Deadly Harvest A Detective Kubu Mystery

FORTY-TWO





WILSON DEMENE WAS NOT at home, but a neighbor suggested Kubu try a small bar nearby, where Wilson was known to hang out. Kubu followed her advice, and the barman pointed out Demene, sitting with a couple of other men, deep in conversation, drinking Shake Shake beer. Kubu went to their table and sat down.

“Who’re you?” one of the men asked. Kubu ignored him and focused on Demene.

“Are you Wilson Demene?” he asked the man who’d been pointed out.

Demene glared at him. “So what? We’re busy. And this is private.”

Kubu passed him his identification. Demene glanced at it, then scrutinized it properly. “You’re from the police, the CID? I already told that woman you sent everything I know. Why are you hounding me? I’ve done nothing.”

The other two men took their beers and moved off. Demene’s eyes followed them to two stools at the far end of the bar.

“I just want to go over a few points with you. It’s important,” Kubu said.

“I haven’t done anything. Why do you people keep asking me questions? I’ve told you everything.”

“What sort of work do you do, Rra Demene?”

“Well, I buy and sell stuff. A middleman, if you like.”

“So you fill orders for people?”

“Not so much for people. More for shops and so on.”

“What sort of orders?”

“Whatever they want. I find it for them, get a good price.”

Kubu nodded, as if he were satisfied. “Does that include finding people?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Tell me about the albino, Mabulo Owido.”

“The man at BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL? I told your detective. I didn’t notice him. I would have avoided him anyway. I don’t like them.” Demene grabbed his beer and took a gulp, but his hand was unsteady.

“You see,” said Kubu quietly, “my information is different. My information is that you were watching him and, when he left, you and your friend Sunday Molefe followed him.”

“It’s not true!” Demene cried. “Where did you get that information from? We went to the Gaborone Sun to gamble. You can ask the bartender there.”

“Oh, we’ve done that. But you see our information is very specific. There’s no doubt about it. Now, what we don’t know is exactly what happened after that. And that’s as important for you as it is for me. What happened to Owido after he left the shebeen? Where was he taken? What was done to him after that?”

Demene jumped to his feet. “You’re just trying to pin it on us with no evidence at all. I’m leaving right now.”

Kubu stood up, too. “I haven’t accused you of anything, Rra Demene. You seem to know something we don’t. What are we trying to pin on you?” He paused. “That you were involved in Owido’s disappearance, perhaps?”

For several seconds the two men stood looking at each other. Kubu knew that this was the critical moment. If Demene left now, he’d pull himself together and would be much harder to break.

At last Demene collapsed back into his chair and stared into his beer; Kubu breathed a silent sigh of relief and settled himself in his seat again.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but one of the reasons we know so much about that night is that a man came to us with information. I’m not going to say who he is, but he’s never wrong. He helps lots of powerful people in the government.” Kubu’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He communicates with spirits.”

Demene shrank into his chair. “A witch doctor? Witch doctors don’t work with the police.”

“Actually, we get a lot of information from them. Especially when there’s a murder involved.”

“Murder! Who said anything about a murder?” Demene tried to meet Kubu’s eyes but failed.

“This man said he’d had a communication from Owido’s spirit. That he was looking for the people who’d attacked him. I wasn’t sure I believed him at first, but the man was so sure. And there was a strange feeling in the room.”

As the silence lengthened, Demene said, “What sort of feeling?”

Kubu dropped his voice again. “Hard to describe. As though someone was watching us, but there was no one else there.”

Demene swallowed. “Why are you telling me this? It’s got nothing to do with me.”

Kubu stared at him. “I think you should tell the truth, Rra Demene. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”

Kubu waited for Demene to react, but he just shook his head and clasped his hands together. Kubu continued, “You see, the witch doctor explained to me that albinos have very powerful spirits. The spirit has sucked up everything from the body—even the color of the skin. It’s very bad to free one of those spirits by force. It’s very powerful muti for a witch doctor, but extremely dangerous.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I had nothing to do with this Owido man. I want to leave now.” Demene looked to where his mates had been at the bar, but their seats were empty. They’d finished their beers and gone. He got to his feet.

Kubu stood up, too, and blocked his way. “I need you to come with me for questioning.”

“Questioning? What about? I’ve done nothing. I’ve told you all I know.”

Kubu shrugged. “I need to get an official statement from you. I can only do that at my office.”

“I’m busy. I can’t come now.”

“You have a choice. You can come with me now with no fuss—we just walk out of here like old friends and go to my office—or I can arrest you for obstructing a police investigation, handcuff you, and drag you out like a dog.”

For a few moments, Demene didn’t say anything, his mouth opening and shutting. He looks like a guppy, Kubu thought.

“All right,” Demene said eventually, but his eyes flicked from side to side looking for an escape route. Kubu took his arm firmly and led him to the door.

KUBU DROVE TO MILLENIUM Park and left Demene in an interrogation room alone for more than half an hour. Eventually he returned and pretended to turn on a tape recorder.

“This is Assistant Superintendent David Bengu. It is two-thirty on May the fifteenth, 2012. I’m with Wilson Demene, who has volunteered to come in to provide information about the disappearance of Mabulo Owido, an albino.” He turned to Demene. “Please could you state your full name.”

“You said this would be quick. Where’s the statement I have to sign?”

“Please state your full name.”

“You know my name! I’m Wilson Demene.”

“Some new information has just come to light. I need to ask you some more questions.”

Kubu made a show of pulling out his notebook and flipping through the pages.

“Ah, here it is,” he said, nodding. “Someone at BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL says you were sitting at the next table to the albino. Is that right?”

Demene nodded. “I suppose so.”

“So you did see the albino?”

Demene hesitated. “Yes. I saw one sitting at a table outside.”

“Why did you lie about it before?”

“I forgot about it! I have nothing to do with those people. I suppose there was nowhere else to sit.”

“And when did the albino leave?”

“I don’t know! I told you I wasn’t taking any notice.”

“So the fact that you left at the same time was just coincidence?”

“Yes. I mean I don’t know. I mean we went to the Gaborone Sun. I don’t know where the albino went.” Demene was completely flustered.

“You told me that you didn’t like albinos. Why is that?”

“They look disgusting.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t think so. I think you know they have powerful spirits, and witch doctors use them for their most powerful muti. You know that.”

Kubu noticed that Demene couldn’t keep his hands still.

“Come on, Rra Demene. You knew albinos make strong muti, didn’t you?”

Demene swallowed.

“Yes, I’ve heard that.”

“Rra Demene. Do you know why witch doctors never catch albinos themselves? Why they always ask someone else to do it?”

“No!” The word sounded strangled as it came out.

“The witch doctor protects himself very carefully. Hides himself from the albino’s spirit. So the albino’s spirit comes back and haunts the men who caught him. He blames them. And eventually he drags them off. No one knows where, but no one sees them ever again.” Kubu waited for about thirty seconds, but Demene said nothing. He just sat staring.

Kubu stood up. “I’ll be back in a while. I have things to do. Just remember that there’s nowhere to hide from such a powerful, angry, spirit. Nowhere at all.”

He turned and walked out.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, KUBU received a phone call. “The man in the interrogation room wants to see you.”

Kubu smiled. He picked up the phone again and called Samantha. “Meet me at the interrogation room in five minutes,” he said.

Before they entered the room, Kubu told Samantha to watch and listen, but not to interrupt.

“Okay,” she said, puzzled.

Kubu brought a third chair into the room, and he and Samantha sat down opposite Demene, who now looked terrified.

“Now, Rra Demene, are you ready to tell us what happened?”

Demene looked at Samantha but didn’t recognize her. “I didn’t do it. It was Molefe. I just helped him. I didn’t know what he was going to do. You have to believe me.”

“Does it matter if I believe you? It’s Owido you have to convince.”

“You’ve got to help me,” Demene cried. “I don’t want to die.”

Samantha looked at Kubu, amazed.

Kubu stared at Demene. “There’s only one thing you can do, and even that may not work.”

“I’ll do anything,” Demene begged. “What do you want me to do?”

“You have to confess the whole truth and then ask the albino for forgiveness.”

Kubu leaned over and turned on the tape recorder.

“This is Assistant Superintendent David Bengu. It’s three-thirty on May the fifteenth, 2012. I’m with Wilson Demene, who has volunteered to come in to provide information about the disappearance of Mabulo Owido, a citizen of Tanzania, an albino. Detective Samantha Khama is also in the room.” He turned to Demene. “Please could you state your full name.”

“Wilson Demene.”

“Now,” said Kubu. “If I’m going to help you, you must tell me exactly what happened and particularly anything about the witch doctor. Do you understand that what you say may be used in evidence later if you’re charged with a crime? We are recording this.”

“Yes, yes.” Demene couldn’t sit still. Then he settled down a bit and told them how he and Molefe had spotted Owido, and followed him to BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL. Then they waited and followed Owido when he left. As soon as they had him alone, they knocked him out and bundled him into the trunk of the car.

“We drove out of town and dumped him by a tree at the edge of the road.” He described exactly where they had left him. “I’ve no idea what happened after that.”

“Oh, yes, you have! You can guess.” Samantha could no longer contain herself.

Demene looked at her blankly for a moment but then turned back to Kubu. “That’s everything. You have to help me now.”

Kubu met his eyes. “No, that’s not everything at all. Who told you to abduct an albino? How did you know where to leave him? How did you get paid and how much and by whom?”

“I don’t know! Molefe handled all of that. He told me we had to catch an albino, and we’d be well paid. I didn’t ask why or who would pay. I hate those people, so I was willing to help. He gave me a thousand pula and said there would be more later if his client was satisfied. And maybe we could get more work like that. I was okay with that.”

“Who did Molefe speak to? How did he make contact?”

“I don’t know! When we caught the albino, Molefe sent a text message to someone, but I don’t know who that was. It’s the truth. I swear it. I wish I’d never gotten mixed up in this.”

Kubu stood up and leaned over the table, his face close to Demene’s. “Are you sure that’s all you know?” he hissed.

“I promise. I promise.”

“That is the end of the interview.” Kubu turned the tape recorder off. “Now you’d better apologize to Owido.”

Samantha’s face was a study in astonishment as Demene fell to his knees, tears streaming from his eyes.

“Forgive me, Rra Owido, sir. Please forgive me. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t mean to harm you. Please don’t make me die! Please!”

Kubu signaled to Samantha to come with him, leaving Demene sniveling on the floor. As he left the room, Kubu looked back and said, “I’m going to charge you with being an accessory to assault and kidnapping and perhaps murder. You’ll be okay. But Owido will be in your head for the rest of your life.”

He was breathing heavily as he left, slamming the door on Wilson Demene.

KUBU HAD TO CALM down before he could tell Samantha what he’d done to make Demene confess. She was delighted, but Kubu shook his head.

“It was risky. We needed a breakthrough quickly, and you’d established that he was the weak link. But it wasn’t good police work. He could have laughed in my face and my credibility would have been gone.”

“But it worked!”

“Yes, it worked.” Kubu allowed himself a wry smile. “But we were lucky. There were many other possibilities. But we trusted your instincts, and this time we were lucky.” He paused. “Did you get to the bottom of the butcher’s story?”

Samantha nodded. “I also wasn’t exactly honest with him, either. I told him he was the main suspect in a murder investigation. After that he was only too happy to tell me about the man he met at the shebeen. Seems he was buying game meat through the back door—not supposed to be sold commercially. I don’t think he’ll try that again.”

Kubu chuckled. “Good! Now we need to start behaving like detectives again. First, we’ll arrest Molefe on suspicion of assault and kidnapping, and get Zanele’s people to go through his car, particularly the trunk. Get his cell phone and Internet records. Then we must check the spot where Demene said they attacked Owido and the place where he said they dumped him, and especially look for vehicle tracks there. Also get formal statements from Big Mama and the people at the shebeen—they’ll be used to doing that by now. When we’ve got him cold, we offer Molefe a deal. He’s not going to fall for the sort of mumbo jumbo that worked with Demene, but he’ll know that it’s often the middlemen in muti murders who end up in jail, because no one will finger the witch doctor. But it’s the witch doctor we want.”

“Yes, Kubu,” Samantha exclaimed. “And we will get him!”





FORTY-THREE





WHEN KUBU AND SAMANTHA arrived at Molefe’s house, there was no sign of his battered Volkswagen. They’d brought a constable with them; Samantha’s description of Sunday Molefe had suggested that he may be dangerous and that backup might be required. Kubu sent the constable around the back of the house to check escape routes, while they approached the house from the front. However, banging on the door produced no response.

On the third try a neighbor came out and informed them that Molefe was out, and that she was trying to have an afternoon nap. Kubu was worried and wondered whether Molefe had discovered that the police had grabbed Demene, but that seemed unlikely. There was nothing to do but wait.

Half an hour later Samantha spotted his Jetta coming down the street toward them. They let him pull over and get out of the car before all three of them approached him in a line so that he was trapped between them and the vehicle. He stood with his back to it and watched them.

“What do you want?”

Kubu stepped forward. “Are you Sunday Molefe?”

The man nodded slowly.

“I am Assistant Superintendent Bengu of the CID.” Kubu held up his identification but didn’t get too close to Molefe. “I believe that you can help us with our investigation into the disappearance of a man called Mabulo Owido. I have to ask you to accompany us to the police station.”

“Right now? I’ve got important things to do today! Are you arresting me?” Molefe looked angry, and his fists clenched reflexively.

“If necessary.”

Molefe considered the matter. “All right, I’ll come with you.” He turned and carefully locked his car. “I need to go to the toilet first.” He started toward the house, but Kubu blocked his way. “You can go at the CID. It’s not far.” Molefe took a moment to assess Kubu’s bulk, Samantha’s slight build, and the burly constable. Then he shrugged and allowed them to herd him into the backseat of Kubu’s Land Rover. The constable climbed in next to him. Kubu locked the doors, and they drove to the CID in silence.

ONCE THEY WERE SETTLED in an interrogation room, and Molefe had been warned that his answers would be recorded and could be used as evidence, Kubu asked him about Saturday, the fifth of May. Molefe was calm and told the same story he’d spun to Samantha, starting with the drinks at BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL and finishing with when he and Demene had left the Gaborone Sun. Kubu took notes, nodding from time to time. When Molefe was finished, the detective sat for several moments as though digesting the man’s evidence. Then he sighed.

“Rra Molefe, much of what you’ve told us is lies. We know this because your friend Wilson Demene has given us a full statement. So we know that you were paid to abduct an albino—any albino, but Owido was unlucky that you found him. We know that you followed him, attacked him, and abducted him. According to Demene, you abandoned him where a witch doctor was going to pick him up. Of course, that’s his story. Maybe you actually murdered him for money or some other reason. So we already know that you are guilty of assault and kidnapping. We may later charge you with murder, conspiracy to commit murder, or being an accessory to a murder.”

Kubu rubbed his cheeks, feeling the scratch of late afternoon beard.

“Your best bet is to tell us exactly what really happened that night and who you were working for. You and Demene are just the hired help; we know that. We want the man behind this crime. If you help us get him, we can consider a deal for you. You know perfectly well what the witch doctor was going to do to the albino, but you can say that you didn’t. That way you won’t find yourself hanging at the end of a rope.” He glared at Molefe, but the man held his stare. Half a minute passed before he replied.

“What I’ve said is true. Demene has told you lies! Why has he said these terrible things about me?” Then another thought struck him. “Maybe he’s said nothing. Maybe you’re only telling me this to try to confuse me. Maybe you’re telling Demene that I said he attacked this albino. You’re just fishing. What evidence have you got? Nothing. Because there isn’t any.” He folded his arms. “I’ve nothing else to say.”

And that was that. Kubu tried threatening, cajoling, leaving him to stew for half an hour, letting Samantha try on her own. Nothing worked. Molefe was a very different character from Demene. When Kubu mentioned the awful things that could happen to persons who injured albinos, Molefe laughed. Eventually he demanded to speak to a lawyer.

At that point Kubu gave up, thoroughly frustrated. “Very well, Molefe. You’ve had your chance, and you won’t get another one. I’m charging you with aggravated assault and kidnapping. And you’re wrong about evidence. You can’t imagine what we can find with modern forensics. We’ll find plenty of evidence—in your car, on your clothes, through your cell phone. You’ll have your lawyer, but that’s not going to help you one little bit.”

He walked out and slammed the door.





FORTY-FOUR





THE MORNING AFTER MOLEFE’S arrest, Kubu went to report developments to Mabaku. “We may have a breakthrough, Director,” Kubu started, after settling in the most comfortable chair in front of Mabaku’s desk. “Do you remember Big Mama from the BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL shebeen?”

Mabaku nodded.

“On Monday afternoon, she phoned me to report a missing person. He was to meet some people on Saturday night at the shebeen, but didn’t turn up. Big Mama tried to contact him at his place of work to find out what had happened but was told he hadn’t been at work for a week.”

Mabaku frowned. “You’ve got better things to do than run around trying to find someone who has probably taken an unauthorized vacation with a woman he’s just met.”

“That’s true, Director. Normally, I wouldn’t pay attention to such a call. But when Big Mama told me that the missing person was an albino, I paid attention.”

“Shit!” exclaimed Mabaku uncharacteristically. “An albino missing?”

“Yes,” Kubu said. “That’s what I thought. There’s too much talk of muti to ignore it.”

“So, what have you done about it?”

For the next twenty minutes Kubu recounted the events of the previous day—the confession of Demene, the refusal of Molefe to answer any questions, and his subsequent arrest.

“On what charges?”

“Kidnapping and aggravated assault.”

“If Molefe hires a decent lawyer, he’ll be out in no time at all. You’ve nothing except what one person says. Who knows why he said it. Maybe he can’t stand Molefe and is trying to get him put away. Has anyone received a ransom note or some sort of demand?”

Kubu shook his head. “He’s not a Motswana. He’s from Tanzania.”

Mabaku groaned. “This gets worse and worse.”

“I’ve applied for a search warrant to go through Molefe’s car. Demene says they used that car to take the albino to a remote place outside town, where they left him on the side of the road. Demene also told me that he and Molefe had been hired to abduct an albino—any albino. That sounded like a witch doctor wanting an albino for strong muti to me.”

Kubu was about to try to link this with Gobey’s witch doctor, when Mabaku’s telephone rang.

“Miriam, I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed!” Mabaku listened to the response. “Okay. Please put him through.”

He waited several seconds before the caller was on the line, a worried frown on his face. “Commissioner, dumela, rra. What can I do for you?”

Again he listened, this time for longer.

“That’s terrible news, Commissioner. He brought so much to the force. He’ll be sorely missed. Thank you for letting me know.” He replaced the receiver, stood up, and went to the window. Kubu said nothing, but he was sure he knew what the news was about.

Eventually, Mabaku sat down. “Deputy Commissioner Gobey died this morning. Of emphysema.”

They both sat lost in their thoughts: Mabaku wondering how this would affect his bid for the deputy commissioner job, Kubu thinking of the witch doctor’s curse.

It was Mabaku who broke the silence. “Emphysema is, of course, the official cause of death. I think we both know what the real cause was.” Kubu nodded.

Mabaku leaned back in his chair and tapped the desk. Again Kubu said nothing, waiting to see what his boss was going to do.

Then Mabaku picked up the phone again. “Miriam, please get an appointment for me with the commissioner. This afternoon, if possible. I have a very important matter to discuss. It’s imperative I see him.”

He hung up and turned to Kubu. “I have to tell the commissioner about what Gobey told us. I want his permission to dig into Gobey’s records and so on to see if we can identify his informant.”

“But, Director, can’t that wait until Gobey’s position is filled? You have to be the favorite for the position. You don’t want to muddy the waters with an investigation into witchcraft. You know how unsuccessful those have been in the past, and it could damage your reputation. We all want you to get the promotion you deserve.”

“I don’t think we can wait. Who knows how long it will take for the commissioner to make the appointment. And it seems we have some leads now that may be useful. I’m going to have to take my chances.”

Kubu stood up and extended his hand. “Jacob, it’s an honor to work for you.”

Before Mabaku could shake Kubu’s hand, the phone rang.

“Yes? Four o’clock? Thank you.”

He leaned back. “For better or for worse, I’m committed.”

KUBU CAME OUT OF Mabaku’s office and headed directly down the corridor to where Samantha had a desk. It was in a tiny alcove off an interrogation room—Mabaku had found it for her to give her a little privacy. Kubu knocked, went straight in, and settled in the bare wooden chair in front of her desk. Samantha looked very surprised to see him there. “Hello, Kubu.”

He nodded in greeting. “Deputy Commissioner Gobey passed away this morning at his home.”

“Oh . . . I didn’t know. I met him once, and he was nice to me. I’m sorry. Was it cancer?”

Kubu shook his head. “He was cursed by a witch doctor. Not a witch doctor, the witch doctor.”

“The witch doctor? But how do you know? Oh . . .” Samantha caught on quickly.

Kubu nodded. “He was the informant. That’s why I couldn’t tell you. He insisted that no one else was to know unless he gave permission. It’s too late for that now, it doesn’t really matter anymore, and you have a right to know. But keep it to yourself.”

Samantha thought about it. “I thought he was ill; that’s why he was retiring.”

Kubu nodded. “Yes, he had emphysema, but had years to go. It was the witch doctor’s curse that killed him.”

Samantha hesitated. “Actually, he did it to himself. Because he believed he would die, he did. It was all in his head.”

Kubu shrugged. “You’re always looking for a rational explanation, Samantha. And maybe you’re right. But either way, I think it’s murder like all the others.”

Samantha let it go. “What do we do now?”

“Now,” he said, “we find out who this witch doctor really is, and then we make him pay for his crimes. We’re going to start with Molefe.”

EVEN THOUGH HE’D KNOWN the commissioner for years, Mabaku still felt intimidated going into his office. After all, the man was the most powerful person in the police force.

After the usual pleasantries, Mabaku cleared his throat.

“Commissioner, I have a very delicate issue to raise. I can’t tell you how awkward I feel, particularly at this sad time. But I believe I could not wait, now that the deputy commissioner is dead.”

The commissioner treated Mabaku with a taste of Mabaku’s own medicine. He glared and said nothing.

For the next thirty minutes Mabaku outlined the various muti murders and the discovery in Marumo’s house of muti made with human remains. Mabaku ended with a detailed recounting of what the deputy commissioner had told him and their failed attempt to catch the witch doctor.

“One other thing, Commissioner. Two days ago we received a credible report of the disappearance of an albino. Through a bit of luck and good detective work, we have a confession from a man who says he and another man abducted the albino and left him on the side of the road out of town. We checked the spot, and it looks likely that the marks in the sand are consistent with what the man claimed. We are in the process of checking phone records and have a warrant to search the second man’s car. That’s the vehicle that the first man says was used to transport the albino.” Mabaku paused and let the commissioner think it through.

“Why are you telling me this now? It could have waited at least until after the deputy commissioner’s funeral.”

“Commissioner, we think the albino’s life is in danger, if he’s still alive. So we need to move as quickly as possible. What I want is your permission to examine the phone and appointment records of the deputy commissioner and to interview his staff, in an attempt to find out who his informant was. That may be the quickest way to identify the witch doctor.”

The commissioner stood up and walked to a side table and poured himself a glass of water. He gestured toward Mabaku, asking whether he’d like one. Mabaku shook his head.

After the commissioner had sat down again, he spoke in a quiet voice. “Jacob, you and I have known each other for nearly twenty-five years. I think we respect each other.”

Mabaku nodded.

“I think also that we both held Deputy Commissioner Gobey in the highest esteem.”

Mabaku nodded again.

“What you are asking me to do—even the appearance of an investigation into his affairs—will sully his reputation. I can’t do that to him or his family.”

Mabaku’s shoulder slumped. He’d tried but lost.

“But . . .”

Mabaku looked up.

“But, if you can guarantee that this investigation can be done extremely discreetly, that no one will be suspicious, then you should go ahead. We need to deal with these despicable murders. However, if it comes out that you are investigating the deputy commissioner, I will deny any knowledge of what you are doing.”

He paused.

“Understand?”

Mabaku nodded firmly. “Thank you, Commissioner. I won’t let you down, I promise. Thank you.”





FORTY-FIVE





KUBU AND SAMANTHA SAT in the meeting room with the sketches of connections in the muti cases on the whiteboards around them. Zanele had just brought in her report on the forensics examination of Molefe’s possessions, and it was disappointingly thin.

“Well,” said Kubu after he’d scanned it, “the best news is the piece of albino hair. That will be hard to explain away.”

Zanele nodded. “Microscopic examination is enough to prove it’s a black-race human albino hair, but the trouble is it’s just a fragment. It doesn’t include the follicle. I’m not sure if we’ll be able to do a DNA test against the samples I collected from Owido’s room at the boardinghouse.”

“Nothing else in the car trunk? Owido was supposed to have been in there for a while.”

Zanele looked pained. “Molefe did a good job. It was vacuumed and the carpets recently washed. Nothing we could pick up on his clothes, either. Of course, we might be able to link something else to the scene where they attacked him, or to where they left him. I’ve taken some soil samples and so on. But it’s a long shot.”

Samantha held up the photographs they’d taken of tire treads at the place where Owido had supposedly been dumped. “The treads match those of Molefe’s car.”

“Yes, and probably several thousand other cars,” Kubu grumbled. “It’s going to be hard to hold Molefe on what we have now. His lawyer is making a big production about the whole thing being a setup.”

“But how does he explain Demene’s confession?” Samantha asked.

“He claims that Demene was badgered into making it, and it won’t stand up in court if he changes his mind. And if Demene sticks to his story, then he’ll just say Demene is making it up to protect the witch doctor—probably out of fear. And he’s implicating Molefe just because they were together at the shebeen. It’s Demene’s word against Molefe’s. And probably a judge will find Molefe the more credible of the two. Our whole case hangs on one albino hair. Now, if we can match that to Owido, it’s a different story.”

“I’ll get to it right away,” said Zanele, already on her feet.

Kubu turned his attention to Molefe’s phone records. “Anything in this lot?” he asked Samantha.

“There are dozens of numbers, and it will take time to check them all. But I concentrated on those around the fifth of May. There are several to Demene—calls and text messages—but nothing that would shake Molefe’s story.” She became more enthusiastic. “But he did send a text message at nine-twenty-one p.m. on the fifth. That seems to be the best lead. It reads ‘Next half hour.’ ”

Kubu nodded. “That would fit with the timing of when they dropped off the albino. Who was the message to?”

Samantha checked her note. “It’s to a man called Kopano Rampa. It’s his personal phone number.”

“Kopano Rampa?” Kubu looked at Samantha with his mouth open.

“Yes. Do you know who he is?”

Kubu nodded slowly. “I certainly do. He’s an undertaker.” He thought for a moment, then slapped his forehead. “Samantha, the missing bodies! Who would be in a better position to make bodies disappear than an undertaker? He would have access to the cemetery to dig an extra grave. Or even bury them at the bottom of a grave he’s dug for someone else. That could be why we’ve found no traces of any of the missing girls.”

Samantha checked her notes. “He doesn’t live far from the shebeen with the computer. Kubu, it could be him. And he’d have access to plenty of other body parts, too. He’d only have to abduct people when he wanted them alive.” She felt a little sick at the thought of it all.

Kubu recalled Gobey’s description and tried to visualize the undertaker wearing the witch doctor outfit. His physique, age, and voice might just fit. Kubu was sure the late deputy commissioner would have been able to tell at once, but they’d have to do the best they could without him.

“Let’s get his business address. I think we should pay Rra Rampa a visit.”

RAMPA UNDERTAKERS—FUNERALS OF DISTINCTION, was a large showroom just off the Broadhurst Mall. The inside was in somber grays, with a selection of “Caskets of Distinction” displayed on low pedestals. Polished quality wood, elegant carving, silver handles. Kubu shuddered to think what they would cost. But few of Rra Rampa’s clients would be lowered into the earth in one of these; the rough pinewood coffin in which he’d buried Nono’s sister would be the norm. Kubu had heard that the carpenters couldn’t keep up with the demand for those.

A young man in a charcoal suit came to greet them, his face as somber as the surroundings. The fact that they’d come to see his boss and had no one to bury seemed to cheer him not at all. He led them to a comfortable office off the main showroom. There they found Rampa at his desk.

“Assistant Superintendent! I trust it’s not a close family member who has passed on? Of course I will help in every way. And we’ll certainly be able to come to a satisfactory arrangement as far as the cost is concerned. Please sit down, please sit down.”

“Rra Rampa, I’m glad to tell you that this is a police visit, not the result of bereavement. This is Detective Khama, also of the CID. We’re hoping you’ll be able to help us with a case we’re investigating.” Both detectives passed Rampa their identification. He glanced at them and handed them back.

“I don’t quite understand,” he said.

Kubu opened his notebook. “Rra Rampa, do you know a man called Sunday Molefe?”

The undertaker looked around the room as though he expected to find Molefe hiding somewhere. “Molefe? I don’t think so. But we have so many clients these days—too many really—that it’s possible I’ve forgotten.” If Kubu had hoped for shock to be displayed on Rampa’s face, he was disappointed. But he plowed on.

“Well, it seems that he knows you.”

“Does he say so? In what context?”

“He contacted you about ten days ago. Perhaps you recall that? It was on Saturday, the fifth of May, at around half past nine.”

The undertaker shook his head firmly. “I don’t give clients my private cell phone number. And I’m an early riser; I don’t take calls that late.”

Kubu thought for a moment. Then he said, “This was a text message.”

Rampa shook his head again.

“Would you mind if I looked at your phone?”

“You won’t take it away?” Rampa looked uncomfortable, but after a few moments’ hesitation, he dug in his pants pocket and handed Kubu a phone. He passed it to Samantha.

Turning back to the undertaker, Kubu said, “The text message read: ‘Next half hour.’ Does that ring a bell?”

Rampa shook his head again. “Someone was trying to set up an appointment at ten on a Saturday night? It makes no sense. Are you sure you have the correct phone number?”

Kubu took out his own phone and typed in the number he’d written in his notebook. After a few seconds Rampa’s phone started to play “Amazing Grace.” Kubu gave a wry smile and cut off the call. Samantha passed Rampa’s phone back to him.

“Look, Assistant Superintendent, we all get spam messages or messages sent to the wrong number from time to time. It happens. Now, how does Rra Molefe claim to know me? If you give me some context, maybe I can help you.”

Kubu stared at Rampa, trying to strip off the formal dark suit and tie and replace them with a leopard skin and baboon mask. Somehow it seemed comical. But if Rampa was indeed the “invisible” witch doctor, then Kubu was looking at an extremely dangerous and vicious man.

“Do you mind telling us where you were on the night of Saturday, the fifth of May?”

Rampa thought for a few moments. “I was at home. I had supper, watched some television. Then I went to bed at around ten.”

“Do you live alone?”

“I do. My wife died about three and a half years ago. And yes, I arranged the funeral. People always ask. What is supposed to have happened on that night?”

“An albino man was abducted and, we believe, delivered to a witch doctor to be used for muti.”

“And you think I was involved?” Rampa sounded angry now, and somehow the image of the baboon mask seemed a better fit.

“I didn’t suggest that. But the text message was probably connected to it.”

Rampa hesitated. “It’s possible I got the message. If I don’t recognize the sender, I often delete the message without reading it. That must’ve been what happened.”

Kubu nodded. “Probably,” he said. He rose, thanked the undertaker for his time, and left with Samantha.

ON THE WAY OUT, Kubu thanked the receptionist and picked up a couple of copies of a flyer advertising Rampa Undertakers and containing a head-and-shoulders picture of Rampa in a jacket and tie. He handed one to Samantha, and when they got to the street he asked her what she’d made of the interview.

“There was no text message on Rampa’s phone, and I quickly checked his contacts for Molefe’s number, but it wasn’t there, either. Still, I don’t think he’s telling the truth. He seemed uncomfortable when you mentioned Molefe, although he hid it pretty well.”

Kubu nodded. “I agree with you. And he immediately thought the call was to his cell phone at nine-thirty at night—I didn’t say that—when a business call at nine-thirty in the morning was more likely.”

“Of course!” Samantha had missed that. “Another thing, if Molefe did send the text message to the wrong person, why isn’t Owido still at the place where they left him?”

Kubu nodded again. “Of course, it’s possible Owido got free eventually and was so scared that he fled, leaving all his possessions behind. That’s credible, and I hope for his sake that’s what happened. But I don’t believe it. I think he’s buried somewhere in an unmarked grave or maybe in someone else’s grave. Certainly not a funeral of distinction.”