Part 20 (1/2)
”I'm sorry...” she said. ”I'm keeping you from your investigation. You could be using this time to hunt down the killer and bring him to justice.”
”I do have some people to talk to. I'll let you know if there's a breakthrough.”
Grief and vengeance would be Mrs. Pretorius's constant companions for the next few months.
Emmanuel left through the garden. He needed to see Erich Pretorius soon, but first he was going to ask Miss Byrd, the coloured postal clerk, for his second favor in as many days.
”Where is the nkosana?” Emmanuel asked the black teenager manning the pumps at the Pretorius garage.
”Office.” The stick-legged boy pointed to a room adjoining the mechanical repair shop.
Emmanuel knocked twice on the door labeled ”Pretorius Pty. Ltd.” and waited for an answer.
”Whozit?”
”Detective Sergeant Emmanuel Cooper.”
”What is it?”
Emmanuel pushed the door open. If he got through this encounter without a fist to the chin, he'd consider himself lucky. The third Pretorius son was in a filthy mood and the interview hadn't even begun.
”What do you want?” Erich looked up from a stack of paperwork on his desk.
”The polite thing to say is 'How can I help you?'” Emmanuel said. Spare parts and piles of old invoices littered the office. Unlike his mother, Erich Pretorius was comfortable with disarray.
”You want something?” Erich pushed the unfinished paperwork away from him and sat back in his chair.
”This must be a good business,” Emmanuel said, and studied a farm supply calendar highlighting the latest in tractor technology. ”A corner position on the main street. You've done well.”
”I do okay. What's it to you?”
”I'm just saying that business must be good, especially now you're the only garage in town.”
Erich leaned across the desk with a smile that promised a world of pain. ”Who's been whispering in your ear? That coloured?”
”King was the one who explained to me that your next payment is due here.” Emmanuel returned to the calendar and tapped a finger to Tuesday.
”What payment?” Erich sneered.
”Fire insurance,” Emmanuel said. ”Or don't you need to pay it now your father is dead?”
Erich was on his feet in a half second. ”What the f.u.c.k has the payment got to do with my pa dying?”
”He was the only one keeping the deal on the level.” Emmanuel felt the heat coming off Erich. He was about to combust with rage. ”With your pa out of the way, there's no proof you owe Anton a thing.”
”You think I'd kill my own father for a hundred and fifty pounds?”
Emmanuel stood his ground as the Afrikaner brick rounded the desk and moved toward him.
”People have been killed for less, Erich.” He kept his tone amiable and calculated how fast he could make a dash for the door if need be.
”Get out.” Erich was close enough to spray spit. ”Get out of my place, you piece of English s.h.i.+t.”
Emmanuel didn't move. Erich was loud, but he was used to being second in command. He was the muscle of the Pretorius household, not the brains, and he'd fold as soon as it was clear who was boss.
”Where were you the night your father was murdered?” Emmanuel asked calmly.
”I don't have to answer that,” Erich said.
”Yes, you do.” Emmanuel stared the furious man down and showed no fear in the face of hopeless odds. The Afrikaner was big enough to break his jaw with one swat.
”I was with my family.” Erich broke off eye contact. ”My wife and our maid can vouch for me. We were all up at eleven PM PM with little Willem. Croup.” with little Willem. Croup.”
Emmanuel pulled out his notebook. ”I'll have to talk to your wife and verify your alibi.”
”Fine by me,” Erich said without hesitation. ”She's just around the corner. Moira's Hairstyles is her store.”
Moira's Hairstyles, set on the main street, was another slice of Jacob's Rest belonging to the Pretorius clan. The captain's family didn't need the pro-white segregation laws to give them status. They were doing fine without the official leg up given to whites under the new government.
Emmanuel sized up the man-mountain standing in front of him. He might not have killed his father, but was he angry enough about the debt to arrange a severe form of punishment for him?
”How do you feel about paying all that money to a coloured?”
”I got no choice.” Erich swung back to his desk with a grim expression. ”Pa said if I don't pay, that p.r.i.c.k Englishman Elliot King will have the town crawling with Indian lawyers.”
Emmanuel made a sound of understanding. Indian lawyers were universally acknowledged as being on par with the Jews when it came to brains and ambition.
Erich opened a drawer and retrieved a bulging paper bag.
”One hundred and fifty pounds.” He let the bag fall onto the desktop. A bundle of twenty-pound notes slid out. ”I'd shove it up your a.r.s.e but I have to deliver it to the old Jew this evening.”
”What was your father thinking?” Emmanuel mused out loud. ”Making you give money to a Jew to pay to a coloured?”
Erich kept his temper in check. ”You're clever,” he stated. ”But not clever enough to make me confess to a murder I didn't commit. I never in my life raised a hand to my father.”
”You were angry with him, weren't you?”
”Of course,” Erich said. ”Ask the boys out there. They'll tell you we fought about the payments. If the old Jew stuck to his story, I'd have to hire a lawyer to defend me. Then I'd have to close up shop for the trial, which could last weeks and weeks. In the end it was a h.e.l.l of a lot cheaper to pay the money and be done.”
Interesting that the captain hadn't argued the right and wrong of his son's actions with him. He'd gotten to Erich through the hip pocket. It was about the money. Mrs. Pretorius lived in a world governed by a moral code, but her departed husband had been a pragmatist.
”Does your ma know about the fire?” Emmanuel asked. He was curious to see the degree to which Willem Pretorius kept his wife's fantasy world intact.
”No.” Erich blushed, an odd sight in a man so big. ”Pa thought it was best if we didn't bother her with...um, details.”