THE HANGING TREE - A Book in the Jack Delaney Chronicles: Book 5 in the Jack Delaney Chronicles

By Terry Hayward

When the Mob try to purchase a luxury, “big five” game reserve, right next to an international border in South Africa, all hell breaks loose!
A kidnapping, to menace the owners of the reserve to sell, becomes the catalyst in a host of actions and re-actions leading to unexpected alliances, coupled with violence, murder and confrontations with lions, elephants and crocodiles in the wild.
This action is interwined with investigations into the illegal poaching of rhinos and elephants and the smuggling of animal products out of the country. Add to this the emergence of illicit diamond buying and smuggling, the tracking of escaped prisoners, and the parry and thrust of a high stakes courtroom drama, and you have a real page-turner you won’t be able to put down.

The action is high octane, keeping the story moving quickly with changing scenes as Jack Delaney follows the clues and investigates the latest exciting mystery !!!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abela Publishing
• Release date: Mar 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781910882658

Book preview

24

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the glory of God and in gratitude to Him and with thanks to our son for all the good times my wife and I enjoyed with him being shown around the Game Reserves of Zululand.

Chapter 1.

The Honeyguide is a relatively small bird that traditionally, over many centuries, has led animals and man to a treasure store of honey. The mammal will follow the fluttering flight of the little bird, which tradition has it, will lead him to this sweet treasure. In return for this service the bird will expect its share of the spoil. If the mammal finds the stash of the sweet honey and fails to reward the little honeyguide with its share of the comb and grubs, tradition has it that the next time the bird will seek out the same mammal but that this time it will lead him to a confrontation with a mamba or lion.

Being well steeped in these African traditions, the young boy answered the twittering invitation from the little bird as he called out and assured it, I see you, little bringer of sweetness. I will follow you and will not fail to give you your share of the honey.

With that the little bird took off and headed in a north easterly direction, flitting from tree top to tree top, all the while twittering loudly to keep the boy’s attention and to make certain he was following until, an hour or so later, it perched on top of a very large and very old Natal Mahogany tree where it remained, all the time chattering animatedly as it hopped expectantly up and down in the topmost branches.

The boy, realizing from his ancestral ingrained expertise that they had at last arrived at the source of the sweet treat, peered cautiously into the tree looking for the hive and yet, being aware that somebody might have previously cheated the little bird of its share, he at the same time watched for the slithery presence of a reptile. The trees in KwaZulu Natal are so entangled in the vines of the strangler fig, that the boy needed to take his time to search all the branches carefully to make sure that the tangle of strangler fig roots were not in fact hiding a far more lethal body.

At last many minutes later, satisfied that he was not being set up for an attack, he removed the tiny panga he carried strapped onto his loincloth, and chipped and cut out a large piece of bark off a nearby acacia tree. When he had cut the required size he carefully wound it around into a funnel shape and then searched for a supply of fallen and dry acacia leaves. He stuffed these carefully into the bark funnel and then, hunched over it he removed two pieces of flint-stone from a tiny sack hanging from his loincloth. Carefully holding the leaf-stuffed funnel between his knees to avoid any wind disturbing it, he started to flick the flint-stones together to make sparks over the dry leaves, all the while blowing gently and carefully onto the tiny sparks.

At last he managed to get a tiny flame burning in the funnel and he gently coaxed the tiny flame as he continued to gently blow to increase the flame and get the leaves burning properly. Once he was satisfied with the amount of heat the fire was producing, he decided that it was not producing sufficient smoke so he carefully picked a few fresh leaves off the acacia tree and meticulously, almost one at a time, dropped them into the tiny flames making sure not to extinguish the little fire, yet slowly increasing the amount of smoke. Satisfied now that the fire was strong enough not to go out and that it was producing enough smoke, he carefully stuck the smoldering funnel into the loincloth and started the short climb up to the object of his desire.

As he climbed the funnel continued to smolder and he ignored the few stings inflicted by the bees on those parts of his body not protected by the smoke until he finally arrived at the entrance to the hole in the tree trunk from which the bees had been entering and exiting. Slowly he removed the funnel from his loincloth and blew more strongly on the leaves to increase the volume of smoke until, satisfied, he turned the funnel around, placed the narrow end to his lips with the wider end into the hole, and gently blew. Smoke billowed out and into the hole as he peered in to see at last the dripping combs.

Some of the smoke blew back into his eyes so he moved his head to the left to ease the discomfort to his eyes. Peering to his left and blinking to clear his eyes from the smoke induced tears, he almost fell out of the tree as he gazed, terrified, through the branches.     

There he saw, not the fanged grimace of the half-expected lethal mamba, instead an apparition that scared him rigid. He saw a body, no; it was almost a skeleton, seeming to ethereally float as though hanging from a slim branch, dripping with swamp water.

With a loud screech of fear he forgot completely about the promised sweet treasure, dropped to the ground and fled for his life.

The boy ran screaming into the village and was soon surrounded by a group of village matrons, vainly trying to calm him down.

Boy! One old crone shouted as she grabbed his shoulder and shook him violently to try to bring him to his senses. What has got into to you? Have you seen a ghost or have you been chased by the crocodile?

No, Mama, he eventually responded as he at last managed to wrestle himself from the crone’s eagle-like grip. It was a ghost in a tree.

What are you talking about, boy? she demanded swatting him across the shoulder with her claw-like hand. Start from the beginning and tell us what happened.

I followed the honeyguide to the honey tree, he proceeded to explain as he tried unsuccessfully to dodge the swinging hand. When I climbed into the tree it was then I saw the thing.

What thing? the crone demanded at last managing to get a firm grip on the boy’s arm. Did you try to cheat the little bird?

No, Mama, he replied, trying unsuccessfully to escape from her iron grip. It was the first time I saw that bird.

Well, you better not be lying to me, she muttered, at the same time spinning him around so that he faced back in the direction he had come from. Now show us the way.

With that she frog-marched him off down the path in the direction from which he’d appeared, closely followed by the other women, some with tiny babies hanging precariously strapped to their backs.

Show us the place, she demanded as she now hung onto his loincloth and pushed her bony finger into the small of his back to speed the reluctant child on his way.

Some twenty minutes later the group arrived at the enormous tree to find the little honeyguide pop out of the hole in the tree now relatively free of the stinging insects.

See, there is the tree, the boy shouted, at the same time cringing away from where he had been climbing when he’d seen the body.

Well, there’s nothing in the tree now, only the honey bird, she crone exclaimed in a disbelieving voice as she pinched the boy’s arm tighter in her arthritic hand as she waved the other hand disparagingly at the tree.

Of course there’s nothing there now, responded the child cheekily, his courage slowly returning. With all the noise you were making, it’s gone.

She gave the boy a quick slap to the back of the head as she released him and watched him turn and run back to the village as fast as his little legs could carry him, at the same time she cried out a warning, The fathers are going to hear about your nonsense tonight and will deal with you.

That evening the village elders, or fathers, sat around the fire drinking their iJuba, listening to the complaint of the old crone and the other village women. They were not unduly concerned at the report and put it down to a young boy’s wild imagination but promised to discipline him.

Amongst those sitting around in the shadows, however, was one person who found the proceedings very interesting. She knew the boy was telling the truth and she knew just what it was that he’d seen. It was someone crying out for justice of their own!

Chapter 2.

Your Honour, I appear for the defence, I announced to the judge as I rose to my feet to begin my client’s defence. Fanie du Toit, the Deputy Attorney General had just sat down at the bar after having informed the court that he appeared for the State in their prosecution of their case against Vincent Strydom, nicknamed Vinnie.

I continued, For the record my name is Delaney and my initials are C.J.

Thank you Mr. Delaney, Judge Sarah August acknowledged as she turned to her clerk and instructed her to put the charges to the accused. These charges ranged from the main charge, one of murder, through to other charges such as being found in possession of uncut diamonds, and to poaching and attempted smuggling of both diamonds and rhino horn.

My name is Christopher John Delaney, known to my friends as Jack. I had practised law as an attorney for some twenty-five years before selling my practice to answer a calling from the Lord into the ordained ministry as a Priest in the Anglican Church of Southern Africa. After a few years as the Anglican chaplain in the Westville Prison I was moved into parish ministry where I remained until my recent retirement. Because I now had a small Church pension to rely on to keep the wolf from the door, I had decided to return to the practice of law but with the proviso that I would accept only those cases that really appealed to me and aroused my interest. But more of all this later as this story proceeds.

The charges having been put to Strydom, he pleaded guilty to all of them save the murder charge and the charges of smuggling rhino horn and poaching, as per my agreement with him. He was alleged to have murdered one Juan Balboa, nicknamed ‘Rocky’ for obvious reasons, but although at this particular time I wasn’t sure who had in fact murdered him, I was certain it wasn’t my client. I had advised him to plead not guilty to the rhino poaching and horn smuggling charges for the simple reason that he’d only recently moved up to KwaZulu Natal from Cape Town and had not yet got himself personally involved in those particular crimes.

Fanie immediately rose to his feet and informed the judge, The State accepts the accused’s pleas and asks that the accused accordingly be found guilty on those charges to which he has pleaded guilty.

As he sat down, Judge Sarah glanced at me and queried, Mr. Delaney, do you agree to this request?

There’s no objection from the defence, as long as he’s found not guilty on the poaching and smuggling charges, I confirmed as I briefly rose to my feet in accordance with courtroom decorum.

Fanie rose to his feet and again informed the court, Your Honour, the State then withdraws the poaching and smuggling charges against the accused, save and except for the charge of murder. We will proceed then only on this charge.

Right, then the accused is found guilty on all charges to which he’s pleaded guilty, and not guilty to the remaining charges of poaching and smuggling. The trial will proceed only on the murder charge, the judge ordered.

Again Judge Sarah glanced my way and queried, Mr. Delaney, any objection to that order?

Again no objection from the defence, I replied, I just wish to be sure that the charges won’t be brought against my client again at a later date.

Your comments this time, Mr. du Toit, on that request? Judge Sarah asked turning to Fanie.

Yes, alright, agreed Fanie reluctantly, and then added sarcastically. I just hope my learned friend is ready now to actually get into the actual trial.

Let’s not start off by getting at each other before the trial even starts, Mr. du Toit, the judge warned before ordering. It is so ordered that as the accused is found not guilty on those specific charges of poaching and smuggling they may not be brought again at a later date.

Then, giving both Fanie and me a warning look, she added, In the circumstances those two charges, other than the murder charge, are dismissed and this trial will proceed solely on said murder charge.

After all the business with the charges had been put to rest, the judge turned to me and said, Your client may sit Mr. Delaney, and I presume the pleas as now recorded, particularly to the murder charge, are in accordance with your instructions?

I was delighted with this seemingly superfluous question, by which I knew she meant that I was aware that the accused intended to plead guilty to all charges except the murder charge and rhino horn charges. But I immediately chose to act ignorant and slip in a quick dig at the State’s case. I knew this would really annoy Fanie, who was also my close friend, but that would just be a bonus as it might just put him off his stride.

Indeed they are, Your Honour, I stood and hastened to agree with her. Then I slyly added, The accused may well be a scoundrel and blackguard, but a murderer he is not and I believe this and intend to show this…

Fanie was slower than usual to jump to his feet this time with his objection, he being a small bouncy man who did everything flat out, almost as though this would make up for his lack of size. I was pleased that I’d managed to get in my belief that Vinnie was not, in this particular instance, a murderer, as Fanie protested, Your Honour, Mr. Delaney’s belief in his client’s innocence on the murder charge is irrelevant and I ask that it be stricken from the record.

Now I really got up Fanie’s nose as I sweetly smiled at him, at the same time informing Judge Sarah, My learned colleague’s quite correct and I apologise to him and the court for my error.

With a knowing smile on her face, the judge ordered, "The bit about Mr. Delaney’s belief in his client’s innocence will be so stricken from the record. Now gentlemen, do you think we can put aside the theatricals and petty posturing and actually get on with