Part 12 (2/2)

A black horse with Thoroughbred leanings was tethered to the fence next to his Packard sedan. The stallion, all rippling muscle and glossy coat, was not destined for the glue factory anytime soon.

”Yours?” Emmanuel asked.

”No.” She blushed. ”I ride him for Mr. King.”

”Ahh.” That explained the unlikely teaming. In King's world the tedious upkeep of animals and property was a job for the servants. The habits of rich men duplicated themselves the world over.

Emmanuel pulled the car keys out of his jacket pocket. ”You'll remember what we talked about?”

”Yes, of course.” She made direct eye contact, let him feel the power he had over her. ”I won't tell anyone, Detective Sergeant. I promise.”

The urge to stroke her damp hair and say ”good girl” was so strong he turned and rushed to the car without another word. If he wasn't careful he'd turn into a grown version of Constable Hansie Hepple: a puffed-up bully drunk on the extraordinary power handed to white policemen by the National Party.

Emmanuel sat back and closed his eyes. He needed a moment to get things clear in his head before driving back to Jacob's Rest and reporting in to the lieutenant.

”It felt good, didn't it?” It was the sergeant major again. Out of nowhere. It was the sergeant major again. Out of nowhere. ”A man could get used to it. Learn to love it, even.” ”A man could get used to it. Learn to love it, even.”

Emmanuel opened his eyes. Through the mud-flecked windscreen the dirt road unfurled in a soft red ribbon toward the horizon. Dark clouds gathered overhead, poised to feed the rivers and wildflowers with spring rain. He concentrated on the landscape, felt the dip and curve of it inside him.

”It won't work, boyo. n.o.body ignores me, you know that.”

”Go away,” Emmanuel said, and switched on the engine to drown the voice out. He drove to the dirt road cutting across King's farm and swung left toward the tarred road. G.o.d knows what was in the powder he'd swallowed back in the hut.

”I don't need a p.i.s.sy medicine to get to you, soldier. You'll have to cut off your head to get rid of me, because that's where I live. Up in there.”

”What do you want?” He couldn't believe he'd answered. The sergeant major, all six feet two of him, was probably trussed up in a dingy Scottish retirement home for ex-military tyrants.

”To talk,” the sergeant major said. the sergeant major said. ”You know what I like about being out here? The open s.p.a.ce. Enough s.p.a.ce for a man to find out who he really is. You know what I'm saying, don't you?” ”You know what I like about being out here? The open s.p.a.ce. Enough s.p.a.ce for a man to find out who he really is. You know what I'm saying, don't you?”

He didn't answer. The army psych test pa.s.sed him clean. ”Healed and ready to return to active duty,” that's what the hospital discharge papers said.

”Her trembling brown hands. The feeling in your chest, tight and burning.”

Emmanuel slowed the car, afraid of cras.h.i.+ng.

”You know what that was, don't you, Emmanuel, perfect soldier, natural-born leader, clever little detective?” The sergeant major continued his a.s.sault. The sergeant major continued his a.s.sault. ”You want to think it was shame, but we know the truth, you and I.” ”You want to think it was shame, but we know the truth, you and I.”

”f.u.c.k off.”

”It's been so long since you felt anything.”

”I don't know what you're talking about.”

”Yes, you do,” the sergeant major said. the sergeant major said. ”It gave you pleasure to hurt her and not say sorry. Felt good, didn't it, soldier boy?” ”It gave you pleasure to hurt her and not say sorry. Felt good, didn't it, soldier boy?”

Emmanuel stopped the car and took deep, even breaths. It was daylight, hours yet before the war veteran's disease crept up on him in the form of sweaty nightmares.

He tore at the b.u.t.tons of his s.h.i.+rt and threw it onto the backseat with the jacket. The smell of the clothes had dragged buried memories to the surface. That's all it was. There was no truth in the sergeant major's bizarre accusations.

If the Security Branch caught even a whiff of the daylight hallucinations, he'd be off the case and in a sanatorium by week's end. Van Niekerk couldn't help him. He'd be suspended pending psychiatric evaluation and there was every chance he'd fail the test.

”You finished?” Emmanuel asked.

”Don't worry,” the sergeant major purred. the sergeant major purred. ”I won't make a habit of visiting you. If there's something important to say, I'll drop by and let you know. It's my job to keep you alive, remember?” ”I won't make a habit of visiting you. If there's something important to say, I'll drop by and let you know. It's my job to keep you alive, remember?”

8.

LIEUTENANT P PIET L LAPPING and d.i.c.kie Steyns huddled over a decade's worth of files. A row of empty beer bottles sat on top of the filing cabinet. After an afternoon of steady drinking and mind-numbing file checking, the Security Branch boys would be in a foul mood, ready to jump on anything new. Emmanuel pushed the door open and stepped into the room. and d.i.c.kie Steyns huddled over a decade's worth of files. A row of empty beer bottles sat on top of the filing cabinet. After an afternoon of steady drinking and mind-numbing file checking, the Security Branch boys would be in a foul mood, ready to jump on anything new. Emmanuel pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

”Where the f.u.c.k have you been?” Lapping snapped, and lit a cigarette.

”Taking a bath,” Emmanuel said. ”You were right. Being a field detective is dirty work.”

”I thought I smelled lavender,” d.i.c.kie said.

Piet ignored his partner. ”How did your visit with King go? Find out anything you'd like to share with us, Cooper?”

Emmanuel felt a kick of fear in the pit of his stomach. Did he really have the steel to withhold evidence from the Security Branch? If they found out, they'd make him pay in blood.

”I did a search of Captain Pretorius's hut,” he said, ”but didn't find anything. It was clean, like someone had tidied the place up.”

”Hut?” d.i.c.kie's brain was just firing up. ”What hut?”

”The captain built one on King's farm. He used it for R&R.” Emmanuel spoke directly to d.i.c.kie. ”That's rest and recreation, for those of you who don't speak army bachelor talk.”

d.i.c.kie stubbed his cigarette out with a grinding action that made the ashtray creak. ”One day you going to get that clever head of yours kicked in, my vriend. You wait and see.”

Emmanuel smiled. ”Headkicker is one up from s.h.i.+tkicker, isn't it? Your ma must be proud.”

The veins on d.i.c.kie's neck swelled and he stepped forward. He clenched his fists.

”Sit down, d.i.c.kie,” pockmarked Piet ordered calmly. ”Cooper here is just playing with you. Aren't you, Cooper?”

Emmanuel shrugged.

”About the hut...” Piet continued where d.i.c.kie had lost the thread. ”You'll take us there tomorrow morning and show us everything of importance.”

”That's not possible,” Emmanuel said. ”It's Sunday. I'll be in church for the morning service.”

”You religious?” Piet asked with a trace of disbelief. There was no mention of it in the thin intelligence file.

”Aren't you?” Emmanuel asked.

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