Pale Horses

by Jassy Mackenzie

  She’d instinctively thought Theron must have had a deeper motive for calling her in, and now she’d had found it. He’d lost his wife in a botched bank robbery. Now he’d lost another woman he was close to. No wonder he was driven to learn the truth about what had happened, and by whatever means it took.

  Jade wondered why Theron hadn’t mentioned his wife’s death. Perhaps he’d thought it was too personal. Or, seeing as he had few social skills, an observation she had also made, he simply hadn’t tried – or thought – to tell her.

  On the other hand, remembering how Theron had stopped and looked over at the Candle of Hope on the other side of the busy street, and told her the story about how it had been commissioned as an act of forgiveness by the property tycoon after the violent death of his son, perhaps he had tried, Jade thought. Perhaps he had.

  The first three phone calls Jade made led nowhere. The Sandton Views building management team was in a meeting. Brainstorming ways to boost the building’s internal security systems, no doubt. She had no luck with the firm of attorneys she phoned next, nor with the recruitment consultancy. But on her fourth phone call, she struck gold.

  ‘Good day. Williams Management. How can I help you?’ The receptionist who answered the phone sounded well spoken and well trained.

  ‘Hello. My name is Jade de Jong, and I’ve been hired to help investigate the death of the woman who fell from the roof of your building a few days ago while attempting to parachute down.’

  Jade paused, waiting for a response before she asked whether anybody in the company had known the woman.

  Before she could even form the question, though, the receptionist spoke.

  ‘Poor Sonet. It is such a tragedy. We are all devastated. How can I help you?’

  Jade blinked. ‘Did you know her?’

  ‘Well, of course. We all did. She worked here – didn’t you know that?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘We’ve been waiting for the police, or somebody else, to come and ask some questions,’ the receptionist said.

  Jade suspected that, for a while at least, the staff at Williams Management were unlikely to receive a visit from the police. Which left room for somebody else to intervene – a position Jade was eager to fill.

  ‘What time would it be convenient for me to come around?’ she asked.

  10

  Williams Management was currently the only company occupying the fourth floor of Sandton Views. This time, instead of using an illegally acquired access card, Jade signed in at the security desk. After the guard on duty had called the offices of Williams Management and given her a visitor’s badge, he let her through the turnstile.

  The receptionist she’d spoken to on the phone earlier greeted her with a warm smile. She sat behind a curved white console situated directly underneath a large green-and-gold ‘WM’ logo. The silver name plate on the console read ‘Lilian Mkhize’. Jade noticed that the artwork displayed on the walls consisted of stunning framed photographs of farms: endless golden vistas of ripening maize, smiling workers operating tractors, women wearing patterned headscarves helping to offload bags of seed under sunny, blue-white skies.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming in. This has been such a shock,’ Lilian said. She pressed a button on the switchboard and spoke into the phone. ‘Mr Engelbrecht?’ she said. ‘The police investigator is here. Would you like to come through and speak to her?’

  ‘I’m not actually a police investigator,’ Jade admitted. ‘I’m working on behalf of a client. But if I come across any relevant information I will pass it on to the police, of course.’

  Lilian put the phone down. Her fingernails sported the most flawless French manicure Jade had ever seen, and her yellow blouse was the exact colour of the maize fields in the painting to her right.

  ‘I understand,’ she said softly.

  Mr Engelbrecht was lean in build and as immaculately turned out as his receptionist, wearing a dark suit and shoes that shone like mirrors. He exuded a brisk energy and when he shook Jade’s hand, his grip was firm.

  ‘Shall we talk in my office?’ he said, once introductions had been made. ‘Hold all calls, Lilian. And would you get hold of the delegates on this list and remind them that the conference is starting an hour later than advertised?’

  He tossed a cardboard file onto the reception console in what Jade thought was a rather dismissive way. She followed him across a floor so thickly carpeted that her even her thick-soled shoes sank into it and into a roomy corner office with a magnificent view of well-treed suburbia.

  ‘Please, do take a seat.’ He indicated a plush leather office chair and walked around behind his glass desk before lowering himself into an even bigger seat. If Jade’s chair was the ‘B’ model in the luxury catalogue, Engelbrecht’s was undoubtedly the ‘A’.

  ‘What does Williams Management do?’ she asked him.

  ‘Well, we’re officially a charity,’ he told her, rocking back in his chair and lacing his manicured fingers together.

  ‘A charity?’ Jade realised she could hear the note of incredulity in her own voice. To be truthful, she hadn’t tried very hard to conceal it.

  ‘For tax and administration purposes, yes.’ Engelbrecht’s pale blue eyes narrowed as he regarded her.

  ‘In these premises?’

  ‘Sandton Views offered us a three-year lease at an extremely favourable rate. They’ve been having difficulty finding tenants to occupy this building. The recession, you know. Companies are consolidating, downsizing, staying put, hanging on until things get better. We were looking to move a couple of months ago because our building was going to be demolished. So we came here. But that’s not the issue this afternoon, is it?’ he added, with some steeliness. ‘You’re here to discuss Sonet Meintjies.’

  ‘What can you tell me about her?’

  ‘What would you like to know? Bearing in mind, of course, that I may not be able to divulge certain information to you, because we do have confidentiality agreements in place for some of the work we do here.’

  ‘What kind of a person she was. What job she had. How long she worked here. Her background, if you know it.’

  ‘You seem to want a lot of rather general information,’ Engelbrecht observed. His shiny shoe was tapping on the carpet, making a soft, thudding sound. ‘Are you an investigator or a biographer? I was imagining that you would want to know more pertinent facts, for instance, what time she finished work on the day she died and how she obtained the keys to the locked access door she used to get onto the roof.’

  ‘And what time did she finish work that day?’

  ‘She didn’t actually come into the office at all.’

  ‘Do you know why?’

  ‘No. She was supposed to be here. Her phone was turned off so we couldn’t reach her.’

  ‘And how did she get hold of the keys?’

  Now Engelbrecht smiled, although without warmth.

  ‘I have no idea,’ he said.

  There was a moment of protracted silence, punctuated by the soft ticking of a gold-framed clock on the wall.

  ‘Well, now we’ve exhausted that avenue of questioning, would you be willing to help me with some biographical information?’ Jade asked.

  ‘I’ll tell what I can.’

  ‘How long had Sonet been working here and what did she do?’

  ‘She’d been with us for a little over two years. She usually worked in the office two days a week. On the other days she would travel, working on site in various locations, or attending meetings. Her job involved helping small, previously disadvantaged communities to set up sustainable farming projects. Growing staple crops; mostly maize.’

  Engelbrecht glanced up and when Jade followed his gaze, she saw yet another of the large framed photographs she had noticed in reception. This one was of a group of women in brilliantly coloured traditional outfits tilling rows of small green plants. Soaring mountains provided a dramatic backdrop.

  ‘That shot was taken in earl
y summer last year, and the community you see there is the iThokoza farming co-operative, located north of the Magaliesberg. I think Sonet actually started up that particular venture.’

  Looking more closely at the photo, Jade saw that the printed legend ‘iThokoza, Rustenburg,’ was centred discreetly at the bottom of the print.

  ‘Whereabouts did she usually work?’

  ‘Rural communities, mostly in Gauteng, but occasionally further afield. She was actually starting to expand our operation to other provinces.’

  ‘I’m curious, how are the projects funded?’

  ‘Government, big business, a few private individuals and charitable drives. That income breakdown is fairly standard for any NPO, which stands for non-profit organisation, if you didn’t know.’

  Noting the slight frown that creased Jade’s forehead, Engelbrecht smiled. ‘If you were expecting state secrets or internal conflict in the workplace, then I am afraid you are going to be disappointed. Sonet was a valued member of our team, and her work did an enormous amount of good. She will be missed.’

  ‘I understand,’ Jade said.

  ‘I don’t know much about her personal life, I’m afraid, but our receptionist might be able to assist you in that regard. I am an impatient person by nature and have never been one for water-cooler conversations. Lilian is a busy lady so if you could keep it as brief as possible, I would appreciate it.’

  With that, it was clear the conversation was over. Engelbrecht stood up and ushered Jade out of the office. The heavy door closed softly behind him as she padded back down the short, but thickly carpeted corridor towards reception.

  When she saw Jade come back, Lilian straightened her small pile of papers and pushed them to one side.

  ‘How can I help you? Mr Engelbrecht said you might want to ask some further questions.’

  ‘Did you know Sonet well on a personal level?’

  Lilian nibbled at her plum-coloured lower lip as she considered the question.

  ‘As well as anybody, I suppose. She wasn’t a secretive person, but at the same time, she didn’t talk much about her private life. She was … reserved, I would say.’

  ‘Was she married? Engaged? Any love interest that you know of?’ Jade couldn’t help thinking of Victor Theron’s lean, anxious face.

  Now Lilian took so long to answer that Jade had time to read the captions on two of the other framed photographs. One was ‘Siyabonga Community, Doringplaas, Bronkhorstspruit,’ and the other was ‘Lehalala Community, Riverside Farm, Bela-Bela.’

  ‘You know, I don’t think so. She was very close to her brother and sister. She would sometimes speak to her brother Koenraad on her cellphone and she always sounded happy when she did. I know she got divorced last year, and it was clear that it was very acrimonious. If you want her husband’s name and contact number I can give it to you. But as for having a relationship since then, I can’t say.’

  Can’t or won’t, Jade wondered.

  Lilian’s fingers worried at the edge of the topmost invoice, which Jade saw was from a company called Global Seeds, for transportation of goods.

  ‘Did you know she did base jumping?’

  Lilian shook her head. ‘She never talked about it. But I wasn’t surprised when I found out, though, because she did mention when she first joined us that she enjoyed parachuting.’

  ‘Did she ever mention Victor Theron, the man she jumped with?’

  ‘I don’t remember that name at all.’

  ‘Would it be possible for me to look inside her office?’

  ‘You can if you like, but there’s not much to see there. She only used a laptop, and she took it with her when she was out of the office.’

  Sure enough, when Lilian stood up, walked the short distance to a door in the corridor and unlocked it, Jade was confronted with a gleaming glass desk as free from paperwork as Mr Engelbrecht’s had been. Only two framed photographs interrupted its length. One was of a young woman with short dark hair that Jade thought must be Sonet herself, with her arms around a much taller man, and another longer-haired woman who could have been her sister and, from what Lilian had told her, probably was.

  ‘That is her with her family,’ the receptionist confirmed.

  The other picture was of an even younger Sonet, skinny and barefoot, standing outside a humble-looking house. Her hand was outstretched and touching the muzzle of a flea-bitten and equally skinny grey horse who, ears pricked, seemed to be hoping for a treat.

  ‘She did not have a happy childhood, I think,’ Lilian said softly. ‘She said to me once, that because she went without so much, she was driven to do what she could for others.’

  ‘Do you know where she grew up?’ Jade asked, but Lilian shook her head.

  ‘Where does she live now?.’

  ‘I have an address for her in Killarney, but I don’t think it is the most recent one. She moved a little while ago.’

  ‘Well, thank you for your time,’ Jade said. ‘You’ve been very helpful. Here’s my business card. If you remember anything else, whether you think it is relevant or not, please call me.’

  As Jade left the building, she noticed two police detectives signing in with the guard. The official investigation into Sonet’s death had now progressed as far as her workplace. Jade was glad about this, but even more glad she had managed to get there first.

  11

  It was five a.m. on a pitch-black winter’s morning and David Patel was already on his way to the gym.

  He’d left Naisha still asleep, curled up on her right side with her back towards his side of the bed. He’d looked in on Kevin on his way out and found the boy sleeping in exactly the same position as his mother. He hadn’t so much as moved when David had stroked his hair, and for an uneasy minute he’d been reminded of something that Captain Moloi, his friend in the homicide unit, had said about how the only memories he really had of his young daughter were of seeing her late at night and early in the morning, still fast asleep.

  Successful Parenting 101. A course that any police officer working in Jo’burg Central would find difficult to pass.

  Of course, David could have chosen to give gym a miss and have an early breakfast with his wife and child before driving straight through to the office. But he hadn’t. What did that say about his family relationship, he wondered.

  He could always blame his decision on the area’s notoriously bad traffic jams. The M1 highway from Pretoria to Jo’burg was bumper-to-bumper during rush hour, and if you didn’t want the fifty-kilometre trip to take well over two hours, you had to be on the road by five-thirty a.m. at the latest. The Pretoria–Sandton Gautrain link had helped to alleviate the traffic somewhat, but even so – better safe than sorry.

  So, here he was, back in downtown Jo’burg. No one was up and about and, as usual, the Nigerian owner was nowhere to be seen. David himself had to turn on the overhead lights which, after emitting their familiar ticking and crackling sound, flickered into yellowish life.

  He checked the changing room carefully as he walked in and then hung his ironed work trousers and collared shirt on one of the locker handles. Judging from the open locker doors and the fact the liquid soap was finished, he could see that others had come and gone since he’d last been there.

  Yesterday’s note was a practical joke, he told himself. Nothing more. If you suspected it was anything more, why would you have come back here again, he asked himself. It’s not as if you’d go out of your way to make yourself a target again, hoping that this time you’d manage to catch the perpetrator in the act.

  Or is it?

  He let out a short, mirthless laugh that sounded oddly loud in the otherwise empty gym.

  Checking his watch, he saw he barely had time for a half-hour workout if he was going to be able to prepare for the seven-thirty a.m. meeting that was due to officially start his day.

  Twenty minutes later, he was lying down on the sweat-infused leather bench, staring up at his straining arms and the still-too-heavy weighted
bar his hands were struggling to keep a grip on. His pectorals burned with the effort; the right one felt as if it had been sprayed with acid. He was going to do this, dammit. He knew he could. Use it or lose it, and he was damned if he was going to lose it.

  Sixteen … Seventeen … And then he heard the unwelcome sound as the entrance door creaked open and, a moment later, slammed shut again. The light stayed on this time, but he heard soft footsteps coming down the stairs.

  Do it.

  But try as he might, his body would not allow him to push the weight forward and sit up. He was trapped underneath it, with his weaker right arm about to give way. With a flicker of real fear, David realised that identifying the stranger who’d walked in was the least of his problems. He couldn’t hold this damn thing. His grip was slipping, his muscles failing under its weight. He was going to …

  And then he almost shouted in astonishment as two slim-fingered hands grabbed the thick bar, which felt suddenly, blessedly lighter. With a huge effort, he pushed it up and away and struggled into a sitting position.

  Jade squatted down beside him. Her dark brown hair was tied back from her face, and her gaze could have cut through tungsten.

  ‘Are you crazy? Rule number one. You never, ever do free weights alone. Where the hell is your spotter, David? Just what are you trying to prove?’

  He stared at her, breathing hard, aware of the sweat running down his face.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked her.

  ‘I’ve come to ask you a favour.’ Jade looked around, taking in the well-used machines, the flickering overhead light, the blackened plug point.

  ‘No … I meant – how do you even know this place exists? And that I use it?’

  ‘I have my sources,’ she said, with a flicker of a grin.

  ‘And who would they be?’ He was smiling now, for the first time in what felt like weeks.

  ‘Classified, I’m afraid. But not even they can help me with the case I’ve taken on. So, I’ve come to you.’

  ‘What case is this?’