Part 16 (2/2)
There was a pause as the lanky coloured man placed the pile of books next to the pulpit. ”How'd you know about that?” he asked.
”I've got big ears,” Emmanuel said. ”Tell me about the fire.”
Anton shook his head. ”I don't want to get the Pretorius boys off side. Without the captain to control them, anything could happen.”
”Does King know about the fire?”
”He's one of my investors,” Anton said. ”He knows everything.”
”Good. If I have to, I'll tell the Pretorius boys that King let the story out. King is too big for them to mess with, isn't he?”
”He is,” the mechanic agreed, then got a cloth from a cupboard and began wiping down the wooden lectern with a vigorous hand. He worked for a minute in silence. Emmanuel let him get to the story in his own time.
”I used to work at the Pretorius garage,” Anton said. ”Five years. Not bad work, but Erich is a hothead, always on about something or other. One day, Dlamini, a native who owns three buses, got me to do some work out at the black location and it got me thinking maybe I could go it alone, you know?”
Emmanuel nodded. He could see where the story was headed.
”I talked to a few people. King, the old Jew and Granny Mariah put up the seed money and I was on my way. Things went good for a while. The Pretorius garage kept the white trade and the holidaymakers moving through town.” Anton worked the dust rag over the wooden pews. ”I kept the black and coloured trade. It was a fair split, seeing the Dutchmen own most of the cars.”
”What happened?”
”King's nephew was visiting and his roadster needed new spark plugs. He brought the car in to me and that started it off.”
”A red sports car with white leather interior?” Emmanuel asked.
”The very one,” Anton replied. ”Well, you can imagine the fuss in a town this size. An actual Jaguar XK120. White, black, coloured, they all piled into my shop for a look. I was excited myself. A car like that doesn't come around every day.”
”You forgot,” Emmanuel said.
”That's right.” The coloured mechanic managed a smile. ”I forgot it was a white man's car and off limits. Didn't think about it until the old Jew came pounding on my door that night.”
”How does he fit in?”
”He saw the whole thing,” Anton said. ”He saw Erich pour the petrol, light the match and walk away. It was Zweigman who went to the police station the next morning to file a witness statement. Wouldn't be talked out of it by anyone, not even his wife.”
For someone trying to hide out in a small town, Zweigman managed to attract a lot of attention.
”Did you try to talk him out of filing the statement?”
”I was scared my house would be firebombed next,” the mechanic said. ”I wanted King to handle it.”
”Did he?”
”He didn't have to. Captain Pretorius himself came to see me in the morning and told me Erich would pay for the rebuilding of the garage and for the replacement of my lost stock.”
”In exchange for what? Getting Zweigman to withdraw his statement?”
The mechanic flushed. ”It's not possible to live here and be on the wrong side of the Pretorius boys, Detective. I asked the old Jew to withdraw the statement like the captain asked. He wasn't happy, but he did it.”
”How long ago was this?”
”Four months.”
”Did Erich pay you the whole amount in cash?” Where would anyone, with the exception of King, get that kind of money?
”Half up front, the rest due next week.”
”How much?” Emmanuel asked.
”One hundred and fifty pounds still owing.” Anton balled the cleaning rag and threw it into the corner with a hard click of his tongue. ”Not that I'll see a penny of it now the captain has pa.s.sed. There's no papers, no nothing, to prove Erich owes me a thing.”
”No criminal record to connect him with the fire and no more debt,” Emmanuel said. Hotheaded Erich was now a person of interest to the investigation. ”How did Erich feel about paying the money?”
”He was furious.” Anton sat down in a cleaned pew. ”Marcus, the old mechanic who works at the garage, said the captain and Erich had a real head-to-head about it. Erich thought his pa was siding with the natives instead of supporting the family.”
That piece of information didn't surprise Emmanuel. The Pretorius brothers were princes of Jacob's Rest, who took their father's protection for granted. It must have stunned Erich to find he'd overstepped the line from privileged Afrikaner to criminal.
”Why do you think the captain made Erich pay?”
”The old Jew,” Anton said. ”He was one hundred percent certain he saw Erich start the fire and he was ready to swear to it in a law court. Said he'd even swear on the New Testament Bible. It took me an hour of begging to make him go to the police station and withdraw the statement.”
The captain was levelheaded enough to see that paying the money was the best option. It wouldn't do for Frikkie van Brandenburg's grandson to be held in a place of confinement with the detritus of European civilization. Even though it was likely that a handpicked jury of whites would decide in favor of Erich, the purebred Afrikaner, over a Jew. Captain Pretorius, it seems, was an expert at keeping things off the record and out of public view.
”The next payment is due?” Emmanuel asked.
”This Tuesday.”
”You going to ask for it?”
Anton got to his feet. ”You believe a coloured man can walk into a Dutchman's place and demand his money? You really believe that, Detective?”
Emmanuel looked at the floor, embarra.s.sed by the raw emotion in Anton's voice. The mechanic didn't have a hope of getting the money unless a white man, one more powerful than Erich Pretorius, made the approach. Both he and Anton knew the simple truth.
The church door opened a fraction and Mary the woman-child peeked in.
”Anton?” Her lips clamped shut and she stood like a gazelle caught in a hunter's spotlight.
”What is it?” Anton asked.
”Granny Mariah's curry...” she said, then withdrew her head and disappeared from sight.
Anton forced a smile. ”That's my sister Mary. I think she wanted to say Granny Mariah's curry is going fast. It's a popular dish at potluck Sunday.”
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