Free Deadly Harvest by Michael Stanley Page A

was smiling as though they’d just made love. Then I saw him on the street—­still smiling. He should be flogged at the kgotla. ”
    â€œGo home,” a young woman said. “Go and sleep it off.” She pushed him, and he staggered against the wall and fell to the floor.
    Witness pushed himself to his knees and screamed, “He’s the Devil! You are all evil!”
    Two of his friends lifted him to his feet, dragged him to his car, and threw him on the backseat. One friend drove Witness’s car home; another followed. When they reached the house, they lifted Witness, found his keys, and dropped him on the sofa in his living room.
    â€œHe’ll be okay,” the one said.
    â€œHe’s not going to feel good when he wakes up,” said the other. “I hope Tombi doesn’t come home and find him like this.”
    I T WAS SIX IN the morning when Witness woke up. It took him a few minutes to work out where he was. He was shivering from the cold, so typical of Gaborone nights at that time of year, and felt awful all over. A furry substance lined his mouth, and his head pulsed out a monotonous rhythm of pain. Surprisingly, he was not nauseous.
    After several cups of strong tea and a ­couple of thick slices of bread, he showered, changed, and set off for church. He wanted to be early so he could ask the pastor to say a special prayer for Tombi.
    As he waited, he was approached by a man he recognized but didn’t know.
    â€œRra Maleng? I’m Tumiso Mikopi. I live near the Motswedi school. I was in Molepolole yesterday and only heard about your daughter this morning. I’m very sorry to hear that she’s missing. You must be very worried.”
    Witness nodded and shook the extended hand.
    â€œRra Maleng, I know Tombi, because she sometimes plays with my daughter, Alice. When I was driving home from work on Friday, I saw her walking—­”
    â€œWhere was she?” Witness was almost shouting. “Where did you see her?”
    â€œShe was on the road next to the playing fields.”
    â€œDid she look okay? Was everything normal?”
    â€œShe looked happy—­as though she was dancing.”
    â€œDid you see anything else?”
    â€œWell, I parked my car and got my briefcase from the trunk. I looked up the road, but she wasn’t there. I thought she must’ve gone into one of the houses. But I did notice a white car along the road going away from the school. It was too far away to see what type it was, and I’ve no idea if Tombi was in it. I didn’t give it any thought. Then I packed a suitcase and drove to Molepolole to see my sister. Only got back late last night.”
    â€œCould you see the driver? Surely you could tell the make of the car?”
    Mikopi shook his head. “It was too far. I couldn’t see it very well. I didn’t recognize it. They all look much the same these days. A few seconds later, and I wouldn’t have seen it at all.”
    â€œCan you remember what time it was?”
    â€œIt must have been around half past five. That’s usually when I get home.”
    â€œAnd Tombi looked fine?”
    â€œYes. She was skipping along the road.”
    W ITNESS WAS VERY RESTLESS during the ser­vice. He wanted to race to the police station and give them this new information. He sat near the back and gazed at the dirty stained-­glass window behind the altar. As the ser­vice dragged on, he fidgeted, wishing for it to end. Normally he enjoyed the hymns, but today there seemed to be more than usual. Not one. Not two. But four! And each with more verses than he remembered. He didn’t hear the resonant basses and soaring sopranos. His mind was elsewhere, thinking back on the good times he and Tombi had enjoyed, and the things he’d said that he wished he could take back.
    Even though he was anxious to leave, he tried to pay attention and draw comfort from the sermon. Witness