Part 23 (1/2)
”I was just wondering how the attacker avoided Captain Pretorius. The captain was out here all the time, wasn't he?”
”Here? Who says he was here at my place?”
”I meant the kaffir path. Captain ran past here a couple of times a week, didn't he?”
”Sometimes he went past and sometimes he didn't. He didn't hand out a timetable.”
”No, he didn't.”
Emmanuel raised his hat good night and set off with Shabalala. Once the last of the house servants headed home, the path became the domain of Willem Pretorius and a handful of coloured men breaking up from a once-a-week poker game. Did the captain abuse his power and molest women he knew were unlikely to be taken seriously by the law? What option did a mixed-race man have but to pick up a gun and go after the offender in order for justice to be served?
”Hamba gashle. Go well, Shabalala,” Emmanuel said, and the tall policeman swung his leg over his bicycle and steadied himself against the handlebars. He couldn't bring up his suspicions about the captain just yet.
”Salana gashle. Stay well, Detective Sergeant.” The black man rode off into the failing light. Soon he was gone, leaving behind a red sunset.
Emmanuel walked on past the coloured church and shops. He moved past backyard fences locked and barred against the night, past the path that ran to The Protea Guesthouse and his room, then around the outside curve of the town that showed him civilized backyards pus.h.i.+ng against the untamed veldt.
He kept his pace up until he reached a rickety back gate. He took out a letter he had retrieved earlier that afternoon from Miss Byrd at the post office. It was addressed to the captain, but it was actually for Harry from one of his daughters. Now living as white, she had no other way to communicate with her father without putting her new social status in jeopardy.
The ghost of Willem Pretorius breathed in Emmanuel. He walked to Harry's back door, rapped twice and slipped the Durban-postmarked letter into the old soldier's shabby room. He moved away quickly, as he knew the good captain had, and made his way back onto the path.
Darkness surrounded him. He stopped now and then to listen to the voices drifting out of back rooms. An evening prayer over dinner, an argument, a child's unsettled cry...The people of Jacob's Rest were preparing to say good-bye to another day.
At Granny Mariah's again, he leaned back against the barred gate and pictured Davida's little room surrounded by herbs and flowers. Gum leaves rustled and the wind sighed.
Off to his right a catlike footfall disturbed the undergrowth, then fell silent. Emmanuel stilled. Another footstep advanced in the dark. Something or someone was moving slowly in his direction. He eased his weight forward and the gate fell back into place with a loud click.
There was a sharp release of breath and the slither of a body in the dark. Emmanuel wheeled off the kaffir path and turned full circle as he tried to pinpoint the source of the furtive movements. The whisper of gra.s.s and leaves was the only sound. He released his breath and the night enveloped him. Under the cloak of darkness, he felt a human presence close by. Someone was out on the veldt watching.
The next day, Emmanuel walked into the police station at 9:20 AM AM, ready for anything after he had questioned Erich Pretorius. Instead of an ambush, he found the Security Branch policemen and commando Paul Pretorius cl.u.s.tered around the captain's desk. The phone rang and Piet jumped on it.
”Ja?” he said, tapping a fresh cigarette from his pack and inserting it into the corner of his mouth. Paul and d.i.c.kie leaned close to the phone. There was an electric current in the air that signaled the beginning of a big push. The Security Branch was ready to make a move.
”Don't do anything.” Piet sucked the nicotine from his cigarette. ”We'll be there in three hours. You will wait for us. Understood?”
The phone was slammed down and Piet swung to d.i.c.kie.
”Go to the hotel and get our bags ready. We move tonight.” He turned to Paul. ”You coming?”
”Wouldn't miss it for the world.” The hulking soldier was primed for action, his neck and shoulder muscles knotted tight in expectation.
”Just enough for one night,” Piet cautioned him. ”We'll bring the package back here sometime tomorrow. Do the work under the radar.”
Emmanuel pushed himself off the wall and approached them. He wanted to report in and be dismissed in quick order. The border crossing into Mozambique was only minutes away.
”Anything I can do to help?” he asked the Security Branch team.
Piet blew a plume of smoke into the air. ”Where have you been?”
”Looking into the molester case. I'm following up a suspect who lives in Lorenzo Marques. An underwear salesman.”
Piet's eyes narrowed and Emmanuel wondered if he'd gone too far by including the underwear comment. The Security Branch officer scrutinized him for a moment and tried to work out the angles on the Mozambique lead.
The phone rang and Piet picked it up before d.i.c.kie or Paul got a chance. Pockmarked Piet loved being in command.
”Don't do anything,” Piet breathed into the phone. ”Follow and observe. That's all. We will direct the operation when we arrive.”
He slammed the phone down and turned his attention back to Emmanuel. His smile was an unpleasant trench dug into his irregular face.
”This Mozambique trip better be in connection with the molester case. I don't want a repeat of yesterday.”
”That was a mistake.” Emmanuel told Piet what he wanted to hear. ”I overstepped the bounds and it won't happen again.”
”Better not.” Paul Pretorius moved toward him with his index finger stuck out like a sword. ”You're lucky we didn't find you yesterday, my vriend.”
There was a pinp.r.i.c.k of pressure on his chest as Paul gave him a hard jab. The fact that Emmanuel would escape punishment made Paul angry.
”Go pack your things,” Piet instructed calmly. ”If Cooper crosses the line again, we'll deal with him in a more thorough manner. Understood?”
”Good,” Paul said. The lure of a future beating was enough to placate him and get him moving toward the front door.
Piet collected the files on the desktop and handed them to d.i.c.kie. ”Pack these and put petrol in the car. I'll meet you back at the hotel.”
Emmanuel gave the Security Branch plenty of room to make their exit. He'd allow them an hour to clear town, then head to the border with the name of the photo studio tucked in his jacket pocket.
Piet paused at the front door and glanced over his shoulder with cold eyes. He was still bothered by the Mozambique lead and didn't like the idea of the English detective roaming over international boundaries unsupervised.
”Remember my promise?”
”The English snot beaten out of me?” Emmanuel said. ”Yes, I remember.”
The Security Branch team disappeared onto the street. A big Red fish was on the hook and that far outweighed the need to punish a flatfoot a.s.signed to chase a deviant.
Emmanuel walked through to the back of the station and found Hansie and Shabalala sitting in the yard.
”Where's Lieutenant Uys?” he asked, taking a seat between the boy policeman and the Zulu constable.
”Gone,” Hansie said. ”He gets to ride with the others.”
Exclusion from the carload of hard-knuckled men obviously upset him. Even Hansie understood that being sent outside with the kaffir while the other white men talked business marked a low point in his law enforcement career.
”Go inside,” Emmanuel told Hansie. ”You can sit behind the captain's desk and answer the phone.”
Hansie was up and running before the sentence was finished. Evidently, he'd never been allowed to sit in the captain's chair before.