Blood Trail Read online

  ‘Perhaps what?’

  ‘Perhaps she is afraid or does not trust the police. She has been in trouble with the law in the past.’

  ‘I see.’ Sannie made some more quick notes then looked up. ‘What did Sonto tell you?’

  ‘She was upset. She said that Thandi had disappeared. At first,’ Nomvula looked up into the branches and leaves of the tree, as if searching her memory, ‘at first I asked Sonto if Thandi had run away. She said, “No, Mama, it is not possible – she would have told me, would have asked me to come, if she was going to run away.”’

  ‘Go on,’ Sannie said.

  ‘Sonto said they had both been out in the evening – she said they were going to a Bible study group, but I know that was a lie. They took my Lilly with them at first, though she came home early. The way the other two were dressed, the usual smell of liquor on their breath – well, I am sure you know how some young women behave.’

  Sannie forced a smile.

  ‘Sonto said they were walking through the bush and her friend Thandi was walking slowly and Sonto lost Thandi.’

  ‘Lost her?’ Sannie made a note.

  ‘Yes, well, as you can imagine, Captain, I thought the girl would probably show up, with a babelaas, somewhere, you know?’

  Sannie nodded. She knew the feeling of being hungover all too well these days, but did not want to be reminded of her own problems. ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘I told Lilly she could not go out with these girls again after dark. Thandi did not show up. Sonto went to the local police, but they dismissed her, telling her Thandi would surely be back sometime soon.’

  Sannie shook her head. The local officers should have at least opened a docket. ‘I will find out what happened.’

  ‘Yes, well, even when Thandi did not show up again, no one was too worried until, that is, now, when my Lilly did not arrive at the library.’

  ‘Tell me where Lilly was last seen and what she was doing, please.’

  ‘Lilly was last seen in the same place where Thandi disappeared. Lilly was on her way to the library, to do some of her own study, but she never made it there.’

  ‘Where is this place where she was last seen?’ Sannie asked. ‘Can you show me?’

  Nomvula glanced around her, as if she was checking for someone listening in, then cast her eyes down at the ground. ‘I went, but I cannot go back there.’

  ‘Why not? We have to find your granddaughter, and this could be the scene of . . . well, this is a place we definitely have to investigate.’

  Nomvula looked up and swallowed. ‘This is a bad area, a place of . . . evil.’

  Sannie bit her tongue. Part of her was tempted to tell this woman to stop talking in riddles and to worry less about evil spirits and get on with the important information about what might have happened to her granddaughter, but she knew enough about the local Shangaan people to know that their belief system was as ingrained and deep as it was complex.

  ‘Tell me.’

  Nomvula licked her lips. ‘There were signs where the girls disappeared.’

  Sannie said nothing, an old interrogators’ trick designed to make a suspect, or, in this case, interviewee, fill the void.

  ‘Umuthi.’

  Sannie made a note.

  ‘There were some small packets of herbs or other medicine, some string made of plaited vines.’

  ‘Warnings?’ Sannie said.

  ‘More like actual spells.’ Nomvula copied her body language, more at ease, perhaps, knowing the white policewoman was not going to ridicule her beliefs.

  ‘There is a sangoma here who thinks those girls have been taken by the spirits, that they have been corrupted.’

  Sannie desperately wanted to interject, but held her tongue. She made a note to find and talk to this sangoma as a matter of priority.

  ‘But I don’t believe that.’

  Sannie looked up. ‘You don’t? Why not?’

  ‘I might be an old woman, Captain, but I was young, once. I know men. The one thing these girls have in common – two, in fact – was that they were young and beautiful.’

  ‘You think they were abducted by men – the same man or men? Do you have any idea who, around here, might be interested in young girls?’

  Nomvula stared at her for a few seconds as if she should know the answer to the question. She sighed. ‘Captain, I don’t have to tell you that the lockdown has been hard on all of us. Too many of the men who would normally be away at work are here now. They are restless, angry. Although alcohol has been banned there are still some who make a plan. Also, there were many workmen who came here to work on the new hotel and the school and so forth. Not all of them went back to their homes. Some stayed here, hoping for work. They are poor, hungry, like so many of us. Things were bad enough for women and girls before all of this.’

  Sannie nodded. Not all men were abusers, and nor was this ‘evil’ restricted to any race or tribe, but as a police officer she knew all too well the seriousness and scale of this problem in her beloved country.

  Nomvula went on. ‘There are bad men in our community, criminals.’

  This, as well, was not news to Sannie.

  ‘Very bad men,’ Nomvula said.

  Sannie looked up from her notebook, into Nomvula’s eyes. The older woman frowned. She was mulling over something, Sannie thought, deciding whether or not to tell her. Nothing Sannie could say, she knew, would force Nomvula to speak. It had to be her idea.

  Nomvula glanced around again and lowered her voice. ‘There are rhino poachers here.’

  It was all Sannie could do to keep her composure. One of the greatest problems she had faced during her time in charge of the anti-poaching unit was getting assistance from the local communities. For certain, some of the poachers walked across the border from Mozambique, but there were others who came from within South Africa, from communities like this one, which bordered the Sabi Sand Game Reserve and the adjoining Kruger National Park, and it was very rare for anyone within these tight-knit clans to expose one of their own as a criminal. Sannie waited.

  ‘None of my family,’ Nomvula said quickly, ‘but I hear things. We all do, but no one speaks up. We are afraid of these men.’

  Sannie gave a tiny nod, nothing more, and made a point of putting her pen back in her pocket, to further encourage Nomvula to keep talking. She would write up her notes later, but for now she knew Nomvula would be more forthcoming if she assumed that what she said was off the record.

  ‘You people . . .’ Nomvula began.

  Sannie smiled, inwardly. Two simple words, ‘you people’, that in any other part of the world would not count for much, were laden with the evils of prejudice and hatred in South Africa, most commonly a precursor to criticism of another tribe or race.

  ‘You people, your police, army, national parks rangers, are too good at catching poachers, now.’

  Sannie had not expected the compliment and her words slipped out. ‘Thank you.’

  Nomvula shook her head, as much, Sannie thought, to tell her to keep her silence as to disagree with her. ‘No, you misunderstand. I am not congratulating you. This is part of the problem.’

  Now Sannie was confused, but she went back to being quiet.

  ‘The poachers came, many of them from outside of the area. Some were violent men who turned to crime in Johannesburg and Durban, using guns to hijack cars and rob the cash in transit vans. Then they came here to kill rhinos, because, a few years ago, this was easy money for them, with very little risk. However, as your people started killing more and more of them, and their export markets dried up because of border closures,’ Nomvula checked her surroundings again, ‘they started looking for new business.’

  Sannie knew of the successes, although it sometimes felt like the incoming tide of poachers would never end. For every criminal who was caught or killed while
illegally hunting in the Kruger Park or the neighbouring private game reserves it seemed like there were ten new recruits to take his place. Not even the dreaded COVID-19 had slowed the poachers, who knew that fewer tourists and game drive vehicles from the luxury lodges meant fewer eyes on the ground. They had used the period of peace and tranquillity for the animals to ramp up their efforts.

  Nomvula looked like she might be regretting opening her mouth; she continued to look around her. It was time for Sannie to prompt her. ‘What type of business?’

  ‘Drugs – they are a problem, but worse is the taking of children.’

  Sannie drew a breath, fearing the answer to her next question. ‘Why do you think the girls were taken?’

  Nomvula looked at her as if she was as reluctant to answer the question as Sannie had been to ask it. ‘Men. These girls may be taken for immoral purposes, maybe for worse things.’

  It was hard to imagine anything worse than the rape and abuse of a child, but Sannie could. ‘Umuthi?’

  Nomvula gave a small, tight nod. ‘There is evil here. Some izangoma, the bad minority . . . I am sure you know, they will charge very much money for pieces of a human body, especially pieces from a child. There is a belief, also, among some men that to lie with a child will cure them of the illnesses they have caught.’

  Sannie shuddered. She had heard it all before, seen children with terrible injuries, and even little bodies, but the horror never ceased to have an impact on her. The day she felt nothing, she thought, she would be dead, in spirit if not in the flesh.

  ‘Nomvula, listen to me, please, and tell me the truth. Has anyone contacted you asking you for money?’

  The older woman shook her head. ‘No. I would tell you if they had.’

  A thought crossed Sannie’s mind. ‘With all the police and army patrols at the moment, because of COVID, how are the criminals moving about?’

  ‘Their magic is strong,’ Nomvula said without hesitation.

  Sannie exhaled. ‘You think they make themselves invisible.’

  ‘Either that or their muthi makes your police officers, or the soldiers, confused, or they go somewhere else, when these men move at night.’

  Sannie checked her notebook again. ‘You say the area where the girls went missing, this bad place, is near the border of the Sabi Sand reserve?’

  Nomvula nodded. ‘Yes, it is close.’

  ‘We’ve had extra patrols along the perimeter fence, private anti-poaching patrols on the reserve’s side and police on this side.’

  ‘See? Like I said, even with all your extra people patrolling, the tsotsis are able to get past them.’

  That was true, Sannie admitted to herself. Even Julianne Clyde-Smith’s intensively patrolled and monitored property, Lion Plains, had lost several animals lately. She expected the internet coverage of the female guide chasing the poacher this morning would go viral, putting renewed pressure on the government to do more, and that a wave of shit was heading her way.

  ‘And their muthi is strong,’ Nomvula added.

  As respectful as Sannie was of people’s beliefs, she did not believe there was any potion or spell that could make a human being invisible or a police officer blind. However, she was well aware of how people could allow their faith to convince them that something scientifically impossible had actually happened. In her faith people called those occurrences ‘miracles’.

  Trying to enforce the lockdown had been a nightmare and despite the still-high numbers of infections, Sannie was glad the restrictions were gradually being lifted. How did one convince people who lived hand to mouth, day to day, to stay indoors for weeks on end, with no work, no income and no food? South Africa’s president had been commended, not just at home but internationally, for taking the country straight into a tough lockdown, but the reality was that people had resorted to breaking the rules of self-confinement and there were not enough police officers or soldiers on the streets to stop them.

  Sannie’s view was that the government had known all along how tough it would be to enforce a full lockdown. While other, more law-abiding countries, had introduced a phased approach, in the knowledge that by and large people would do the right thing when it came to staying at home and social distancing, the South African president had introduced draconian measures in the knowledge that a percentage of the population would ignore them. It probably had the same net result, Sannie thought – or, rather, hoped.

  ‘I need to look at the place where Lilly was last seen,’ Sannie said. She had come here to be the face of the police service, to appease the local community and listen to Nomvula, but she decided, on the spot, that she would take the case and open the docket herself. It was not that she did not trust the local police, but she knew, instinctively, that this case was what she needed, to take her mind off Tom, and because she felt Nomvula’s loss, almost personally.

  Nomvula started wringing her hands. ‘I want to help you . . .’

  ‘Then take me there,’ Sannie reached out and touched Nomvula’s arm softly, ‘please. I know it will be difficult for you, and you may fear going to the place where Lilly disappeared, but think of the greater evil, if we can’t find her. You know umuthi doesn’t affect us white people, as we don’t believe in it. You won’t need to touch anything and you’ll be safe with me. Please. Every minute is crucial.’

  Nomvula eventually nodded, and led Sannie further through the sustainability project, a collection of ambitious initiatives that were sadly showing the signs of hibernation and neglect because of the on-again, off-again lockdowns. There was a curio shop whose corrugated iron sheeting shutters were closed, and no children were using the second-hand play equipment outside the creche.

  ‘You said Lilly was on her way to the library when she went missing?’ Sannie asked.

  ‘Yes. Like I said, she is a good girl, Captain,’ Nomvula continued. ‘It was after school, early evening. She knows that the ability to speak and read English very well will be important for her when she does her Matric, but her teachers in junior school, they struggled with English themselves so these after-school classes are important, especially for the young ones. My Lilly was a tutor before coronavirus, helping the small children with their English after school and at the same time improving her own knowledge.’

  ‘Your English is very good,’ Sannie said.

  ‘Thank you. I practise every day with the English-speaking customers through my job at the supermarket, and I helped my Lilly. Although the library has been closed because of the virus, Lilly was going there to do her own study, in peace. She was trusted enough to have been given her own key.’

  Sannie was touched, both by the plight of these kids, and a thirteen-year-old’s dedication and devotion to others and her own learning during the pandemic. There was no excuse for breaking the lockdown, but at least Lilly had not been disobeying the rules to drink or take drugs and party. At least not according to her grandmother. Sannie resolved to keep a clear mind.

  A road, once sealed, but now more potholes than tar, marked the boundary of the settlement of Killarney and the old citrus estate of the same name. Nomvula led her across and onto the former farm. There were gnarled stumps where trees once heavy with fruit had been cut down, and they walked along and over furrows that now resembled ancient earthworks. Nature was returning, with buffalo thorn trees recolonising what man had taken and long grass – no doubt a fire hazard – bending in the soft breeze. Through the regrowth Sannie glimpsed an old farmhouse or packing shed, a whitewashed brick shed with skeletal charred rafters.

  Sannie knew this old farm well; it had once been a major thoroughfare for poachers coming to and from the Kruger Park, but Lion Plains, under Julianne’s iron fist, had upgraded its share of the Sabi Sand’s fence, and seeded it with electronic sensors and alarms.

  They came to a new road, graded smooth enough to be out of place in the otherwise neglected-looking landsca
pe. ‘Where does this lead – to the new hotel?’

  Nomvula pointed up the road. ‘Yes, work was nearly finished on the boutique hotel, as they call it, and the swimming pool, as well as the new school, which still has no desks or other equipment.’

  COVID-19 had put an end to that, Sannie knew.

  ‘That is the new library; close to the new school and to the hotel, so rich foreigners can visit and make their donations, to feel good about themselves,’ Nomvula said, gesturing to a large, circular mudbrick building. The grass thatch on the roof was still bright yellow, indicating it had only recently been constructed. The grass would turn almost black with age.

  ‘The volunteers from Europe only finished it two weeks before the virus came,’ Nomvula added, confirming Sannie’s observation. ‘And now with no volunteers or tourists we have no more money, nothing with which to continue our programs.’

  Nomvula led her to the edge of the former agricultural land, up a small rise which looked out over a band of bushland with a perimeter fence a hundred or so metres beyond, running left to right in front of them. A cow mooed somewhere. This, Sannie knew, was a buffer zone between the old estate and the Sabi Sand Game Reserve, with its wild and dangerous animals hemmed in by the fence.

  On the crest where they stood, looking over the wilderness which stretched away to the Kruger Park, was a cluster of boulders with another excellent view of the lands beyond. One big flat rock looked like an ideal place to sit and take in the vista. Nomvula climbed onto the rock, slowly, her old joints taking the strain.

  Sannie followed and below the rock she saw the remains of a fire and a pile of empty and smashed beer and spirits bottles. There were cigarette butts and a woman’s shoe, and an old, partly scorched mattress. This was a place on the fringe, perhaps where teenagers came to party, perhaps something more sinister. She would need to organise a forensic team to search the area.

  ‘This place,’ Nomvula sniffed, ‘this was where my Lilly was last seen, by Sonto; they parted company here.’