Deadly Harvest A Detective Kubu Mystery - By Michael Stanley Page 0,13

more questions?”

“Of course, Detective.” Van der Meer stared at her without smiling. “I just want you to understand something important. Many, many, people believe in witchcraft. Not just ignorant people and children, but businesspeople, people in the government.” He paused. “And many in the police also believe. That’s why so few cases are solved. They’re scared the witch doctor will put a spell on them if they get too close.” Samantha didn’t react. “Most of these people would never dream of using muti themselves,” he continued, “but they’re scared to death of it. And the few who would use it are powerful people, and they use powerful witch doctors. They’ve a lot to lose.” He paused. “I think you should be careful with this investigation, very careful.”

Samantha clenched her jaw. Another man telling her to go slowly, fit in, be careful.

“Thank you for your time, Professor,” she said and left abruptly.

Part Two

FELL SWOOP

“What all my pretty chickens and their dam

At one fell swoop?”

MACBETH, ACT 4, SCENE 3

SIX

SHE HOPPED AND SKIPPED over the sand alongside the road. It had been such a happy afternoon, and she had the whole weekend ahead of her. For the first time since her mother had died ten months ago, she hadn’t felt pangs of grief. Playtime had been nothing but fun—she and her friends kicking a soccer ball all over the grassless playing field, shouting incessantly for a pass and screaming with excitement when someone neared the goal.

She knew her father would be angry that her school uniform was covered in sand and her shoes scuffed, but she couldn’t wait to tell him that she’d scored a goal—her first—a shot from twenty yards that sped past the fingertips of the goalkeeper. Her father had played soccer when he was young, so he’d understand her excitement and be proud of her. She looked forward to that.

She heard a crunching behind her. She turned and saw a white Toyota pulling off the road onto the sand. It slowed down and stopped next to her. As the window opened slowly, she saw a man leaning over, struggling with the handle.

“Hello, Tombi.”

It took a few moments for her eyes to recognize him in the dark interior.

“Oh! Dumela, rra. I didn’t think it was you.”

“My car’s at the garage, Tombi. They loaned me this one while mine’s being fixed.”

It must be nice to have a car, she thought.

“Can I give you a lift home? You live near here, don’t you?”

“Yes, rra. Not far from those shops down there.”

“Jump in. I’ll buy you a milk shake on the way.”

A grin split Tombi’s dusty face as she clambered into the car. “Oh, thank you, rra. I haven’t had one for a long time.”

He smiled back, put the car into gear, and moved off. There was a click as he engaged the door locks. Tombi took no notice. A milk shake would be the perfect way to end the afternoon.

WITNESS STIRRED THE POT of pap. It would be done soon. The tomato and onion sauce was ready, simmering on the back burner.

Where was Tombi? he wondered. She should’ve been home more than half an hour ago. Maybe she was still playing soccer with her friends. He shook his head. Girls playing soccer! When he was in school, boys played soccer. Girls played . . . He stopped stirring. What had girls done after school? He couldn’t remember. He wasn’t interested in girls then. It was only when he met Tombi’s mother when he was nineteen that he started paying attention. That was fifteen years ago. Now she was gone.

He started stirring again. Still, he was lucky. Tombi was a good girl. Naughty from time to time—she was a teenager, after all—but never anything serious. More important, she studied hard at school, had three or four close friends, and wasn’t distracted by boys. So far.

He dreaded that moment. He wasn’t sure how he’d cope. His friends with daughters didn’t know what to do. None of them seemed to understand their kids. But he knew what he would do—he’d forbid her from having sex even though it seemed that all schoolchildren were doing it. For them, it was as natural as shaking hands. But he knew what AIDS could do to a family. He would have to talk to her soon—remind her of what had happened to her mother.

TOMBI WAS NOW MORE than an hour late, and Witness was worried. He drove to her school in his dilapidated Volkswagen and saw a few boys kicking