He’s writing a book . . .” Her voice trailed off because the secretary was nodding.
“Do you have an appointment?” she said. “Professor van der Meer is very busy.” She obviously took the casually dressed policewoman for a student.
“Yes. I’m Detective Khama of the Botswana CID. Tell him, please.”
The woman’s attitude changed, and she guided Samantha to the professor’s office. He rose to greet her and extended his hand. She shook it, touching her right forearm with her left hand in respect. He did the same unselfconsciously. He must have been in Africa for some time, she thought. He had frizzy red hair and a light complexion that was freckled by the Botswana sun. A half-buttoned shirt and khaki shorts completed a casual image.
He looked at Samantha appraisingly and offered a friendly smile, which the policewoman did not return.
“Dumela, Detective. Kees van der Meer. I am very pleased to meet you. I want to help you,” he said in labored Setswana.
Samantha replied in English. “Thank you for seeing me, Professor. It’s good to meet you, too.”
Relieved, Van der Meer switched languages. “Actually, I hope I can help. I’m not sure what it is you want. You weren’t very specific on the phone.” He smiled again and waved her to a comfortable chair. His English had a strong accent; Dutch, she guessed.
“I’m sorry, Professor, I wanted to explain it to you in person. I’m investigating the disappearance of a young girl. She’s been missing for about four months. I believe she was abducted.”
Van der Meer saw the point at once. “You think she was taken by a witch doctor? For muti?”
Samantha nodded. “That’s possible. It could also be a sex crime, but then I think we would have found her by now, though perhaps not alive.”
The professor paused. “A lot of African children are taken and sold overseas as prostitutes or sex slaves. You’d never hear about what happened to them.” He shrugged. “Anyway, just what do you want to know from me, Detective? I study traditional healers and why their remedies and spells are often more effective than Westerners would expect. That’s what my book is about. Healers, not witch doctors.”
“But you must know about them, too, if you’re studying that part of our culture.”
He sighed. “Yes, of course the two blur. It’s the border between black magic and white magic, as a Westerner would say. What do you want to know?”
Samantha hesitated, then decided to start at the beginning. “The trail is cold now. Months have passed, and the police in Mochudi found no clues to what happened. If I’m right, the girl’s been dead for a long time. I’m going to investigate the crime again, but I’ll be surprised if I find anything new. I’m hoping you can help me understand the motive. If I can find out who is most likely to have benefited, perhaps I can find some connection, some insights.” She hesitated, realizing that her idea was pretty tenuous. But the professor just nodded.
“What’s the girl’s name?”
“Lesego.” She was glad he cared enough to ask.
The professor shook his head. “It’s not a good name.”
“It means Lucky. A nice name, I think.”
Van der Meer paused. “How much do you understand about how witch doctors operate, Detective? Do you believe in some of these things yourself? And please don’t be embarrassed; it may actually help if you do.”
Samantha shook her head angrily. “It’s nonsense. It’s only for ignorant people and children!”
Van der Meer’s eyebrows rose. “I’ve heard stories—and experienced things myself—that make me wonder whether the world is as rational as we like to think. May I tell you a story? When I came to Gaborone I rented an apartment near here. At first I was comfortable there, but after a while I started to develop a bad cough and allergies, like hay fever. I thought it might be dust. The apartment wasn’t very clean, and I felt better when I went out. My doctor prescribed antihistamines and for a while I was okay, but then it started up again. My maid said it was a curse—that a witch doctor had put a spell on the apartment. I thought it was nonsense, but as you say, I’m interested in such things. So partly just to observe what he’d do, I contacted someone who had a reputation for detecting spells. He came to the apartment and walked around for a while, sometimes stopping as if he were hearing something in the distance. Eventually he got a kitchen chair