‘And will you tell the court whether you sustained any other injuries.’
Abel Khori made the most of such a lovely witness, and very wisely, Mr Petal once again declined to cross-examine. The prosecution closed its case on the evening of the third day, leaving Craig troubled and depressed.
He and Sally-Anne ate at her favourite steakhouse, and even a bottle of good Cape wine did not cheer him.
‘That business about the driver never having met Tungata before, and being released only on a promise to drive the truck—’
‘You didn’t believe that?’ Sally-Anne scoffed. ‘Even the judge made no secret of how far-fetched he thought that was.’
After he dropped her at her apartment, Craig walked alone through the deserted streets, feeling lonely and betrayed – though he could not find a logical reason for the feeling.
Mr Joseph Petal QC opened his defence by calling Tungata Zebiwe’s chauffeur.
He was a heavily built Matabele, although young, already running to fat, with a round face that should have been jovial and smiling, but was now troubled and clouded. His head had been freshly shaved, and he never looked at Tungata once during his time on the witness stand.
‘On the night of your arrest, what orders did Minister Zebiwe give you?’
‘Nothing. He told me nothing.’
Mr Petal looked genuinely puzzled and consulted his notes.
‘Did he not tell you where to drive? Did you not know where you were going?’
‘He said “Go straight”, “Turn left here,” “Turn right here”,’ the driver muttered, ‘I did not know where we were going.’
Obviously Mr Petal was not expecting this reply.
‘Did Minister Zebiwe not order you to drive to Tuti Mission?’
‘Objection, your lordship.’
‘Do not lead the witness, Mr Petal.’
Mr Joseph Petal was clearly thinking on his feet. He shuffled his papers, glanced at Tungata Zebiwe, who sat completely impassive, and then switched his line of questioning.
‘Since the night of your arrest, where have you been?’
‘In prison.’
‘Did you have any visitors?’
‘My wife came.’
‘No others?’
‘No.’ The chauffeur ducked his head defensively.
‘What are those marks on your head? Were you beaten?’
For the first time Craig noticed the dark lumps on the chauffeur’s shaven pate.
‘Your lordship, I object most strenuously,’ Abel Khori cried plaintively.
‘Mr Petal, what is the purpose of this line of questioning? ’ Mr Justice Domashawa demanded ominously.
‘My lord, I am trying to find why the witness’s evidence conflicts with his previous statement to the police.’
Mr Petal struggled to obtain a clear reply from the sulky and uncooperative witness, and finally gave up with a gesture of resignation.
‘No further questions, your lordship.’ And Abel Khori rose smiling to cross-examine.
‘So the truck flashed its lights at you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what happened then?’
‘I do not understand.’
‘Did anybody in the Mercedes say or do anything when you saw the truck?’
‘My lord—’ Mr Petal began.
‘I think that is a fair question – the witness will answer.’
The chauffeur frowned with the effort of recall, and then mumbled, ‘Comrade Minister Zebiwe said, “There it is – pull over and stop.”’
‘“There it is”!’ Abel Khori repeated slowly and clearly. ‘“Pull over and stop”! That is what the accused said when he saw the truck, is that correct?’
‘Yes. He said it.’
‘No further questions, your lordship.’
‘Call Sarah Tandiwe Nyoni.’ Mr Joseph Petal introduced his surprise witness, and Abel Khori frowned and conferred agitatedly with his two assistant prosecutors. One of them rose, bowed to the bench and hurriedly left the court.
Sarah Tandiwe Nyoni entered the witness stand and took the oath in perfect English. Her voice was melodious and sweet, her manner as reserved and shy as the day that Craig and Sally-Anne had first met her at Tuti Mission. She wore a lime-green cotton dress with a white collar and simple low-heeled white shoes. Her hair was elaborately braided in traditional style, and the moment she finished reading the oath, she turned her soft gaze onto Tungata Zebiwe in the dock. He neither smiled nor altered his expression, but his right hand, resting on the railing of the dock, moved slightly, and Craig realized that he was using the secret sign-language to the girl.
‘Courage!’ said that signal. ‘I am with you!’ And the girl took visible strength and confidence from it. She lifted her chin and faced Mr Petal squarely.
‘Please state your name.’
‘I am Sarah Tandiwe Nyoni,’ she replied. Tandiwe Nyoni, her Matabele name, meant ‘Beloved Bird’ and Craig translated softly to Sally-Anne.
‘It suits her perfectly,’ she whispered back.
‘What is your profession?’
‘I am the headmistress of Tuti State Primary School.’
‘Will you tell the court your qualifications.’
Joseph Petal established swiftly that she was an educated and responsible young woman. Then he went on:
‘Do you know the accused, Tungata Zebiwe?’
She looked at Tungata again before answering, and her face seemed to glow. ‘I do, oh yes, I do,’ she whispered huskily.
‘Please speak up, my dear.’
‘I know him.’
‘Did he ever visit you at Tuti Mission Station?’
‘Yes,’ she nodded.
‘How often?’
‘The Comrade Minister is an important and busy man, I am a school-teacher—’
Tungata made a small gesture of denial with his right hand. She saw it and a little smile formed on her perfectly sculptured lips.
‘He came as often as he could, but not as often as I would have wished.’
‘Were you expecting him on the night in question?’
‘I was.’
‘Why?’
‘We had spoken together, on the telephone, the previous morning. He promised me he would come. He said he would drive up, and arrive before midnight.’ The smile faded from her lips, and her eyes grew dark and desolate. ‘I waited until daylight – but he did not come.’
‘As far as you know was there any particular reason that he was going to visit you that weekend?’
‘Yes.’ Sarah’s cheeks darkened, and Sally-Anne was fascinated. She had never seen a black girl blush before. ‘Yes, he said he wished to speak to my father. I had arranged the meeting.’
‘Thank you, my dear,’ said Joseph Petal gently.
During Mr Petal’s examination, the prosecutor’s assistant had slipped back into his seat and handed Abel Khori a handwritten sheet of notes. Abel Khori was holding these in his hand as he rose to cross-examine.
‘Miss Nyoni, can you tell the court the meaning of the Sindebele word, Isifebi?’
Tungata Zebiwe growled softly and began to rise, but the police guard laid a hand on his shoulder to restrain him.
‘It means a harlot,’ Sarah answered quietly.
‘Does it not also mean an unmarried woman who lives with a man—’
‘My lord!’ Joseph Petal’s plea was belated but outraged, and Mr Justice Domashawa sustained it.
‘Miss Nyoni,’ Abel Khori tried again. ‘Do you love the accused? Please speak up. We cannot hear you.’
This time Sarah’s voice was firm, almost defiant. ‘I do.’
‘Would you do anything for him?’
‘I would.’
‘Would you lie to save him?’
‘I object, your lordship.’ Joseph Petal leapt to his feet.
‘And I withdraw the question.’ Abel Khori forestalled the judge’s intervention. ‘Let me rather put it to you, Miss Nyoni, that the accused had asked you t
o provide a warehouse at your school where illegal ivory and leopard-skins could be stored!’
‘No.’ Sarah shook her head. ‘He never would—’
‘And that he had asked you to supervise the loading of those tusks into a truck, and the despatch of the truck—’
‘No! No!’ she cried.
‘When you spoke to him on the telephone, did he not order you to prepare a shipment of—’
‘No! He is a good man,’ Sarah sobbed. ‘A great and good man. He would never have done that.’
‘No further questions, your lordship.’ Looking very pleased with himself, Abel Khori sat down and his assistant leaned over to whisper his congratulations.
‘I call the accused, the Minister Tungata Zebiwe, to the stand.’
That was a risky move on Mr Petal’s part. Even as a layman, Craig could see that Abel Khori had shown himself to be a hardy scrapper.
Joseph Petal began by establishing Tungata’s position in the community, his services to the revolution, his frugal life-style.
‘Do you own any fixed property?’
‘I own a house in Harare.’
‘Will you tell the court how much you paid for it?’
‘Fourteen thousand dollars.’
‘That is not a great deal to pay for a house, is it?’
‘It is not a great deal of house.’ Tungata’s reply was deadpan, and even the judge smiled.
‘A motor-car?’
‘I have a ministerial vehicle at my disposal.’
‘Foreign bank accounts?’
‘None.’
‘Wives?’
‘None—’ he glanced in the direction of Sarah Nyoni who sat in the back row of the gallery ‘– yet,’ he finished.
‘Common-law wives? Other women?’
‘My elderly aunt lives in my home. She supervises my household.’
‘Coming now to the night in question. Can you tell the court why you were on the Karoi road?’
‘I was on my way to Tuti Mission Station.’
‘For what reason?’
‘To visit Miss Nyoni – and to speak to her father on a personal matter.’
‘Your visit had been arranged?’
‘Yes, in a telephone conversation with Miss Nyoni.’
‘You have visited her before – on more than one occasion?’
‘That is so.’
‘What accommodation did you use on those occasions?’
‘There was a thatched indlu set aside for my use.’
‘A hut? With a sleeping-mat and open fire?’
‘Yes.’
‘You did not find such lodgings beneath you?’
‘On the contrary, I enjoy the opportunity of returning to the traditional ways of my people.’
‘Did anyone share these lodgings with you?’
‘My driver and my bodyguards.’
‘Miss Nyoni – did she visit you in these lodgings?’
‘That would have been contrary to our custom and tribal law.’
‘The prosecutor used the word isifebi – what do you make of that?’
‘He might aptly apply that word to women of his acquaintance. I know nobody whom it might fit.’
Again the judge smiled, and the prosecutor’s assistant nudged Abel Khori playfully.
‘Now, Mr Minister, was anybody else aware of your intention of visiting Tuti Mission?’
‘I made no secret of my intention. I wrote it down in my desk-diary.’
‘Do you have that diary?’
‘No. I requested my secretary to hand it over to the defence. It is, however, missing from my desk.’
‘I see. When you ordered your chauffeur to prepare the car, did you inform him of your destination?’
‘I did.’
‘He says you did not.’
‘Then his memory is at fault – or has been affected.’ Tungata shrugged.
‘Very well. Now, on the night that you were driving on the road between Karoi and Tuti Mission, did you encounter any other vehicle?’
‘Yes. There was a truck parked in darkness, off the road, but facing in our direction.’
‘Will you tell the court what transpired then?’
‘The truck-driver switched on his lights, and then flicked them three times. At the same time he drove forward into the road.’
‘In such a way as to force your car to halt?’
‘That is correct.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘I said to my driver, “Pull over – but be careful. This could be an ambush.”’
‘You were not expecting to meet the truck then?’
‘I was not.’
‘Did you say, “There it is! Pull over!”?’
‘I did not.’
‘What did you mean by the words: “This could be an ambush”?’
‘Recently, many vehicles have been attacked by armed bandits, shufta, especially on lonely roads at night.’
‘So what were your feelings?’
‘I was anticipating trouble.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Two of my bodyguards left the Mercedes, and went to speak to the driver of the truck.’
‘From where you were seated in the Mercedes, could you see the truck-driver?’
‘Yes. He was a complete stranger to me. I had never seen him before.’
‘What was your reaction to this?’
‘I was by this time extremely wary.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘Suddenly there were other headlights on the road behind us. A voice on a bull-horn ordering my men to surrender and throw down their arms. My Mercedes was surrounded by armed men and I was forcibly dragged from it.’
‘Did you recognize any of these men?’
‘Yes. When I was pulled from the Mercedes, I recognized General Fungabera.’
‘Did this allay your suspicions?’
‘On the contrary, I was now convinced that I was in danger of my life.’
‘Why was that, Mr Minister?’
‘General Fungabera commands a brigade which is notorious for its ruthless acts against prominent Matabele—’
‘I object, your lordship – the Third Brigade is a unit of the regular army of the state, and General Fungabera a well-known and respected officer,’ Abel Khori cried.
‘The prosecution is totally justified in its objection.’ The judge was suddenly trembling with anger. ‘I cannot allow the accused to use this courtroom to attack a prominent soldier and his gallant men. I cannot allow the accused to stand before me and disseminate tribal hatreds and prejudices. Be warned – I will not hesitate to find you guilty of gross contempt if you continue in this vein.’
Joseph Petal took fully thirty seconds to let his witness recover from this tirade.
‘You say you felt that your life was in danger?’
‘Yes,’ said Tungata quietly.
‘You were strung up and on edge?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you see the soldiers unloading ivory and furs from the truck?’
‘I did.’
‘What was your reaction?’
‘I believed that these would somehow, I was not certain how, but I believed they would incriminate me, and be used as an excuse to kill me.’
‘I object, your lordship,’ Abel Khori called out.
‘I will not warn the accused again,’ Mr Justice Domashawa promised threateningly.
‘What happened then?’
‘Miss Jay left the vehicle in which she was travelling and she came near me. The soldiers were distracted. I believed that this would be my last chance. I took hold of Miss Jay to prevent the soldiers firing and attempted to escape in the Land-Rover.’
‘Thank you, Mr Minister.’ Mr Joseph Petal turned to the judge. ‘My lord, my witness has had a tiring examination. May I suggest that the court rise until tomorrow morning to allow him a chance to recover?’
Abel Khori was instantly up on his feet, lusting for blood.
&n
bsp; ‘It is barely noon yet, and the accused has been on the stand for less than thirty minutes, and his counsel has dealt with him recte et suaviter. For a trained and hardened soldier, that is a mere bagatelle per se.’ Abel Khori, in his agitation, lapsed into Latin.
‘We will continue, Mr Petal,’ said the judge, and Joseph Petal shrugged.
‘Your witness, Mr Khori.’
Abel Khori was in his element, becoming lyrical and poetic. ‘You testified that you were in fear of your life – but I put it to you that you were attacked by guilt, that you were in deadly fear of retribution, that you were terrified by the prospect of facing the exemplary process of this very people’s court, of facing the wrath of that learned and just scarlet-clad figure you now see before you.’
‘No.’
‘That it was nothing more than craven guilty conscience that made you embark on a series of heinous and callous criminal actions—’
‘No. That is not so.’
‘When you seized the lovely Miss Jay, did you not use excessive physical force to twist her young and tender limbs? Did you not rain brutal blows upon her?’
‘I struck her once to prevent her hurling herself from the speeding vehicle and injuring herself seriously.’
‘Did you not aim a deadly weapon – to wit, a military assault rifle – which you knew to be loaded, at the person of General Peter Fungabera?’
‘I threatened him with the rifle – yes, that is true.’
‘And then you fired deliberately at his nether regions – to wit, his abdomen?’
‘I did not fire at Fungabera. I aimed to miss him.’
‘I put it to you that you tried to murder the general, and only his marvellous reflexes saved him from your attack.’
‘If I had tried to kill him,’ said Tungata softly, ‘he would be dead.’
‘When you stole the Land-Rover, did you realize that it was state property?
‘Did you aim the rifle at Mr Craig Mellow? And were you only prevented from murdering him by Miss Jay’s brave intervention?’
For almost another hour Abel Khori flew at the impassive figure in the dock, extracting from him a series of damning admissions, so that when at last Abel Khori sat down, preening like a victorious game cock, Craig judged that Mr Joseph Petal had paid in heavy coin for any small advantage he might have gained by placing his client on the witness stand.
However, Mr Petal’s closing address was finely pitched to incite sympathy, and to explain and justify Tungata Zebiwe’s actions on that night, without flouting the judge’s patriotic or tribal instincts in the process.