The Lazarus Effect

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The Lazarus Effect Page 21

by H. J Golakai


  Chlöe felt a wrench of jealousy and longing. At most, she could count on two fingers the female friends invested in her life. Whether Vee liked it or not, she was now number three. It had been two years since Chlöe herself had prowled UCT grounds, and since then her social circle had become no less shallow. She wasn’t good with women friends, and they tended to not be cool about her sexual preferences.

  ‘What were you guys questioning her about?’ the girl said.

  Chlöe crossed her arms. For real? Did this chick think she could pump her for information? Even you are not that hot, my love.

  ‘I only ask because,’ Farm Beauty plunged on, ‘I was there around the time when Jacqueline went missing. I … I think I was somehow involved.’

  ‘What? Involved how?’ Chlöe perked up.

  It was FB’s turn to swallow and look uncomfortable. She shivered and drew her trench coat tighter around her waist. ‘Like I said, me and Serena have been friends since first year. We were roommates in Tugwell. The night her sister disappeared was so strange. It took me a while to remember this.’ FB scratched her forehead. ‘Serena got a call. It wasn’t late; we’d just had supper, round seven-ish. She took the call in the bathroom for privacy ’cause those rooms were like prison cells. She got so weird after she answered, and then she went in the loo and locked the door. Didn’t come out for, like, fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Did you hear what the conversation was about?’

  ‘You mean, did I eavesdrop? No. I don’t do stuff like that.’ FB looked offended. ‘Anyway, afterwards she left the room for a while and when she came back her face was like …’ She shook her head and pursed her lips. ‘Serena goes calm and freaky when there’s trouble. She gets this aura like she’s thinking really hard. She told me, in a very quiet way, that she had an urgent errand to run and asked if she could borrow my car.’

  ‘To go where? Did you ask?’

  The black waterfall shook from side to side. ‘Couldn’t. I wanted to, but the look on her face was like, tjo, don’t dare. I asked if she wanted me to come along but she said no. So I gave her the keys. I was really worried about her, but also about my car. It was a new, blue Toyota Corolla I got from my parents for doing so well in matric. The new-look ones, not the old granny type. But it cost too much to run it, you know how student life is. You have a car and all your friends turn into bloody mooches and expect you to drive them everywhere, then they never chip in for petrol. I needed hard cash a lot more than I did a car so I decided to sell. I’d advertised it and had a buyer who was gonna pick it up in two days, so I really didn’t want anything happening to it to bring the price down. But I trusted Serena. I had to, she begged me.’ FB took a deep breath and stopped.

  ‘Then what happened?’ Chlöe prompted.

  ‘Nothing.’ FB shrugged. ‘That was kinda it. She took the keys and left, was gone for hours. I tried to wait up for her, but I kinda had other commitments …’ A blush livened her cheeks. She dropped her gaze demurely. ‘I was meeting this girl, and we … hung out until pretty late.’

  She ‘hangs out’ with girls! She likes girls! Chlöe bit down on a grin of triumph.

  ‘I got back to the room after midnight. Serena was already in bed and the car was fine. Next day, I tried to ask what had happened, but she insisted everything was cool and stonewalled me, so I dropped it.’

  ‘Do you remember what day this was? It was ages ago, but–’

  ‘Twenty-second of September,’ FB replied immediately. ‘A Saturday. I remember because I was really freaked out, seeing as I’d never sold something as big as a car before. Afterwards I felt like a baller; I kept counting all that money and looking at the receipt. I have it somewhere, the receipt. The guy, the buyer, was a car dealer. He was supposed to pick it up on Monday and pay in cash, but he couldn’t make the full amount by then so we pushed it to Tuesday.’ FB rubbed her hands together to warm them. ‘By Monday, rumours were already circulating about Jacqueline Paulsen and by the end of the week it was in the paper. They said she had last been seen on Saturday. I couldn’t help wondering …’

  Chlöe did the maths: by Monday the twenty-fourth, Jacqui was officially a missing person. Last seen at about 5 p.m. on Saturday. The very evening her half-sister got a mysterious call and then sped off all cloak and dagger.

  ‘It had to have crossed your mind that Serena took your car for something dodgy. You suspected it or you wouldn’t have brought any of this up. Why didn’t you go to the cops?’

  The girl bristled. Chlöe couldn’t help but lust over how the amber splinters of her irises glowed when her blood went up. ‘I said I thought I was involved, not that I was an accessory! And I only remembered the incident long after it happened and didn’t think it was significant. Even now it sounds so thin. I want to help. When I saw you across the street and remembered who you were …’ Colour spread across her cheeks again and Chlöe felt gratified that it wasn’t the only reason she’d felt compelled to strike up a conversation.

  FB collected herself. ‘Look, not for one minute did I think Serena did anything … criminal. It’s just not her way. She always said her sister Jacqui was, like, low-class and a loose cannon, she needed to get her life together. I figured she helped her to leave. Start over somewhere, like in the movies.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s mad, but that’s all I could come up with.’

  Chlöe considered. It did indeed sound like madness; another loose end jangling around. And it went quite a way to letting Ashwin Venter off the hook, which she really didn’t like. Venter was guilty – proof was all they needed.

  ‘I have to go.’ FB wrote on a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it over with a bashful smile. ‘In case you wanna ask me more questions. Or y’know, hang out.’

  ‘Isabella’ was scribbled above a cell number. Definitely looks like an Isabella, thought Chlöe, watching her walk away. Moves like an Isabella, too. Her phone’s ringtone snapped her out of it. Chlöe quaked when she saw the caller identity.

  ‘Where are you?’ Portia Kruger demanded. Her voice sounded strained to breaking point.

  ‘Uh, Ms Kruger, I just–’

  ‘Get to Kingsbury Hospital right now. Voinjama’s been run over.’

  ‘What? Oh my God!’

  ‘I think it was deliberate. Whatever you two have got mixed up in …’ There was a shaky intake of breath and muttered curses. ‘Kingsbury. Know where it is? Take Main into Claremont, turn into Wilderness Road–’

  ‘Y-y-yes, I know it, I know it!’ Chlöe jumped behind the wheel and gunned the engine. She sped past two traffic lights before remembering she’d left behind breakfast, a bewildered ex-girlfriend, and quite likely the ashes of a toxic relationship. Chlöe realised she didn’t have the stomach for any of it. By the time she reached Claremont, her encounter with the gorgeous third-year Law student had faded to a nagging red blip flashing in the basement of her memory.

  35

  Vee snapped the folder on the desk in front of her shut with her good arm.

  ‘I don’t buy it,’ she said. ‘And I’ll tell you why I don’t buy it.’

  ‘I’m sure you will, and I cannot wait to hear it,’ Sergeant Mthobeli said wearily. He was fed up with this woman, with her singsong accent and arm bundled in an unsightly sling. Violence against one’s person tended to deter other people, make them re-examine their priorities. No such luck here. Journalists.

  Ezra Mthobeli felt some admiration too, despite himself. In addition to single-handedly rejuvenating a long-abandoned case and pushing it further than any officer had, this journalist appeared to be getting help. He didn’t know from where, but she was privy to a lot of information concerning the Paulsen enquiry that the press wouldn’t be in possession of. Moreover, she’d been allowed to take a quick look at the docket against her assailant. Orders dribbled down from the top, and all he could do was obey.

  ‘I can’t wait to hear why you don’t believe Carina Fourie is the one who tried to kill you. She has already turned herself in. On top of th
at, she has confessed to murdering Jacqueline Paulsen. I’ve heard about this so-called investigation you’ve been running.’ He wagged his finger under Vee’s nose and resumed stamping the reports piled on his desk. ‘You got lucky, young lady. After all this time and trouble, the case is solved. Your murderer has walked in and confessed, and you are still alive. Heh-heh, maybe you should come work for us!’

  ‘I don’t believe it because it doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘What doesn’t make sense?’ Sergeant Mthobeli banged his stamp one last time and put it to bed on a worn ink cushion. ‘The hit and run? We took statements from you and the one witness who saw everything, and your stories tally. Both you and, er … Mrs …’ He reached for Vee’s accident docket.

  ‘Mrs Pearl Nyathi,’ Vee chipped in. The angel who’d seen the attack and called the ambulance and police. Thank the sweet Lord for corporate jobs that required late nights and early mornings, otherwise she would’ve lain in the street for a long while. She had a lot to be grateful for: battered arm and ribs, bruises everywhere but no broken bones or internal injuries. This couldn’t become a habit.

  ‘Yes. Both of you saw the licence plate number. In fact, Mrs Nyathi remembered all of it. But then–’

  Mthobeli slammed his hand on the desk and Vee jumped. The sergeant smiled beatifically and spread his palms. ‘A miracle happens! Before a case file is even opened, a woman walks into Pinelands police station and confesses to two crimes. Two!’ He brandished two fingers and wiggled them close to her face, in case the significance of such incredible fortune was lost on her.

  ‘This doctor claims to have killed a teenage girl, her husband’s love child. She also admits to using her Mercedes-Benz in an attempt to flatten a nosy journalist who was making her life miserable. That would be you, by the way. So,’ he waggled the docket chronicling Carina Fourie’s escapades, ‘we check out her story and guess what? It all holds water. She even drove the car with the smashed headlight to the station. Imagine that!’

  ‘Which brings us here.’ He smiled and waved his arm around the central police station, the squat building on the corner of Buitenkant and Caledon. Carina had been booked in Pinelands and transferred there. The mandatory two-day wait for a court appearance had passed and she was still in custody. Her lawyer was kicking up a fuss. The first hearing was scheduled for two thirty that afternoon. Mthobeli was looking forward to attending.

  ‘So, please tell me which part of this wonderful tale displeases you.’

  Vee smiled. Let the sergeant have his fun. ‘Her story doesn’t add up.’

  ‘Where is your adding not adding up?’

  Vee held her peace. She couldn’t mention that her boss rewarded heroic endeavours, that Portia had ways and means. Vee now had copies of the original police docket, as well as the full case file on the Paulsen disappearance. ‘There are holes in her story.’

  ‘There are holes in my shoes, but I still wear them,’ Mthobeli replied. ‘I don’t know if you are refusing to accept this and laying a formal complaint of culpable homicide. It is your right.’

  Vee rubbed her arm. ‘I told you, I didn’t see the attacker.’ Which was the truth. She hadn’t even been able tell if the driver was male or female.

  ‘Then we have to wait until the good doctor gives us a more detailed confession,’ Mthobeli shrugged. ‘Until then, all we have is what she’s told us. Carina claims that Jacqueline went to their home late in the evening to speak with her father and found the house empty. Carina was the only person at home. Jacqui had always been rude to her and that night had been no different. Carina was facing the fifth anniversary of her son’s death and she didn’t want to deal with this child whom she wished did not exist. They had a heated argument that got out of hand and she killed Jacqui in a fit of rage. We have search warrants for their home but, to be honest, we are not optimistic.’

  ‘That’s the flimsiest confession I’ve heard,’ Vee snorted. ‘Killed her in a ‘fit of rage’, what is that? How did she do it? Where’s the body? Why has she refused to let her family visit her?’

  The sergeant shook his head and picked up another stack of papers. He didn’t want to be rude, but he couldn’t spend his whole day on this young woman and her questions. ‘You can ask her yourself when you get the chance.’

  A constable came in and made a silent signal to his superior. Sergeant Mthobeli turned to Vee, his forehead furrowed. ‘This is a huge favour we’re doing for you. I hope you know that.’

  ‘I do. Thank you so much.’ Vee got up. ‘Won’t take long.’

  ‘Ten minutes. In and out.’ Mthobeli picked up the stamp.

  *

  ‘I know you didn’t do this.’

  ‘You know nothing.’

  ‘I know more than you do. That’s why your confession doesn’t line up and you’re buying time until you work out the details. It’s always the details that let you down, isn’t it?’

  ‘My story is airtight, my dear. I’ve made my peace with what I’ve done, and I’m willing to face the consequences. I’m actually at peace with putting my cards on the table.’ Carina held Vee’s gaze and hadn’t flinched once.

  She’s willing to face the consequences, Vee repeated to herself. Martyr language, like she was taking the fall for someone else. ‘Lies are exhausting, Carina.’

  ‘Yes, they are. As I’m sure you well know.’ A smile flitted over Carina’s lips and was gone.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  Carina shrugged with her mouth. ‘You are no innocent. You don’t look like one. I’m sure you’ve done your fair share of manipulation to get where you are today.’

  Vee straightened up. ‘I have no secrets from anyone. And this isn’t about me, is it?’

  Carina’s cackled. ‘All women are liars, my dear. It’s the bedrock of all our relationships. But you’re right; this isn’t about you.’

  The room they were in was nothing more than four walls, ceiling and floor. They sat at a bare table with four decrepit chairs, space for lawyers and clients to confer. It was drab and featureless, like Carina had become. Her grey-blue eyes were washed out, like they’d been held under a running tap to leach out their colour and vitality.

  ‘What did you do to her? Where’s the body?’ Vee pressed.

  Carina stared past her.

  ‘If you murdered her, you should know.’

  ‘You shouldn’t even be here.’

  ‘True, but you were the one who agreed to speak with me. They only allow lawyers and immediate family in here, but you gave your consent to let me in. Why?’

  Carina shrugged. ‘Intelligent conversation, perhaps. You have been as invested in this …’ she waved a hand noncommittally, ‘affair, as if you are part of my family. I never bothered to ask you why. Why does this matter to you so much? Why would the death of this one girl make you so driven?’

  Vee squirmed. ‘Stop deflecting. You won’t give specifics on what happened because you can’t. You probably weren’t even there. You have no clue if Jacqui’s dead or alive, any more than the rest of us do.’

  ‘Oh, she’s dead,’ Carina whispered. ‘She’s dead.’

  Vee felt a chill race through her. Weeks of chasing testimony and stitching clues together, and here was her answer. If no supporting evidence ever surfaced that Jacqueline Paulsen was no longer of this earth, the look on Carina’s face would suffice.

  Carina’s facial muscles contorted. ‘She took my child, took my life. So I took hers in return.’

  Adele. These two women had climbed over Ian, the orchestrator of their suffering, to annihilate each other. ‘Talk to me, then. Let me tell your side of the story and make things easier for you.’

  Carina scoffed. ‘You can’t help me. You know nothing. You’re nobody. You couldn’t even help yourself.’ Her grey eyes burned as she looked at Vee’s injuries. ‘I’m fine where I am.’ Carina went back to staring at the peeling paint on the walls.

  Vee got up and knocked on the door for the guard to open up. T
he hinges whined as it opened. ‘Good luck,’ Vee said, and walked through.

  36

  Vee groaned. A headache was ripening and it felt epic. She mashed her fingers into her temples. ‘Why won’t it make sense … things are not sticking together, why, why, why?’

  ‘Stop aggravating yourself. You should be resting.’ Chlöe eyed her over the top of Elle magazine. ‘I’m assigned to make sure you stay out of trouble.’

  ‘You’re assigned to assist me no matter what. I’ll rest when I’m dead.’

  ‘That’s so not funny, considering what you’ve gone through. Take that back before it turns into a real jinx.’ Chlöe looked scandalised.

  Vee swung her legs off the couch. ‘Resting’ for the past three days had been driving her insane, and she felt like bolting. The end was near, she could feel it. She needed to be out there, chasing it. Chlöe would take some convincing, though. ‘It’s all these bits and pieces I can’t make sense of,’ she insisted. ‘I hate loose ends.’

  ‘At least now you can give up on Philemon Mtetwa.’

  Vee nodded. Dirty or not, Mtetwa was in the clear. He had no real or imagined motive to harm Jacqui. As to means, they had confirmation he’d been in Denmark on business for three weeks around the time of her disappearance.

  ‘Don’t be smug. Ashwin’s out, too. He’s still locked up. There’s no way he tried to kill me,’ Vee shot back. Venter would be let out on bail soon but two assault charges weren’t going away.

  Chlöe blew air out of pursed lips. She put the mag down in her lap, finger on her page. ‘Okay, let’s do this one more time. Who’s left?’

 

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