Part 9 (1/2)
”Well?” Emmanuel prompted. Shabalala had been invited into the Pretorius family's honor guard, which left Hansie as his only source of local intelligence. The phrase almost made him laugh.
”I can't see him,” Hansie said. ”Maybe he didn't come.”
”If he's alive, he's here. Keep looking.”
”I am.” Hansie sulked as the crowd pressed out of the church grounds.
A curvy brunette made her way toward the street. ”Is that Elliot King with the brown hair and the big b.r.e.a.s.t.s?” Emmanuel said.
”No.” The young policeman hiccupped in surprise. ”Mr. King has light hair.”
Emmanuel thought Hansie was joking, but there was no spark in the dense blue eyes, just a teenaged yearning to be close to the sweetie jar. A powerful mix of sadness and longing had sucked the last spark of energy from a brain that had no backup generator.
”Go,” Emmanuel said. It was time to cut his losses and find an alternate source of local knowledge. Hansie was as much use to him as a blind parrot. ”I'll see you back at the police station later this afternoon.”
Hansie was down and pus.h.i.+ng his way through the crowd before the sentence was finished. The brunette was still on the church grounds when the most senior police official in Jacob's Rest, eighteen-year-old Hansie Hepple, laid a hand on her shoulder.
At least he feels something, Emmanuel thought. In a small crush of coloured people he caught sight of Anton, the level-headed mechanic who'd saved him from a beating. He motioned him over.
”Elliot King,” he said after they'd exchanged greetings. ”Can you tell me where he is without pointing him out?”
Anton's brown eyes flickered over the gathering with quick intelligence. ”Under the tree to your left, paying his respects to the family. Fair haired, wearing a safari suit.”
Emmanuel spotted him right off. He exuded the kind of casual ease that comes from sitting on a pot of family gold. The tailored khaki suit was a nice touch. It imparted a rural man-of-the-people charm without diminis.h.i.+ng his superior status.
”Money?”
”Sugar mills and now game farms.”
Elliot King proceeded down the line of family members, shaking hands as he went. The chill from the Pretorius men reversed the midday heat by a few degrees. Even Louis managed a look of disdain.
”What's up?” Emmanuel asked.
”Captain Pretorius sold the old family farm to King a year or so ago. They think King cheated the captain on the price.”
”Did he?”
Anton shrugged. ”Captain never complained about the money, only the sons.”
”Anything come of it?”
”Just a lot of hot air. Silly talk from the brothers about King being a swindler, but King is too big for them to mess with. The Pretorius boys don't like it when they don't get their way.”
”You know what it's like to be on the wrong side of them?”
”Everyone in Jacob's Rest has had a taste. I'm no different.”
Emmanuel was about to ask for more details when two newcomers to the family group caught his attention. The men, crewcut commando types, were squeezed into the cheap cotton suits worn for court appearances and interrogation cell duties. Both were drawn from the ”rough justice” section of the training manual. Neither appeared capable of playing the soft man, versed in worming confessions out of prisoners using empathy and skill. They were the Security Branch.
”Friends of yours?” Anton asked.
Emmanuel jumped off the mudguard and pulled Anton down after him. The crowd washed around them like a black sea, momentarily blotting out the presence of sharks in the water. Emmanuel took a deep breath. Two days. Just long enough to select personnel for the a.s.signment, brief them, and arrange transport. The Security Branch had no intention of taking a backseat. They were in on the investigation from the start. ”Taking an interest” was just the bulls.h.i.+t they'd thrown van Niekerk's way to keep things calm while they marshaled their forces.
”Don't know them,” Emmanuel replied. ”But I've got a feeling they'll introduce themselves to all of us soon enough.”
Anton swallowed. ”Should I be worried, Detective?”
”Are you a political man? Do you belong to the Communist Party or a union that disagrees with the National Party laws?”
”No,” the coloured man replied quickly. ”Can't say I like what's going on, but I've never done anything about it.”
”Are all your identification papers in order?”
”Far as I know.”
”Then keep it that way,” Emmanuel said. ”The Security Branch is here to look for political activists, and whatever the Security Branch looks for they find.”
”So I've heard,” Anton answered quietly. If the Security Branch had the power to spook a white detective, what chance did a coloured man have?
”You know how to play the game, Anton. Just keep playing it.”
”You a strange man,” Anton said lightly. ”What do you know about the game, anyway?”
”I was born here. Everyone in SA has to know their place. Some of us are p.a.w.ns and some of us”-he stopped and motioned in the direction of Elliot King, who was walking toward a canvas-topped Land Rover parked on the street-”are kings. I'll see you later.”
Emmanuel pressed through a gathering of white farmers and drew parallel with the dapper peac.o.c.k of a man just as he reached his car. The door to the Land Rover was held open by an older native in a green game ranger's outfit with the words ”Bayete Lodge” embroidered over the breast pocket.
”Mr. King.” Emmanuel stepped into the s.p.a.ce in front of the door and held his hand out in greeting. ”I'm Detective Sergeant Emmanuel Cooper. Could I have a moment of your time?”
”Certainly, Detective Sergeant.” The smile was cool, the handshake brief and firm. ”How can I help?”
In the churchyard, the Security Branch goons were deep in conversation with Paul Pretorius. They'd be down at the police station this afternoon, p.i.s.sing in all the corners to make sure everyone knew the investigation was theirs.
”I'd like to ask you a few questions about Captain Pretorius. Would it suit you to talk at your house? Town is crowded, and I think it would be better if we had some privacy.”
”Am I a suspect, Detective Sergeant?”
”It's just an informal chat,” Emmanuel said, aware of the thinning crowd and the risk of exposing his leads to the National Party musclemen. ”A favor to the investigation.”
”In that case I'll be happy to see you at my farm in an hour or so.” King slid into the Land Rover. ”As you're coming out my way, do go to the old Jew's place and pick up my housekeeper and her daughter, there's a good fellow. It will save Matthew here a trip back into town. They'll be ready to come out to the farm in about an hour.”
The door slammed shut before Emmanuel had a chance to reply. His reflection blurred in the dusty car window. Elliot King had given an order and he expected it to be obeyed.
Emmanuel gave a mock salute and the car pulled away from the curb and headed out to the main road. He'd met every form of arrogant Englishman on the battlefield, but at least this one, in his tailored khaki suit and new Land Rover, didn't have the power to order him over a hill littered with land mines. He'd play the lackey for as long as it took him to figure out why Elliot King's name had been given to him as a clue in the dead of night.