Part 21 (1/2)
The white noise of the sewing machines contrasted with the jagged beat of his heart. He read over the notes he'd made at the crime scene. Was Captain Pretorius's murder the corner piece of a bigger puzzle the Security Branch was working on?
Emmanuel acknowledged his surroundings. He was in a small tearoom annexed to the back of a sweatshop operating on the dark side of the color line. The Security Branch and their heavyweight political backers occupied the power seat while he trawled through the grubby entrails of the victim's private life. A feeling of doubt came over him and he closed his eyes to think. A needle of pain p.r.i.c.ked his eye socket.
”Jesus...” the sergeant major's voice whispered. the sergeant major's voice whispered. ”What if those f.u.c.kers are right and the murder was a political a.s.sa.s.sination?” ”What if those f.u.c.kers are right and the murder was a political a.s.sa.s.sination?”
Emmanuel pushed the voice away and revisited the basic laws of homicide investigation. Most murders are the result of ba.n.a.l and human impulses: a robber kills for money, a husband kills for revenge, and a misfit kills for s.e.xual release. Ordinary, sad, and confused human need lifted the hands of killers.
”The Security Branch doesn't operate in your ordinary world, laddie,” the abrasive Scotsman said. the abrasive Scotsman said. ”While you're sifting through underwear drawers and skiving on kaffir paths, they're shaping the ”While you're sifting through underwear drawers and skiving on kaffir paths, they're shaping the map of South Africa and every country around it. You are a foot soldier and they are the general's personal aides.” map of South Africa and every country around it. You are a foot soldier and they are the general's personal aides.”
Emmanuel tried to ignore the sergeant major's comments, but couldn't. There was too much truth in what he said. Why would the Security Branch go after this murder so fast and so hard if they didn't already have evidence to back up their political revolution theory?
The words ”neat” and ”sniper-like” in his notes caught his attention as never before. Professional a.s.sa.s.sins targeted the head and the spine. Professional a.s.sa.s.sins left no traces behind. Had he misread the crime scene by looking for personal elements where none existed?
He dialed the number van Niekerk had given him.
”Cooper?” The major was out of breath and out of sorts when he answered on the second ring.
”It's me. Why the change in telephones?”
”The Security Branch has big ears and I'm not about to give them information for free,” van Niekerk replied. ”Are you calling from the police station?”
”I'm using a private telephone.”
”Good. What's your news?”
”The Security Branch is going hard after the Communist link. They have a confidential file with lists of Party members and their affiliates. It seems Captain Pretorius's murder is tied in to an existing investigation.”
”Operation Spearhead,” van Niekerk said with the casual superiority that set half the detectives who worked homicide or robbery against him. ”The National Party plans to break the back of the Communist movement by arresting agents crossing into South Africa with banned writings and pamphlets. They conduct raids at illegal border crossings and hope they net a Red fish to fry up on treason charges.”
”Captain Pretorius was shot along a stretch of river used by smugglers,” Emmanuel said. ”The Security Branch may have been watching.”
”This coming Thursday they were due to hit the Watchman's Ford crossing where Captain Pretorius was found, acting on a tip-off. The Security Branch wants to salvage that operation by finding a link between the murder and a specific Communist agent they've had under surveillance.”
The depth of van Niekerk's political and social connections impressed Emmanuel and gave him pause. Was there any piece of information beyond the grasp of the ambitious Dutchman?
”Is the suspected agent a black graduate of Fort Bennington College?”
”Now it's my turn to be impressed,” van Niekerk replied with a trace of humor. ”That fact is known to less than a hundred people in the whole of South Africa. Are you sure you don't want to join the Security Branch? They're looking for bright young men.”
”I'm not interested in redrawing the map of the world with a thumbscrew and a steel pipe.”
”Have they gone that far?”
”Yes.” The crippled miner's bruised arms and wild eyes came to mind.
”Has any of it come your way?”
”Not yet,” Emmanuel said. ”But it's just a matter of time.”
”What have you got on Captain Pretorius?” Van Niekerk's voice took on a new urgency.
”Nothing conclusive. I'm chasing something now that could knock the captain off his pedestal, though.”
He didn't mention the stolen evidence. That wound was too fresh to open in front of van Niekerk.
”Find it,” the major said. ”Information on Frikkie van Brandenburg's son-in-law is the only ammunition that will stop the Security Branch in their tracks if they come after you.”
”You think I'll need to fight my way out of a corner here?”
”I'm talking to you from a filthy call box on a side street. You're calling from G.o.d knows where. We're already in a corner, Cooper.”
”What do I do with the dirt when I find it?” The security arrangements he'd rigged up in Jacob's Rest weren't enough to stop a Security Branch raid. He needed a second net to catch him if he fell.
”Go to the local post office. I'll telegraph through what you need in half an hour.”
The hum of the sewing machines began to wind down. It was almost lunch break for Lilliana Zweigman and the seamstresses.
”I have to go,” he told the major as the sound of chairs pus.h.i.+ng back filtered into the tearoom.
”Emmanuel...”
The use of his first name held him on the line.
”Sir?”
”There's an information satchel being sent by courier to the Security Branch tomorrow morning. One of the things in it is a personal dossier on you. I can't stop it. I'm sorry.”
”What does it have?” He couldn't stop himself asking the question. He needed to know.
”Everything. That's all the more reason to collect whatever dirt you can on the Pretorius family. You're going to need it regardless of who catches the killer first.”
”Thank you, sir.”
He hung up the phone and reached into his pocket for a handful of magic white pills. Fear joined his feeling of doubt and he wondered how his life was going to keep from flying off the narrow rails he'd painstakingly built since returning to South Africa. He swallowed the pills with a gla.s.s of water from the tearoom tap. It was too late to stop the folder and too late to withdraw from the investigation.
”Stop feeling sorry for yourself, for Christ's sake,” the sergeant major said. the sergeant major said. ”Get off your a.r.s.e and get to work. You still have a murder to solve.” ”Get off your a.r.s.e and get to work. You still have a murder to solve.”
The women filed out into the back courtyard and Emmanuel made his way onto the kaffir path running toward the post office. A squadron of yellow-winged gra.s.shoppers flew into the air at his approach and settled on curved stalks of field gra.s.s. He didn't want to think about the personal dossier but it was on his mind.
”Dark, isn't she?” the sergeant major mused aloud. the sergeant major mused aloud. ”What does it say about you, Emmanuel...the fact that Davida stirs you?” ”What does it say about you, Emmanuel...the fact that Davida stirs you?”
”It means nothing,” he said quietly.
”Really?” The sergeant major was amused. The sergeant major was amused. ”Because it makes me wonder if what the jury said about your mother was true after all. What do you think about that, laddie?” ”Because it makes me wonder if what the jury said about your mother was true after all. What do you think about that, laddie?”