THIRTY
ON MONDAY AFTERNOON KUBU returned from lunch in a good mood only slightly tarnished by the fact he had a meeting with the director and Deputy Commissioner Gobey. He’d received a terse call from the director in the morning, telling him to be there at 2 p.m. As he headed to Mabaku’s office, he wondered if further political fallout from Marumo’s death had settled on the director’s desk after Friday’s press conference.
It had apparently started smoothly, with the reporters excited about the arrest and wanting to know everything about Witness Maleng. It was when they questioned Mabaku about the motive that things became tense. The director told them that Witness had some idea of a connection between Marumo and the disappearance of his daughter, but Mabaku had to admit that the police had no evidence of such a connection and were unsure how Witness came up with that idea. This led to a flurry of questions that Mabaku wanted to avoid, and he closed the meeting with the journalists dissatisfied. Kubu thought it was this that had led to the deputy commissioner’s surprise visit. But he was wrong.
When Kubu reached the director’s office, Deputy Commissioner Gobey was already there, standing in front of Mabaku’s desk. Kubu was disturbed to see that he’d lost weight; his clothes seemed to hang on his body rather than dress it. Obviously the rumors that the deputy commissioner was retiring because of ill health were correct.
“Come in, Kubu. You know the deputy commissioner, of course.” Mabaku dispensed with the pleasantries as quickly as possible. Nothing unusual there. Gobey sat down, and Kubu took the more solid, but less comfortable, chair in front of Mabaku’s desk.
“The deputy commissioner wants to talk to you about the Marumo case. Well, not exactly about the case. Maybe you’d better explain it yourself, Deputy Commissioner.”
Gobey looked uncomfortable, clearly uncertain where to begin. Kubu became uneasy. Something was very wrong here.
“Assistant Superintendent, I understand from Director Mabaku that you are investigating the disappearance of a number of children, and a potion discovered in Bill Marumo’s house, which you believe may contain human body parts. Is that correct?”
Kubu realized he must tread carefully. There was no way of telling where this was heading. “That’s correct, rra.”
“I may be in a position to help you, Bengu, but I’m going to need your assurance—an assurance from both of you—that this will go no further than this room without my explicit approval. Is that agreed?”
Kubu hesitated, very unhappy with this turn of events. He glanced at Mabaku and saw that the director shared his concern. Mabaku leaned forward and summed up their discomfort.
“Deputy Commissioner, your knowledge of law is much better than ours. But I have to point out that if you tell us something important connected with a crime, then it may be our duty to report that to the prosecutor, who may then take it further and call you as a witness. We can’t handle it any other way, nor would you would wish us to.”
Gobey nodded. “You’re perfectly correct, Mabaku, but what I’m about to tell you is something I’ve heard from a third person. So it’s hearsay and not admissible in evidence. I don’t want to be directly involved, nor do I want the other person involved.” Kubu opened his mouth to interrupt, but Gobey stopped him. “Hear me out, Bengu. I understand you don’t have much in the way of leads at the moment. I think I can help with that. I believe I can lead you to a witch doctor who may be the man you’re looking for. Once you get him, I think you’ll find that my informant will be willing to give evidence. Or perhaps you can extract a confession.”
Mabaku tensed. “Can you tell us who this man is?”
Gobey shook his head. “I’ve met him. I don’t want to go into the details. But he always wears a baboon mask and leopard skin loincloth. From his body, I’d say he’s no older than mid-forties and strong, and about my height—five foot eight, I’d guess. He has big hands but always wears black gloves. Not at all the stereotyped wrinkled old man, squatting over thrown bones.”
“Who sees him come and go? He can’t walk around the streets like that, and nobody notices him!” Kubu was uncomfortable with the story.
Gobey shook his head again. “No one ever sees him. I’ve been told he makes himself invisible.” Gobey looked down at the floor. “But that’s impossible, of course.”
Kubu leaned back in his chair, flabbergasted. The deputy commissioner was right, they were stymied. He’d even wondered if the “invisible” witch doctor Mma Gondo had told them of really existed, or if he was just an invention of other witch doctors wanting to divert attention from themselves. Now, the deputy commissioner, of all people, walks into the CID and offers to lead them to just such a man.
Mabaku stroked his chin. “Maybe not,” he said. “If everyone who sees him as a witch doctor sees a baboon mask and leopard skin, maybe all he has to do is dress normally to become ‘invisible.’ As long as he keeps the two personas strictly separate, he can’t be recognized.”
Kubu said, “Rra, the muti investigations were initiated by Detective Samantha Khama. She’s battled with them and persuaded us to pursue even the cold cases. I think she should join us to hear what you have to say.”
Gobey shook his head firmly and started to cough. When he was able to catch his breath, he said, “No one else. What I say is between the three of us. No one else. Do I have your word on that?” He looked from the one to the other, his resolve still firm despite his failing health.
Reluctantly, Kubu and Mabaku agreed. “But,” Kubu added, “if keeping this secret means we are breaking the law, then our promises fall away.” This time it was Gobey who was reluctantly forced to agree.
“Well then,” said Mabaku. “Tell us what it is that you know.”
AFTER GOBEY LEFT, KUBU returned to his chair. He wasn’t satisfied. “He knows more than he’s telling us. I don’t believe him, do you?”
Mabaku clasped his hands and thought for so long that Kubu thought he wasn’t going to answer. At last he replied, “Yes, I do.”
Kubu shook his head. “This witch doctor was recommended to him long ago—he won’t say who by—and he’s used him occasionally over the years. Nothing serious. But the man is always masked, he’s never seen the face, and he has no idea of his identity. But now, suddenly, he suspects him of black magic involving organs ripped from living children!” Kubu couldn’t contain himself. “And he deduces this from what he hears last week from some other unnamed party! Isn’t it possible that he knows about these things because he’s the one who’s been involved?”
Mabaku nodded. “But you don’t know him as I do, Kubu. He’s personally transformed much of the police force. His example has become our example. I hear a lot of stuff, Kubu. Lots of rumors about senior people. Some of them are just malicious, others are plausible but impossible to prove at the time, and I keep my eyes open. But I’ve never heard anything bad about Deputy Commissioner Gobey. Nothing.”
“Until today.”
“Yes, but remember, he’s about to retire. He could’ve walked away and said nothing. No one would have been any the wiser.”
“Maybe he’s being blackmailed.”
“Because of a few good-luck charms? And now some cough medicine? Half of Botswana’s done something like that.”
“We don’t know what those charms and potions were for or what they were made from.”
“No, and neither did he at the time.”
Kubu mulled it over. His intuition told him that Gobey was deeper in the mire than he’d admitted. But he couldn’t refute Mabaku’s point: Gobey had come forward of his own free will. There was no reason for him to put himself at risk by revealing what he knew.
“What should we do?”
“Exactly what he proposed. You let him set up a meeting with the witch doctor. Get a team together, follow him without telling the team who they’re following, and put a steel noose around that house. Arrest the witch doctor and sweat him. They’re all cowards; he’ll break.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“Then we have another talk with the deputy commissioner.”
Kubu nodded. They had nothing to lose. “What do I tell Samantha? She’ll be convinced we’re simply protecting another senior man.”
Mabaku smiled tightly. “Well, we are, aren’t we? Tell her you’re the superior officer.”
You don’t know Samantha very well, Director, Kubu thought. That’s going to be an interesting meeting.
“Very well, I’ll set it up.” Kubu wondered why this potential breakthrough had such a bitter taste.
Mabaku nodded, went to the window, and gazed out at Kgale Hill, highlighted by the rich afternoon light.
THIRTY-ONE
“IT’S AMAZING!” KUBU SAID to Samantha. They were sitting in Kubu’s office, each with a cup of tea.
“It’s amazing. Just a few years ago, getting the results of a DNA test could take months. Now Zanele is using a mobile tester that takes only four hours. The South Africans have brought it to show us. It’s from the UK, apparently. She’s already run the tests from Marumo’s muti and compared the results with samples taken from Lesego’s sister. The sad thing is that based on the closeness of the results, she’s confident that the muti involved material from Lesego.”
“So Marumo had muti with Lesego’s body parts in his house!” Samantha had a look of sheer disgust on her face. Then it turned to anger. “Another girl killed to promote a man!”
“It looks like that. But we can’t jump to conclusions yet.”
“Why not?” Samantha exclaimed. “You found the gourd in a locked drawer! In his house! With bits of Lesego in it!”
“True, but we don’t know whether it was there for a while or possibly put there to incriminate him. We have to assume that the conspiracy theory we talked about could actually be true.”
He took a sip of tea. “It’s possible that someone planted the muti before or after the murder. Remember the scuff marks around the desk drawer lock? It’s unlikely, but possible. We have to keep that in mind.”
“Even if that’s so, Lesego was still murdered for muti.”
Kubu sighed. “Unfortunately, that’s true.” He thought for a moment about his beautiful Tumi and her friend Nono. How could anybody even think about hurting someone like them? He shook his head. “We’re going to do everything possible to solve these cases. We have to put a stop to this terrible practice.”
Samantha took a deep breath. “All right. Let’s get to work.”
Kubu stood up to refill the cups. When he returned, he sat down and asked, “What did you find out about the rental cars?”
“I just received the final lists this morning. There are a lot of rental cars that are white and fewer that are red. It took so long because there’s a lot of manual stuff for the companies to do. They can easily print out the make of car and model, the license plate numbers, and who rented it, but not the color. So they have to write in those details by hand. They all say it took too much of their time. But they did it.”
“Anything interesting from what you’ve got so far?”
“There were only two people who appeared on both lists. One was a South African salesman from Cape Town. He flew in via Johannesburg the day before Lesego was abducted and flew back the day she was abducted. I don’t think he could have been in Mochudi when Lesego disappeared and still make his flight. I spoke to him and got a list of his appointments. I’ll check those out, but I don’t think it will go anywhere. The other was the BMW dealership in Gaborone. They have a deal with Avis. If they don’t have a spare loaner, they sometimes rent a car as a courtesy for their customers when their car is being serviced.”
“That’s not promising. Have you had a chance to look at the people who were only on one list?”
“Yes, but it will take time to speak to each of them. I’ve asked Detective Pho to help me with that.”
“Good work. Now I have something to tell you.” Kubu was not looking forward to this.
“An informant has come forward and says he can lead us to a witch doctor who deals with human body parts.”
Samantha leaned forward expectantly.
“We’ll know today or tomorrow when that is going to happen.”
“When can we speak to the informant? Who is it?” Kubu thought Samantha was going to start vibrating, she was so eager.
“Unfortunately there’s a problem. The informant wants to remain anonymous for reasons I can’t disclose.”
Kubu could see the anger welling up inside Samantha. “I know who he is!” she snapped. “It’s a man, and high up in government. He can’t be named because it would be embarrassing to him and his friends.” She jumped up. “Here we go again. And you said you wanted to solve these muti murders. You’re the same as the rest of them!” Samantha turned and stormed out of the room.
AN HOUR LATER, KUBU picked up his phone and dialed Samantha’s extension.
“Please come to my office. We need to talk.”
A few minutes later, she knocked and walked in. Kubu waved at a chair.
“I’m sorry I walked out on you,” Samantha said quietly. “I get so angry when I see the same old ways being repeated. We’ll never get any of these people if that continues.” She sat down.
“I understand how you feel,” Kubu said. “But you will have to trust me on this one. If it makes a difference in getting a witch doctor convicted, we will reveal the informant’s name, and he’s agreed to testify. But it would be better if it didn’t come to that.”
He looked at Samantha, who sat without saying a word.
“Samantha, you’re crucial to our investigations. You have the drive and will to succeed. I want you to continue what you’re doing. I want you to come with me when we try to apprehend the witch doctor. But in this instance, I’m in charge. That’s not negotiable.”
Again, he looked directly at her. “Is that clear?”
He could see her fighting to control her emotions. Eventually she stood up and nodded. Then she turned and left.
Kubu sat for a while wondering whether Samantha would have the resilience to stay and work in the inhospitable environment that was the CID.
She will, he thought. She’s tough and very determined to make a difference.
He smiled.
She’s going to be a good detective.
THIRTY-TWO
KUBU WAS NOT HAPPY. He was cramped in the passenger seat of Samantha’s Corolla with a tub of KFC chicken on his lap, and Samantha was barely on speaking terms with him. But the main source of his concern was their location. It was a poor area, a warren of dirt roads without street lighting. He was convinced there were ways in and out that he didn’t know about. And they were much closer to the witch doctor’s “safe house” than he would have liked, but he was concerned about getting to it quickly in the dark on the rough streets. Gobey had said he could look after himself—he was, after all, a policeman—but Kubu knew he was weakened by his illness. He wanted to be able to come to the deputy commissioner’s aid quickly, if necessary.
Samantha knew none of this and was angry about being kept in the dark, untrusted. He offered her a piece of chicken, but she just shook her head. Kubu shrugged and went on eating. It was their camouflage in case anyone suspected them of being watchers. They’d simply pulled off the road to eat. That had been Kubu’s idea. Two armed constables in plain clothes sat in the back, working through their own tub.
“What happens if your informant gives us the slip?” Samantha asked. “We’d lose him in a minute in this.” She waved at the dusty tracks wandering between the tiny houses and shacks.
“I told you. He’s wired. I’m in constant contact with him through this.” He indicated the headset he was wearing. “And anyway he volunteered for this. He’s not some informer that I bought.” Kubu tried to keep the defensive tone out of his voice. “All we have to do is wait. When he gets the signal from the house, he’ll go in and keep the witch doctor occupied while we get there, and our second car comes from the other main road. Then we surround the house and go in. He’ll have to really make himself invisible to get away. And we’re covering the two main roads into the township; what can go wrong?”
“We’ll see just now,” Samantha grumbled.
Kubu frowned and helped himself to another drumstick. He knew Joy wouldn’t be impressed, but with Samantha not eating, he had to keep up their cover.
“Bengu. Come in.” Gobey’s voice suddenly came through the earpiece, startling Kubu. He switched on his mike and responded.
“Yes,” said Gobey. “I’m outside the house. All quiet and dark. But that’s how he operates. Always makes you wait, makes sure you know he’s the important one. We may have to hang on half an hour. Just be patient.” He sounded nervous.
“No problem. I’ll keep monitoring you.” Kubu muted his mike and radioed the driver of the other car to relay the message. Kubu was worried about Gobey. He was alone and sick, bait for a man who might well be a psychopathic killer as well as a witch doctor. He felt new respect for the deputy commissioner. Whatever he’d done in the past, he was carrying through on his promise.
AS TIME PASSED, KUBU could feel tension building up in his belly—unless that was the tub of KFC he’d eaten. Samantha was still monosyllabic. Couldn’t she see they were on the same side? Yet he had some sympathy for her attitude. How would he feel if Mabaku came up with an informant on one of his cases and refused to share that information with him? He kept his temper.
Time dragged, and Kubu brooded. What if they did catch this man? It wouldn’t end the foul trade in human flesh. But if this was the man Mma Gondo had talked about—the invisible killer, feared even by other witch doctors—and if he could be brought down and sent to the gallows, then all of them would feel vulnerable. The killing wouldn’t stop, but maybe it would be forced outside the borders of Botswana. That would be something.
Kubu checked his watch. Patience had never been his strongest suit; the lack of it had got him into big trouble in the Kalahari. At last Gobey’s voice came again.
“There’s no sign of him, Bengu. He’s never kept me waiting this long—over an hour now. I think he’s spooked. Did you see anything?”
“Nothing suspicious. A few people walking down the road. We sat here pretending to be eating chicken.” Samantha snorted at the word pretending.
“Did the same person come past more than once?”
“Not as far as we could tell. But it’s dark, and we didn’t want to be too obviously nosy.”
“Where are the others?”
“They’re waiting at the turnoff on the main road.”
Gobey sighed. “Somehow he realized you were police. That’s the only possibility.” He hesitated, and then burst out, “Of course! That’s why he always comes late. He watches the routes in. Stupid of us not to realize that. I thought it was all part of his act.” He started to cough.
“Let’s go home,” he said when he’d caught his breath. “We won’t find him tonight. He was too smart for us. This time.”
Kubu turned to Samantha. “My informant thinks the suspect caught on that we were watching. Maybe that’s why he always keeps his clients waiting.”
“So what now?”
“We call it off. We’ll have to come up with a Plan B.” He called the other car and told them to head back to the police station at once. He wanted them out of the way before the deputy commissioner’s car headed down the road.
Suddenly Samantha turned to him and indicated he should switch off his mike. When he’d done so, she said, “Kubu, it’s all a ploy. You won’t tell me what you’ve got on this guy, but I bet he never set up a meeting at all! It’s just a hoax to get you off his back. I say we pull him in. Right now. And see what he knows that he’s not telling you.”
Kubu thought about it. Was Gobey leading them up the garden path? Wasting their time? Even covering for the witch doctor? But for what reason? He approached us. We have nothing on him. He shook his head.
“Let’s get back to the police station, Samantha, drop off these guys, and pick up my car. There’s nothing more we can do tonight. That’s final.”
Samantha started the car, slammed it into gear, put her foot down, and did a screeching U-turn. Kubu hastily fastened his seat belt.
THIRTY-THREE
THE NEXT MORNING MABAKU, Kubu, and Gobey met again in the director’s office. Gobey wanted to avoid meeting in his own office. Mabaku asked Miriam to bring them tea and coffee, and cookies for Kubu, and they didn’t talk until she had served and closed the door behind her.
“What now?” Mabaku asked.
“The deputy commissioner and I think that the witch doctor smelled a rat,” said Kubu. “I think we should follow up on the leads the deputy commissioner has given us. We’ll keep a watch on the house, but I doubt the witch doctor will go back there now. We’ll also trace its owner—it’s not going to be the witch doctor, I’m sure—and check for fingerprints and other forensics stuff. We’ll do that discreetly. We’ll also make some inquiries around the area, see if anyone’s seen a man who doesn’t live around there but visits from time to time.”
Gobey nodded. “That sounds right. I’ll contact the witch doctor again. Ask why he didn’t appear. Play dumb.”
“How do you make that contact?” Mabaku asked quietly.
Gobey hesitated.
“Deputy Commissioner, you’re going to have to tell us anything that might help.”
Gobey nodded and sighed. “I send an e-mail to what appears to be a secure address. Here it is.” He pulled a small sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Mabaku. “He doesn’t respond to it, but he phones me a day or so later. Usually he just tells me the time to come to the house.”
“We can trace the calls to your cell phone,” said Kubu.
Gobey shook his head. “I’ve done that; they come from public phones all over the place. One even from Mochudi.”
Kubu sat forward, thinking of Lesego. “Even so, we need that information. We might be able to detect a pattern from the location of the calls. And we’ll need to arrange a twenty-four-hour monitor on the calls you receive. With your permission, of course.”
Gobey nodded. He was beginning to regret his decision to tell Mabaku his story, but he was in too deep to back out now. “I’ll get you all that information,” he said.
Kubu decided to push his luck. “And we’re going to have to bring Detective Khama in on this. She’s working on the case and can’t be kept in the dark.”
Gobey turned to him angrily. “No! We agreed no one else. And especially not a woman.”
Kubu didn’t like that, but he was forced to accept it.
AS SOON AS THE deputy commissioner had left, Mabaku and Kubu discussed Gobey’s reluctance to allow anyone else to be involved.
“I know you’re skeptical,” Mabaku said, “but you’re going to have to trust me that he’s honest. He’s put himself in a very vulnerable spot and is scared of losing his reputation before he retires.”
“Okay,” Kubu replied, standing up to leave. “Let me check on that e-mail address he gave you. That could be very helpful indeed. I’ll call the IT guys in Forensics right away to find out more about it. I’ll let you know.”
Kubu took the piece of paper from Mabaku and headed to his office.
He immediately phoned Forensics and asked to be put through to Helenka Koslov, a young Russian woman who had emigrated to Africa both for its wildness and its warmth. Forensics immediately saw the benefits of having an outstanding IT person on its staff and hired her right away. Her skills had already been used to convict several people on identity-theft charges, as well as one potential bank robber, who had left an electronic trail as obvious as a herd of elephants.
“Yes?” Helenka said as she answered the phone.
“Helenka,” Kubu replied, “this is Assistant Superintendent Bengu.”
“Ah, yes. What can I do for you?”
“What can you tell me about Hushmail?”
“You have lover you want to talk to privately, no?”
Kubu laughed. “I’m afraid not. This Hushmail may be a clue in a case we’re working on.”
“Okay.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “You use Hushmail if you don’t want others to know about your e-mails. It is very easy to read most people’s ordinary e-mails without difficulty. Hushmail encrypts e-mail and attachments using PGP encryption, so if e-mail is intercepted, it cannot be read unless reader also has access to sender’s private password. This type of service is very popular in countries, like Russia, where government scans many e-mails. Companies also use Hushmail to exchange trade secrets.”
“The e-mails must be stored somewhere. Couldn’t we get access to them there?”
“It is possible, but difficult. If I remember, the company is in Vancouver, Canada. You would have to get court order from there to make company to release information. That might be difficult and take long time.”
“And would they know the real identity of the owner of the e-mail address?”
“No. Not that even. But could tell you IP addresses of computers sending and receiving messages. IP address is, well, it’s sort of like serial number that computer tells them.”
Kubu wasn’t a computer expert, but he thought he understood how this worked.
“If I had a lover with a Hushmail address, would I send her an e-mail from my computer or would I have to sign into Hushmail or would I go to an Internet café?”
“Ah. Good question. You can send e-mail from your computer. But dangerous because wife could find e-mail in Sent folder. But if you delete it from Sent folder, wife find nothing. But police can find it from ISP if you use their e-mail, even if you delete it. But need search warrant. You know what is ISP?”
“Yes, Internet service provider,” Kubu answered, trying to keep track of all the alternatives.
“But, if you use Hotmail or Gmail, more difficult,” Helenka continued. “Police can find e-mail but have to get court order to go to Microsoft or Google. In USA. Take time.”
“And can someone find out if I have a Hushmail account?”
“Of course. Local ISP will know you access Hushmail. But won’t know contents of e-mail.”
“What about if I use an Internet café?”
“Same as home, except have to know you went there. You still use local or overseas e-mail account. Or Hushmail.”
Kubu thought for a few minutes. “So, if someone sends an e-mail to a Hushmail address, we have to get a court order in Canada to get any details of who reads it. Right?”
“Yes. Any more questions?” Helenka was obviously eager to hang up.
“No more questions, Helenka,” Kubu replied. “But please talk to Detective Khama and prepare an application for a court order in Canada, in case we need it. I’ll e-mail you the Hushmail address.”
“Okay.”
“Thanks for your help. I may have more questions later.”
“Okay,” she said again and hung up.
Kubu pondered what he had heard and wondered whether he should send an e-mail to the witch doctor from his private e-mail asking for a consultation. After a few minutes’ thought, he decided against it, because it would likely alert the witch doctor that his e-mail scheme had been found out.
THE CALL CAME AT precisely 4 p.m. Deputy Commissioner Gobey hadn’t expected that. He’d expected the ring in the dark hours of the morning when, perhaps, he’d finally drifted into sleep. He picked up the cell phone, noted the number as private, and answered.
“Gobey.”
“Yes. Why, Gobey? Why did you do it?” The voice was cool, almost a whisper, appearing just vaguely interested in the answer.
Gobey recognized the voice at once. Adrenaline flowed, but he kept his voice calm as he quickly walked through to his PA’s office.
“Do what? I came to the meeting as arranged. But you weren’t there.”
He picked up the PA’s pen and scribbled on her blotter: “Trace.”
“Don’t play games with me, Gobey. You knew you were followed. By the police.”
“Followed? The police?” Gobey tried to sound surprised. He had to keep the witch doctor talking. Soon they would know where the call originated, and a police vehicle would be on the way.
“You think I don’t know?” There was a laugh. It started like a deep chuckle but finished as something that should never come from a human throat. Gobey’s skin crawled.
“I know everything,” the voice continued. “I know where you are, what you’re doing. Everything. Perhaps one of your own people is watching you for me. Or, maybe, it isn’t a person at all.” The laugh came again.
“What are you talking about? I came to the meeting. Waited as always. But you didn’t appear, so eventually I came home. That’s what happened.” He had to keep the conversation going, had to give them time.
There was a moment’s pause, and the response when it came was almost sad. “You’re waiting for them to trace this call, aren’t you, Gobey? You’re pathetic. Now listen carefully.” There was another pause, and then the voice said, much more loudly, “I don’t need you anymore, Gobey. Do you understand? I don’t need you anymore.”
Gobey felt that the phone had become a live thing, writhing in his hand. He nearly dropped it. He wanted to disconnect the call, but he knew he shouldn’t. And the voice came again, “I don’t need you anymore.” Then the connection was broken.
Gobey dropped the phone and rushed to his secretary.
“Did they get it?”
She was speaking to someone on the phone but covered the mouthpiece and turned to him.
“The call came from a public phone in Africa Mall. A police car is nearly there.” She turned her attention back to the phone.
Africa Mall! Right downtown! So close. Gobey collapsed into the visitor’s chair and waited. But he knew the witch doctor wouldn’t be there. Knew he would vanish. He wouldn’t be walking around dressed in an animal skin and a mask. He would fade into the shopping crowds. No one would know where to look. Gobey waited a few minutes that seemed endless. At last she turned back to him.
“They grabbed a man at the phone, but he was the next caller. But he remembered the man who was there before him. They’re getting a description. And checking for other witnesses.”
Gobey nodded. He knew the value of casual eyewitnesses. They would get more from his own description of the man, even dressed in his witch doctor camouflage.
“Get onto Assistant Superintendent Bengu and tell him what happened. He should talk to the witness and check if there are any CCTVs around.” Then he walked back to his office and collapsed into his desk chair. His breathing, never easy, became labored. He reached for his inhaler, took a couple of puffs, and tried to calm down. He looked around his office, recalling the witch doctor’s words. He coughed and spotted his cell phone discarded on the desk. He doesn’t need me anymore, he thought. I’ll change the number, but he won’t call again. He doesn’t need me anymore.
He gathered some papers and shoved them into his briefcase, closed down his computer, and grabbed his jacket.
“Lori, I’m going home. I don’t feel too well. I’ll see you on Monday.”
The PA looked at him with concern. “Yes, of course, rra. I’ll arrange everything. I hope you feel better for the weekend.”
Gobey nodded, tried to smile, and left.
HE HAD JUST TURNED into the main road when his phone rang again. He checked the number and switched the call to his hands-free car kit.
“Hello, Bengu.”
“Dumela, Deputy Commissioner. I’m following up on the call from the witch doctor. Can I ask you a few questions?”
“Go ahead.”
“Would you tell me exactly what he said? It’ll take a while to get the recording.”
Gobey told him.
“What did he mean by ‘I don’t need you anymore’?”
Gobey shook his head. “I’ve no idea.” But a cold wave ran up his spine. “Have you traced the owner of that house?”
“The registered owner thinks it’s empty. He was pretty upset that someone was using it.”
“Was he telling the truth?”
“I think so.”
“Where could he have been? He obviously watched and saw that I was being followed. That’s why he always comes after you’ve been waiting for a while. He—or some helper—is checking. We should’ve been more careful.”
“We didn’t realize he was that clever. But we’ll get him. He had to walk to the shack; you said there was no car there the other times. Someone will have noticed him.”
“It won’t do me any good.” Why did I say that? Gobey asked himself. Suddenly he had an overwhelming feeling that something was watching him from the backseat. The feeling was so strong that he turned at once and was surprised to see the seat empty. When he turned back to the road, a truck had cut in front of him, and he had to slam on the brakes. His tires screeched.
“Bengu, I’m in traffic. I need to concentrate. Call me later if there’s anything else.” He cut the connection.
He was sweating and wheezing. The shock of the truck, he thought. And the thing in the back . . . He shook his head. Nothing was in the back. But his skin crawled.
He dug in his pocket for the inhaler.