Deadly Harvest (8 page)

Wilmon shook his head. “These ­people do not understand that we must preserve our culture and our history. They want everything changed. But change does not always mean that things are better. Sometimes they are only different. Sometimes they are worse.” Wilmon leaned back and folded his arms.

Amantle stood up abruptly and started removing the dirty dishes. Kubu could see she was angry. He could see Joy was angry. He could see that Wilmon—­stubborn as always—­wouldn't budge. How had this discussion got out of hand so quickly? Why was it that women always reacted emotionally instead of weighing the points of discussion? Was this Marumo's secret weapon? That the women believed his façade?

It was Tumi who saved the situation. “Please, Grandmother,” she said. “Is there any dessert?” Amantle laughed, the tension broke, and the women went to fetch the fruit salad.

ELEVEN

T
HINKING ABOUT
T
OMBI CONSUMED
Witness for the rest of the weekend. And the more he thought about her, the angrier he became. He didn't deserve to lose both his women, both his loves. He felt he was about to explode.

On Monday morning, Witness phoned the police station yet again—­with the same result. They had no new information. Witness screamed at the policeman on the phone. “You're all useless! You've done nothing to find my Tombi. You should all be fired!”

He slammed down the phone and, totally frustrated, headed to BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL, even though it was only nine in the morning. When he arrived, he found he was the only patron. He sat down at the counter and, after a few minutes, heard a door slam at the back of the
shebeen.
Moments later Big Mama wheezed her way behind the counter.

“Witness, my friend, it's too early to drink. You must take hold of yourself.” The counter creaked as she leaned on it, her gigantic cleavage looming in front of Witness's face. “And why aren't you at work? It's important you keep yourself busy.”

“Big Mama,” Witness replied, “I have to understand what's happening to me. I need to do something. I can't sit around and do nothing.”

“Some things are just meant to be.”

“
Aaii
, Big Mama. I don't believe that. I've always been good to my family. I've worked hard. But I've lost everything. First my wife, now my daughter.” He shook his head. “Witchcraft is behind it. Someone has put a curse on me.”

Big Mama looked at him, weighing her words. “It may be so. It is indeed strange.”

“Who would do that? And why? I've done nothing bad to anybody.”

“Perhaps you need help from someone who understands these things.”

“But
you
are powerful, Big Mama. ­People come to you from far away.
You
can explain these things.”

“No, Witness, my power is in healing. My medicine is for making ­people well, not for casting spells, or for removing them. I can't help you.” Her upper arms and breasts wobbled as she stood upright. “There is a woman not far from here who is very powerful in such matters. ­People visit her from all around the country—­for help in getting married, or having children, or making money. I'm told she's very successful. But she's also very expensive. You could ask if she will help you. But be prepared to pay many pula.”

W
ITNESS WAL
KED UP TO
the nondescript house surrounded by nothing but sand and a few rocks marking the path to the front door. An elderly man wearing long pants, patched at the knees, and an old sport jacket sat barefoot on a milk crate outside the door. Gray hair curled from underneath a brown fedora.

“
Dumela
, rra,” Witness said, standing several yards away.

“
Dumela
,” came the reply. Most of the man's teeth were missing and, when he spoke, there was a slight whistle.

Witness stood waiting.

The man looked at Witness but said nothing.

Eventually Witness broke the silence. “Rra, is this the place of Mma Gondo?”

The man pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes.

“Yes.”

“Rra, I'd like to consult Mma Gondo on a problem I have—­a daughter who is missing.”

The man gazed at Witness without saying anything.

“Rra, I don't know what I must do to see Mma Gondo. Can I make an appointment? And how much will she charge?”

“Tomorrow at ten in the morning. She will tell you how much.” The man closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall.

T
HE
NEXT MORNING
W
ITNESS
was at the witch doctor's house with plenty of time to spare. The doors and windows were shut, and the old man nowhere to be seen. Witness waited a few minutes, then walked to the end of the street and back. When he returned, nothing had changed. He wondered if the old man had remembered to tell the witch doctor of his appointment. Now agitated, he walked tentatively around the house. The curtains were drawn behind all the windows. But when he reached the front again, the door was open. Hesitantly he moved toward it, peering into the dark interior.

“Come inside, Witness Maleng.” The voice was old and husky. Witness started to tremble. How did she know his name? He edged inside. To his right, through an open door, he saw an old woman with white hair and heavily wrinkled face, sitting on a pile of pillows. Around her shoulders was a heavy blanket even though the day was warm.

“Sit over there.” She pointed to a low wooden stool. Witness sat down and waited.

For several minutes, the woman stared at him. He was afraid to say anything.

“You have brought the money?”

“Mma,” Witness stammered, “the old man said you would tell me how much. I have brought all I have. Nearly a thousand pula. It's all I have.”

The woman continued to stare at him. Witness glanced away. What would he do if it wasn't enough?

Eventually the woman pointed to the floor between them. As she did so, the old man hobbled slowly through the door and put down a wooden bowl. Then he turned and left.

“Put your money in there,” she rasped.

Witness pulled a pile of dirty pula bills from his pocket and put them carefully in the bowl.

He sat back and waited.

“Your daughter is missing, and you want to know how to find her.” It was a statement, not a question. Witness nodded.

“A girl like your daughter can provide very powerful
muti
. There are ­people who seek such
muti
to get what they want—­power, money, good luck. And there are witch doctors who will help them. They do not think of the children's families.” She paused. “
Muti
like that costs many pula. More than you dream about.”

The old woman rocked back and forth, eyes shut.

“Your daughter is a virgin?”

“Yes, mma. I believe so. She has no boyfriend.”

“Did she bleed each month?”

Witness was not used to such talk and looked at the floor. “Yes, mma. I took her to the clinic before Christmas.”

“That is good, but it is also bad.”

Witness frowned but said nothing. There was silence for a few moments.

The old woman sighed. “You must seek a man. A man who was nothing and is now everything. A man no one knew and now all know. A man who was weak and now is powerful. That is where you must look. That is where you will find out about her.”

Witness was puzzled. He didn't understand. “But where will I find this man? Where must I look?”

“You will know the man when you see him.” She turned away.

“But, mma! I don't understand.” Desperation was beginning to creep into Witness's voice. He felt a hand take hold of his upper arm. It was the old man.

“Come!” The grip was strong. It led him to the door, where he was blinded by the glare. He turned to argue, but the door closed. He heard the lock turn.

“
B
IG
M
AMA!
M
MA
G
ONDO
took all my money, but she was no help. I don't understand what she told me.”

Big Mama pulled a carton of Shake Shake from the fridge and shook it vigorously. “On the house,” she said. “Now tell me what happened.”

Witness recounted what the witch doctor had said. “She said look for a man who was nothing, and is now something!” he cried. “There are many like that. Where do I start?”

“Sit down, Witness. Listen to me. She's a very powerful witch doctor and wouldn't cheat you. Hear what she said.”

“I told you what she said. Nothing that can help me.”

“It's very clear to me what she told you to do.”

Witness frowned.

“She said you must look for someone who was nothing, who now enjoys great success.”

“But where do I start? There must be many like that.”

“The man's fortune would've changed since Tombi disappeared. You must look for something that's happened in the last week.”

Witness nodded slowly. “But where will I start? Gaborone is a very big city.”

“Tombi was stolen from here. Here's where you must start.”

“But Big Mama, I've been looking since the day she disappeared.”

“Not for the right thing. You've been looking for information, for clues. You must now look for ­people.”

“But where?”

“You paid Mma Gondo for her wisdom. Now trust she will guide you.”

W
ITNESS WALKE
D OUT OF
the
shebeen
into the bright afternoon. For a moment he stood blinded by the light and blinked a few times. Then, starting to cross the street, he looked up and saw the man, the man Mma Gondo must surely have meant all along. In front of him, crooked on a lamp post, the man's face leered at him. Bill Marumo! Witness stood staring at that smiling, taunting face.

A man pushing a wheelbarrow of potatoes shouted at him to get out of the street, but Witness didn't hear him. He only moved when a car hooted loudly, the driver swearing at him.

It had to be Marumo; the man was evil. He knew that. Yet, how had Marumo benefited? He puzzled about it for a few minutes, and then he laughed aloud, attracting odd looks from passersby. How easy it was; how clear now that he'd thought it through. The man
hadn't
benefited.
Not yet
.

He turned round and walked back into BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL.

“Witness! You back already?”

“Yes, I'm back. You were right. Mma Gondo showed me.” He nodded slowly. Big Mama folded her arms, using them to support her impressive breasts, and waited for him to continue. But he changed tack.

“The Freedom Party,” he said. “Everyone says it is impossible for them to win. Isn't that right?”

Big Mama shrugged. ­“People here have always supported the BDP. A few young ­people support the Freedom Party, yes. It's Marumo's charisma and his empty promises. But the BDP will wipe him out.”

Witness shook his head. “No!” he said. “He'll win. You'll see. Marumo will win.” She started to reply, but he turned and walked out. Then he drove home. He was sure he was right, but he'd wait for the election on Friday to be absolutely certain. In the meantime, he'd plan his next move. He was calm now, satisfied in his hate.

TWELVE

J
OSHUA
G
OBEY WAS AN
important man but, in his own eyes and those of his wife, not as important as he deserved to be. He was short and thin and had spent much of his life looking up at taller and broader men. He didn't do that anymore. Not since he'd become the head of the key diamond division of the Botswana Police, the section tasked with preventing the theft and smuggling of diamonds from the rich Debswana mines, which formed the backbone of the country's economy. When he spoke, ­people listened—­even his uncle, Tebogo Gobey, deputy commissioner of police.

Joshua arrived early for his appointment, but his uncle's personal assistant showed him in immediately. Tebogo was behind his desk working but rose at once and accepted and reciprocated Joshua's respectful greeting. But there was a touch of reservation in his welcome; too many favors had been requested and granted for Tebogo to be really warm. He was fond of his late brother's ambitious son, but he was uncomfortable with their relationship within the police. At least Joshua was competent, although not brilliant. Tebogo wondered what had brought him to his office this time.

Joshua closed the office door and chose a chair while Tebogo returned to his seat behind the desk.

“How are you, Uncle?” The voice seemed to indicate real concern. Tebogo frowned. His mind went back to his last visit to the doctors and their useless advice.

“As well as can be expected. They say the emphysema is getting worse. That I must cut out smoking.” He shrugged to indicate his reaction to that proposal. “I've cut down. And I have some herbal medicines from a man I know who is a great healer. I'm sure that will help.”

“Are you looking forward to your retirement?”

Tebogo smiled. Of course, this was his nephew's interest. “I'm not sure. Maria says I mustn't get in her way at home!” They both laughed.

“I was wondering—­” Joshua began, but Tebogo interrupted.

“If I've spoken to the commissioner about my successor?”

“Well, yes.”

Tebogo nodded. “He was receptive to the idea of considering you. He has some other possibilities, of course.”

“The grapevine says he favors Jacob Mabaku.”

Tebogo hesitated. Joshua was well informed. Indeed, the CID director was probably the front-­runner. At last Tebogo said, “He's made no decision as yet.”

Joshua, too, hesitated. “It's too uncertain,” he said at last. “I think we must explore other ways.”

“Other ways?” Tebogo frowned, unhappy with Joshua's use of “we.”

Joshua leaned back and folded his arms. “Uncle, you're a man of the world, and a very successful one.” He leaned forward. “All entirely on merit of course. No fair person would suggest otherwise. But in rising so high, you must have protected yourself from other men. Men intent on bringing you down and replacing you. Men who used improper ways of advancing their own ends.”

Tebogo said nothing, wondering how much his nephew knew and where this was going.

“Mabaku now. He's a decent detective, good administrator. But vision, leadership?” Joshua shook his head. “How do you think he came to the commissioner's notice? By solving a murder here or there? There has to be more to it than that.”

“More to it?” Tebogo tried to sound puzzled.

“Of course. He's had help. Like you've had help with your lungs. I'm sure you'll have a long, healthy retirement, Uncle. Maria is sure of it.” So that's it, Tebogo thought. He's been talking to my wife. Nothing stops the wagging of her tongue.

“What are you asking?”

“I just want to meet the person you use, Uncle. The one who gives you the ‘herbal' medicine. So that I can also have some help. Help to ward off what the other candidates are doing. Just so the commissioner can see clearly that your recommendation is the best one.” Joshua nodded slowly. “That I'm the best person to succeed you as deputy commissioner. On merit.”

So, thought Tebogo. This is the price. In addition to all the pula these witch doctors and healers have sucked from me, I am now sending my brother's son into their clutches—­the brother who would never forgive me if he knew. His skin crawled, and his heart sank.

“I'll see if it is possible. I don't know. He can be busy. Or difficult. And expensive. Very expensive.”

Joshua nodded again. He had what he wanted. He thanked his uncle and rose to take his leave.

J
OSHUA PULLED HIS
BMW
323i up on the shoulder of the dirt track and switched on his interior light to check his uncle's directions. He was in the middle of a poor area, houses little better than shacks dotted over a few acres of stony dust. It wasn't the kind of place he expected to meet a powerful witch doctor. But the hand-­drawn map was quite specific, showing the shack on the corner of the track he was on and the one intersecting from the right. He reversed slightly so that his headlights picked out the building. There was no sign of life, and no car was visible. He switched off the headlights and the engine and waited. He'd been told to wait until he saw a light come on inside.

After twenty minutes he was getting irritated. Was this all a waste of time? He checked his watch. He would give it another ten minutes.

Just as he was ready to give up, a reddish light appeared in the window facing the street. It was there for about thirty seconds, then it vanished. He grunted, locked the car, and walked to the makeshift door.

As he reached for the handle he stopped. He had a strong feeling of danger, and his police experience warned him to take such premonitions seriously. He should quietly get back into his car and drive off. Leave this behind him. Never look back.

But that was silly. Then Mabaku would become the new deputy commissioner, commissioner in due course, maybe minister in the government. Just because Joshua didn't have the guts. That's what his wife would say, and she'd be right. He gritted his teeth and pulled open the door.

He found himself in the main room of the house. Its single window was now covered by a heavy blind. In one corner was a table supporting a kerosene lamp. The breeze of the door opening caused the flame to flicker, throwing moving shadows. At the side of the table, with the light somewhat behind it, sat something large. The face had sunken eyes and a baboon snout with exposed teeth. The torso was bare and strong, a leopard skin wrapped around the loins. The baboon head is a mask, Joshua thought. And what right does he have to leopard skin, the mark of royalty? He swallowed. The most powerful witch doctors were said to be shape-­changers, becoming baboons or hyenas at will to do their evil work in the night. He felt an urge to run but stood his ground. This man is just dressed up to frighten me, he thought. Like a monster in a horror show for children! It's laughable. He didn't laugh, but he felt calmer.

“Close the door. Sit down.” The voice was cold.

Joshua closed the door and paused, waiting for his eyes to become accustomed to the dimness. Then he moved forward to the only other chair in the room, facing the witch doctor and looking into the dancing light.

“My name is Joshua—­”

“I know who you are,” the baboon man interrupted in a voice that slithered like a snake. “I know what you want. You are here for me to decide if I want to help you, to decide if you are worthy.”

“I am the head of the diamond division of the Botswana Police,” Joshua said angrily. “I am—­”

“I said I know who you are.” The words were said softly, but Joshua subsided.

“How are you with women?”

The question was so unexpected that Joshua stammered. “I . . . I . . . I'm strong. With my wife. And there are others. This is not my problem.”

The witch doctor seemed satisfied. He thought for a moment. “We need something very rare and very special
.
A
leswafe.
”

Joshua sucked in his breath. “An albino?”

The witch doctor nodded. “Yes, there is great power there. We will take that power for you. Then you will be strong. Not just with women.” The last was said with contempt.

“Will I become deputy commissioner?”

“For that answer, you need to find some old man squatting in the street to throw the bones for you. I offer you
real
power, not empty promises sold for a few pula. Don't waste my time.”

Joshua swallowed. “When will it be ready?”

“I must find the right one. These things are difficult. When I have him, I will call you. You will come at once, and we will take the power you desire from him.”

“I must be here when you do it?” Joshua was horrified.

“Not here. But, yes, you will do it with me. The power is much stronger that way.”

Joshua was silent. He realized what the witch doctor was saying. He was to participate in a murder. I will leave now, he thought. I will tell no one this happened. He stood up so that he was looking down at the witch doctor. That made him feel a bit better. Then he sank back into the chair.

The witch doctor nodded, satisfied. “It will be fifty thousand pula.”

“That's a fortune! How will I explain the payment of all that money?”

“You are still not understanding! You do not explain. After this you will have power. And you walk that road from this point on with me as your guide. It is very little money. I do it so cheaply as a favor to your uncle.”

“I'll need to think about it.”

The witch doctor shook his head. “You need to decide now. I won't waste my time with a man who cannot make up his mind.
I
will give you power, but
you
must use it.”

Joshua decided to leave. He wanted to escape this evil man with his cold snake-­voice. Again he got to his feet, but he realized it was too late. It had been too late once he opened the door of the shack, too late once he'd spoken to his uncle. Perhaps it had been too late after the first time he'd gained something he didn't deserve.

The witch doctor seemed to know all this. “I will tell you when I want the money.”

“All right,” said Joshua.