Killed in Kruger

By Denise M. Hartman

Tabitha Krans arrives to discover the veldt of South Africa’s Kruger Park seems to have swallowed up Uncle Phillip. Tabitha’s afraid her writing career has disappeared along with him and dire things lie in wait for her as her mother had predicted. Uncle Phillip’s connections are her only link to travel writing and his photos are crucial. When he turns up dead, she wants the truth. Dead men don’t speak but photos Phillip took evoke strange reactions in park authorities. Her nosing around turns up suspicions of human trafficking, poaching and covert investigations but not many answers. South Africa holds dark secrets and deep beauty but it doesn’t want to give Tabitha the truth. She keeps prying until someone believes she’s a threat in need of elimination.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Denise M. Hartman
• Release date: Aug 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9780985720018

Denise M. Hartman

Denise has worked as a journalist, a freelance writer, a graphic designer and a video producer. Denise is a member of Sisters in Crime and was president of a local chapter. She’s from Kansas but currently lives in Madrid, Spain. Look for her novels and short stories where good books are sold! Nosy Neighbors, Complicated Cove (Blanche Binkley Books), and stand alone: Killed in Kruger.

Book preview

Chapter 1

What do you mean, ‘unaccounted for?’ What, like a check? Phillip is a human being, for heaven’s sake. Are you saying he’s missing? Tabitha stared at Michael Waggener, the hospitality director at Kruger National Park. Tabitha bit her bottom lip. This was not how she had expected her travel writing assignments in South Africa to start.

Uncle Phillip hadn’t been at the airport to pick her up as they’d arranged. Phillip had come to Kruger National Park several weeks earlier to begin taking stock nature photographs and to start on the shots they would need for her articles. This was the break she needed in her writing career, and Uncle Phillip knew that better than anyone. He was the only person who encouraged her freelancing. Everyone else wanted her to get a normal job again, a real job. She knew something important must have kept him from coming to meet her.

He was only technically her uncle. He had been Aunt Rose’s third husband—briefly. Rose went through men like bars of soap. But the family had always liked Phillip and stayed in touch with him. He’d never remarried, and perhaps still carried a torch for Aunt Rose. Where could he be unaccounted for in Africa?

Waggener was a broad white man with lots of brown hair and a cowboy-size mustache. He sat behind a taupe metal desk in a circa 1970s office with aqua drapes and black vinyl chairs. When she’d inquired about Phillip at the check-in, she’d been brought here. It was all very ominous and weird.

Waggener had found something interesting on his desktop that seemed to have his attention. The other man in the room, Souli, a slight black man who had touched his bicep lightly as a sign of respect when he shook Tabitha’s hand, now looked at his shoes.

What’s going on here? she demanded, not feeling as forceful as she made her voice sound. She straightened her orange scarf at her neck for reassurance. She could look confident even if she didn’t feel it.

Waggener glanced at Souli, then began, It’s difficult, you see. I’m over housekeeping, and two days ago I received a phone call from Lower Sabie Camp. Someone had left their belongings, not just a chemise or a shoe, but what appeared to be everything. It was a Phillip Adkins on the reservation form. The bed hadn’t been slept in. He looked around as if seeking something to help him make a point.

Waggener continued. We are concerned for the safety of our guests at Kruger, but Mr. Adkins had paid only for two days. This was the third, and we needed the room. I had his things moved to a bin here and called Souli, as head of the rangers, to look for Mr. Adkins.

Souli took up the story. I found his bakkie; you call them trucks, I think. It was off the road in the bush. This is strictly forbidden, for the guests to get off the marked roads. You must stay on the marked roads and return to the camps by six o’clock this time of year. We thought perhaps you could tell us what he was doing here, and we would know better how to look for him.

Look for him? Tabitha felt like her brain was made of peanut butter. He was here doing nature photography. The words felt lame in her mouth.

Would he have gone camping in the bush or backpacking into the remote areas? Was he looking for a particular animal? We would know an area to look for him then, if for instance he was looking for white rhinos? Souli leaned forward in his chair, his head only slightly higher than hers.

No, no. Tabitha ran a hand through her shoulder-length dark blond hair. No. We were supposed to work on some travel stories together. He came early to take pictures and to set up interview times. I’m coming to do the interviews and articles. I’m supposed to write it up. She chewed her bottom lip, and could hear her mother telling her to quit chewing her lip and talk. What if he had a heart attack or something? she said, fearful for Phillip. Being MIA didn’t seem to fit the faults that Aunt Rose laid at his door. He liked to spend his money on motorcycles and cameras rather than curtains and the fancy houses that Aunt Rose preferred. He didn’t arrive on time for family get-togethers, but he’d never disappeared and failed to show up again. Something was definitely wrong.

We have canvassed the area around where we found the bakkie. I’m sure if he was ill, we would have found him. Souli nodded as if to reassure her.

So he has been missing forty-eight hours or so?

Tabitha looked at the two men of two different races and backgrounds, each in their distinct way trying to tell her something she didn’t want to hear. They both looked away—Waggener out the window; Souli at a crack in the tile floor.

They both nodded.

What do you believe has happened to my uncle? she asked.

Waggener sat forward in his chair. Your uncle?

Tabitha nodded.

Waggener exchanged a glance with Souli. We didn’t know he was your family. So sorry.

It is not normal for a person to go missing for very long in the park, Souli added.

She drew a long breath. Say it. Do you think my uncle is alive? She looked at Waggener, who behaved as the senior authority in the room.

His light-colored eyes shifted to Souli, who gave a faint shrug.

We won’t know until we find him.

"I asked what you think."

Well, Ms. Cranz, this is a park full of wild creatures and predators. We don’t normally let people walk about unattended. If your uncle is still out there, he’s in grave danger.

Chapter 2

Sunlight reflected off the blade of the knife as Mhlongo wiped it on the dead man’s shirt. A bullet had killed the man quickly. Mhlongo didn’t need someone wounded calling for help in the bush. A stupid guide might stumble on him before he was dead. No danger of that now. He nestled the body in a patch of meter-high spear grass. It was a good hiding place. The knife and the gashes he’d opened up on the body insured that the predators would smell him and make their way through the veldt to a free meal. The lions and hyenas weren’t picky how their food got dead. Dead was easy. Dead was dinner.

A horn beeped from the truck idling on the road nearby. Mhlongo stood and surveyed the spot once more, making sure the body couldn’t be seen from the road and that he’d left nothing to indicate his presence. He scooped up the small bags at his feet and used a handful of the dry spear grass to eliminate his footprints as he backed away from the body.

Chapter 3

Tabitha took the keys from Souli. He pointed to the bakkie, a cartoon-yellow mini-truck in the parking lot. It was a pockmarked with rust. Just her size, and maybe they were both rough around the edges too. The mini-truck had a cab over the back end. She opened the back and started to heave in Phillip’s decidedly heavy bags. Where could he be? It was running like a mantra in her mind. What had happened to Phillip? She would not let the park write Phillip off as unaccounted for. Something had happened.

Her mother’s fears about a young woman alone in Africa might have substance after all. No way she would let Mom be proved right; Tabitha might look young and small, but she was twenty-six years old and absolutely not helpless.

She had pressed Souli and Michael Waggener for search parties, but they said everything possible had already been done and that the police weren’t necessary as the park essentially had their own force. Tabitha wasn’t convinced.

She took a deep breath, then went around and got in the front seat of the truck. It felt wrong, and she immediately realized the steering wheel was on the other side, the right side. And to her dismay, it was a stick shift. No one she knew in the US had one, so she’d never learned to drive one. Nothing like the present to start learning. She got out straightened her shoulders to salvage some pride and walked around to the other side.

How hard could it be? Right? People did this every day. She slid the seat forward all the way, then started the truck and jiggled the stick with her left hand, studying the numbers. R for reverse or regret? She pushed the clutch in and tried the gear. A grinding sound didn’t seem right, but a final click seemed to indicate it would be okay. After about ten tries, Tabitha managed to keep the truck running long enough to back out of the parking space. Going forward was another matter. She started to sweat and managed to get twenty feet, only killing it five times, before a tap on the window made her jump.

A very large, dark-skinned man in a park uniform grinned down at her through the window. Tabitha realized she must be making quite a spectacle of herself and couldn’t help but grin too. She cracked the window.

Yes?

I think you need some help, ma’am. He had a deep baritone voice.

I haven’t driven a stick shift before, she confessed.

I thought this might be the case. He had an easy smile. I’m from the park. My name is Daniel Kangala. He poked a card through the crack in the window. It looked like an official business card from Kruger National Park. She studied it a moment, biting her bottom lip. He said, Let me help you.

He did have on the green uniform. Tabitha could think of no way to verify this man and besides, as much as she hated to admit it, she needed help. She hoped this wasn’t how Phillip had disappeared. If this was the end, her Mom would be proven right.

I’m Tabitha, she said, climbing out of the truck and going around to the left. Daniel reached in, scooted the seat all the way back and squished himself inside.

So what do you do for the park? Are you a ranger?

Ohh, ohh, ohh. Daniel laughed, a wonderful baritone staccato that made Tabitha smile. No, no. I am a hospitality clerk.

What does that mean?

Daniel yielded to a tourist safari vehicle paused at the end of the parking lot before turning into for the main road. I work with reservations and organize tours for groups within the park.

He started instructing her on using the gearshift and when exactly to let out the clutch. Tabitha had trouble concentrating. All she could think about was Phillip. Daniel waved at another person in a park uniform walking along the little connector road taking them back to the main tourist camp.

Does everyone’s family live on the grounds back there? Tabitha said, indicating the office compound where they’d come out.

This warranted only a deep chuckle. No. That is only for employees. Only the very senior staff have a home for families. I work three weeks continuously and then I go home for a week, if I can afford it. My family is just six hours away, so I am very fortunate.

You mean you stay at the park all that time?

I do and so do most who work at the park.

Tabitha noticed Daniel’s th sounds were a soft d sound. The rhythm of his accent rode the air like a danceable tune and pushed back the questions in her head.

They parked in front of a grand yellow and thatch building with a front of stone. She said a regretful goodbye to Daniel, but convinced him to let her buy him dinner later. He seemed very calm and steady and he made driving a stick look effortless.

Tabitha looked around the Skukuza camp. Rows of yellow rondavels—small round buildings that were the guest rooms—marched up and down a watered green lawn. The thatch roofs would have made a charming picture if the sun had been shining.

Pictures. She was anxious to go through Phillip’s things and see if there were clues to his whereabouts. He must have got some great shots, since he’d been here several weeks already. Maybe these would reveal his whereabouts.

Tabitha dragged Phillip’s suitcase, along with her own heavy bag, from the bakkie into her very own tourist rondavel. It was a stuccoed cement building, very sturdy, with a built-in bathroom along one side. The rooms turned out to be almost quaint. The worn cotton sheets had the Kruger crest of the grand Kudu antelope horns emblazoned on them, as did the towels and the soap. They’d seen better days but were clean. All the insignias seemed to hark back to a more glorious day for Kruger. Tabitha imagined a time of safaris with British ladies and gentlemen in khakis purchased for just such an occasion.

This definitely wasn’t how she’d pictured her African safari, searching for a missing uncle and staying in nice little round cabins. She heaved Phillip’s big suitcase up on one of the twin beds, and pulled open the side pocket. Bless Uncle Phillip—his calendar nested in that obvious side pocket. She flipped it open and saw that he had followed through. They had appointments over the next several days, and other days had been left free, allowing time to get into the park to observe animals. No indication on his calendar of where he might have gone two days ago. What could have happened? Aliens could not have made him disappear any more thoroughly. She had to follow through and hope that something in this schedule he had set up would lead her to him. This schedule must essentially reflect what he was doing and who he was contacting last week.

Tabitha had been fighting her way into the local Chicago publications writing freelance, but she wanted—okay, needed—a bigger market. Specifically, she wanted the travel market. Her fiancé Jeffrey wondered why it had to be travel. Her mother wondered why she would quit a real job like public relations to do nothing. A writer? Really? Phillip had offered to help; as a freelance photographer himself, he appreciated the need to get a break. She hadn’t told anyone, not even Phillip, that she had almost used up her nest egg from the years of public relations and had cashed in a paltry IRA too. She needed this trip in more ways than one. She liked to think of Phillip as a mentor, but she admitted to herself she had counted on his help. He had to turn up safe.

He had arranged for her to have a chance at doing some stories he was shooting for some national magazines. She had the next few weeks to turn in a self-safari piece and to do profiles of luxury lodges and the life of rangers for several different publications. Since he’d been here he had emailed Tabitha about a conservation group that they could profile too, and sell the story when they got home. She noticed an appointment on the calendar with the Schopenhauer Factor—that was the conservationists. He had upheld his end of the bargain. She would too. She would retrace his steps, find him, help him and get the stories. She didn’t want to let him down, since he’d gone out on a limb for her with the editors.

She slumped on the side of one of the beds, staring at the bags perched across from her. Where was he? It didn’t seem possible for someone to just go for a drive in Africa and not come back. Tabitha tried to shake off the unreality of it. Totally Twilight Zone. She walked to the sink and turned the hot tap. Doubts plagued her. She rinsed her face in the warm water. Could she meet the deadlines and satisfy the editors? Phillip must be okay. He had to come walking in soon. Could she do it if Phillip didn’t turn up? She engulfed her face with a white hand towel, shaking away her fears. She adjusted her orange scarf. She needed some inspiration right now.

She tugged at the zipper on Phillip’s big green bag. Clothes bulged out of the opening and Tabitha felt intrusive, digging through her uncle’s clothes. She went back out to the truck for the other man-sized bags. Would these bags tell her something? A khaki canvas tote was the heaviest; she assumed that must be where the cameras were. She’d glimpsed the big lenses in cases under a tarp in the back of the truck. No, she corrected herself, they call it a bakkie. The bakkie’s bed had a cover on it and Phillip had left some things in it. She’d decided if Phillip trusted the lock on the cover she wasn’t about to drag around anything heavy she didn’t have to.

Inside, she pulled at the pockets on the canvas bag. Lens cleaners and brushes. Filters, various shapes and sizes. Smaller lenses and three camera bodies filled the main compartment, along with a small notebook. Nothing out of place.

Something didn’t seem right, though. So what’s wrong? She rubbed her hands up and down on her pants. She tried to put herself in his shoes. Shooting pictures, getting film developed, making appointments, picking her up at the airport. She couldn’t see anywhere he would be derailed. This led her mind to terrible imaginings. She shook herself. Don’t go there.

Film. Where was all the film? He normally kept a thermal container of unshot film, and another for exposed rolls. She searched through his bags, dumping everything out onto the extra single bed. Other than the single unexposed roll she’d pulled from a vest there was nothing. The man had been here for nearly ten days shooting. He had releases from people and locations he’d taken photos of, but no film. This didn’t make sense. He had brought a new digital camera to do some of the work, but he still preferred film. Now that she thought of it, the new digital camera body and cards were gone too. Do lions eat film? Do vultures carry off digital cameras but not the lenses? She would have to ask Souli. She needed that film, or the memory cards from the digital camera. Was this a key to finding Phillip? Besides, she couldn’t turn in articles with no pictures. Tabitha’s eyebrows pressed together as she tried to think through this, but she couldn’t find an instant solution. But she would find an answer.

She wondered if the Kruger Park officials weren’t being completely honest, or perhaps it was just an oversight and the bags were at the offices. She’d go find out right now. She jumped in the truck to dash around to the park offices, which were becoming familiar. Dash was definitely the wrong word. Chug, die, lurch forward. Where was that Daniel guy?

It took her so long to get around to the offices that Tabitha realized it was after hours, but thanks to Daniel she knew the park workers lived in the complex. The office door gave under her tug. She pulled herself up to her full five feet and one important inch to look like she was supposed to be here.

Excuse me. Tabitha stretched a hand out to a curvaceous black woman in a park uniform coming out the door. Can you tell me if Daniel is still here, or Souli?

Ah, yes. I think I saw Souli, hmm, over toward the biology offices. The woman pointed and gave Tabitha a gracious smile.

Tabitha wound her way through the now dim hallways, checking each door label. The door marked biology opened to her pull, but no one was behind the lone desk. Voices led her down a corridor between more desks to another double door. Tabitha felt like an intruder, with the empty desks and the silence of the office.

Hello? She could hear voices behind the door, but they hadn’t heard her call. She pulled at the door and entered a lab area. Her senses were immediately assaulted. The smell of decay and chemicals combined in a sickening odor, like something terribly rotten. The middle of the room held a table piled with a large rib cage and other parts of a body. She saw Souli bent over the table, but Tabitha quickly turned her back to the carnage.

One of the men called out, Yes? May we help you?

Tabitha turned partway back toward the people in the room and Souli recognized her. She pushed her way back out to the fresher air of the office and he followed. Tabitha coughed, trying to free her lungs and nostrils of the stench.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Tell me that wasn’t a person? The reality of the danger here sobered her.

Oh, no. No. Souli almost grimaced, but held back. That’s an animal carcass. We are testing it for tuberculosis. We’ve had some outbreaks among the lions. I’m sorry you saw that. What can I do for you? The slim African wore a dingy lab coat over his khaki green uniform. He held out his hands to her, fingers splayed.

Tabitha took a deep breath and exhaled. I’ve been going through my uncle’s belongings and realized some things are missing.

Oh, this is very serious, Miss. We train our people carefully but…are you sure?

No, I don’t mean to say someone has taken it. I’m asking, was there anything else? Some thermal containers? Tabitha held out her hands to indicate a small lunch-size bag. They would have film in them.

Bags of film? Souli seemed perplexed by the concept. I did not see anything like that.

Also a digital camera and memory cards are missing.

No, we haven’t had anything like that turn up. The Hospitality Department was very cautious when they removed his things from his rondavel.

What about in the area where… Tabitha bit her lip. Where you found the truck? That sounded better than where he went missing.

No, there were no bags or cameras.

I really need that film or the memory cards from the digital. I’ve got to, uh… What if those photos held a clue to his whereabouts? Was the park trying to hide something? I have to have something to give the editors, she finished. Would Phillip have gone off with just the digital and his film? Why would he do that? Tabitha could think of no reason to walk around with already exposed film.

No, perhaps you should look in the bakkie. Perhaps he put it there.

I’ve been through it, but maybe… Tabitha bit her lip. She hadn’t looked through the lens cases in the back of the little truck.

This is a difficult time for you, I think, Souli said.

Yes, it is. Tabitha hesitated but relented. I’ll look around some more, but if anyone finds any bags or any camera equipment, I’d appreciate it if you could get in touch with me.

Souli nodded.

An idea occurred to her. I’d still like to fulfill our contracts, but I need a little help with tracking animals and doing some photographing. She didn’t want to admit she needed help driving and wanted to get under the skin of someone inside the park who might tell her more. I’m afraid I need to do that work myself since Phillip is missing. She cleared her throat and rushed on. I was wondering if you could lend me a guide?

Oh, my. Yes, I’m sure something could be arranged. Although the guides’ time is very costly, since they are specially trained. Perhaps someone from hospitality could assist you. Souli squinted at the ceiling as if the schedules were posted there.

Tabitha was disappointed, since a guide might have been able to track her uncle further, and it would be good to get inside the mind of one of their ranger- guides. But if she could get help with the driving, that would at least free her mind to work on the photos and concentrate on finding the people who Phillip would have contacted in the last week. She had to do something.

Someone from hospitality? Could it be Daniel? She’d enjoyed visiting with him on the ride from the offices, and it might as well be the one person on this continent she had already met.

This is a possibility. Souli began to nod. The door behind Tabitha opened and a thin African face poked in through the crack. We need you, Souli, please.

Chapter 4

In the darkness, Mhlongo backed the truck up to an abandoned park shed. He could hear mewling sounds, but he paid no attention. His job was just to move something to a new location and ask no questions. For 10,000 Rand he could be deaf and blind. With luck, Pieter would never miss the truck for one night.

He heard the doors on another truck open and heard voices in the dark. The weight of his truck began to shift as it was loaded. He glanced in the side mirror and saw the man who had contracted him, holding a rifle and gesturing to someone in the dark.

Someone yelled, Stop. Stop. A shot cracked the night’s quiet.

Mhlongo knew no one was scheduled to patrol this area of the park, so he didn’t worry about rangers. He did wonder what was happening.

A few moments passed. He heard a woman shriek, and then nothing. He frowned.

Finally, Sy approached the driver’s window. Mhlongo nodded to him.

Man, we had some problems. Sy scratched the back of his neck, then adjusted his flat cap. We have some rubbish for you to dispose of after the drop-off point.

Mhlongo squinted.

I will double your fee. It will be no trouble.

Says you.

Yeah, what of it? Says me. Sy twisted the rifle in his hands. They glared at one another in the dim night.

Double?

Sy nodded.

Yeah man. Okay.

Mhlongo followed Sy’s beat-up white Toyota to a deserted-looking warehouse near the highway. He backed it up and the mewling and shifting of the truck began again until all was quiet. No shots this time.

Sy came up and handed him an envelope of money.

Without a word, Mhlongo drove off. As soon as he was back on park territory, he got out and shone a flashlight in the back to see this rubbish he was to dispose of. He’d assumed it was animal poaching of some kind that Sy was doing, since the truck was for animal transport.

A young Mozambique girl with braids lay at an awkward angle on the floor. Maybe fourteen years old. Damn. He knew Sy was trouble, but dealing in humans was low. He would not work for Sy in future. It wasn’t the killing. It was the dealing. Even Mhlongo had his limits.

He grunted and drove to Crocodile Bridge. The crocodiles would take care of the rubbish.

Chapter 5

Tabitha screeched the bakkie to a halt in front of the Skukuza visitors’ center. She’d go call her fiancée, Jeffrey, and assure him she was alive. She walked toward the phones over by the shops, feeling a touch of heat in the sun breaking through the clouds. She thought over the fight she’d had with Jeff before leaving the States. It was always a power struggle between them. What he wanted, what she wanted. Yet he seemed like the only guy she’d ever dated who let her be herself when it came right down to it. Was this what it took to make