speedometer was showing 85 mph.
The road swept to the left. He pulled on the steering wheel, and the car shuddered. He glanced in the mirror. Nobody in sight yet. Maybe he could pull off the road and turn his lights off. They would drive right past. Or if he could get to Sekoma before they caught up with him, he could just disappear. But that was hopeless, Sekoma was almost an hour away.
Suddenly his feeble lights picked out something in the road. A cow! Witness pulled to the left, but it was too late. The Volkswagen hit the animal and skidded sideways. Witness screamed as the car rolled over. It tumbled four or five times in a cloud of dust before coming to rest on its side next to the fence, whose purpose was to keep livestock off the road. The only sound was a hissing from the engine and a repeating squeak as one of the wheels rotated slowly.
CONSTABLES NGEMA AND SESUPO approached the car cautiously, flashlights probing.
“Oh God, can you smell that?” Sesupo shouted. “Petrol is leaking. It’s all over the place.”
“He’s still in there!” Ngema said, pointing the beam of light at a bleeding head. “Help me push the car over.”
“What if it catches fire? We’ll be fried.”
“We can’t just leave him there. Give me a hand.”
The two men rocked the car a few times, then gave it a big push. It rolled back onto its wheels. Sesupo tried to open the driver’s door, but it was jammed. He ran around to the other side, but the passenger’s door was stuck also.
“Call an ambulance!” he shouted to Ngema. “I’ll knock out all the glass. Maybe we can pull him out through the windscreen.” He started banging on the shattered glass with his nightstick. When it was all gone, he climbed on the hood and stretched into the car, just managing to reach Witness’s wrist.
“He’s still alive,” he said to Ngema, who had just returned.
“The ambulance is on its way. Should be here soon. It only has to come from Jwaneng.”
“Let’s see if we can get him out.”
It took only a few attempts for the men to see that Witness was jammed by the steering wheel.
“I’ll get a crowbar from the car.” Ngema ran into the darkness. He returned a few moments later, crowbar in hand. “Let’s see if we can open his door.”
“Be careful! We don’t want any sparks.” Sesupo’s voice was tinged with fear.
They pushed and pulled, but the door didn’t budge. A second police car arrived, and Ngema called to them to bring their crowbar.
Soon four men were working at the door. Suddenly it popped open.
“Careful now.” Sesupo leaned in and tried to extricate Witness but couldn’t move him. “He’s stuck. What do we do now?”
“We should wait for the medics. I can hear the siren already.”
In the distance they could see flashing lights. A few minutes later the ambulance pulled up and two men jumped out. They ran over to the car, and Ngema explained the situation. One of the men then examined Witness.
“No seat belt. He’s got chest and head injuries. Bad. We’ll have to cut him out.”
“But there’s petrol everywhere. We’ll all go up in flames.”
“Cover the area with foam,” one of the medics said. “There’s an extinguisher in the ambulance. Let’s hope that works.”
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, THEY lifted the unconscious Witness onto a gurney and into the ambulance. Lights flashing, they headed for the mine hospital. The police followed right behind; Ngema and Sesupo had checked the license plate number of the Volkswagen and the description of the man the Gaborone police sought. They were convinced that the person in the ambulance was Witness Maleng—wanted in connection with the murder of the high-profile politician Bill Marumo. They would remain with him until a constable arrived at the hospital to guard him.
Ngema and Sesupo followed the medics up to the door of the surgery. Then they went to find coffee while they waited for their replacement to arrive.
“I wonder if he’ll survive,” Sesupo commented. “He looked pretty bad to me.”
Ngema shrugged. “Serves him right if he doesn’t. He nearly ran me over at the roadblock.”
Sesupo nodded in agreement.