by Sally Andrew
‘Not where there’s money to be made. Profit. That’s all that matters.’
‘Money money money.’
He lowered his voice and leaned across the table.
‘It may be more than that,’ he said. ‘Control. These guys are evil. They have a plan.’
‘I’m sorry things didn’t work out with you and Martine,’ Candy said.
He stepped back and picked up a tomato.
‘She made the wrong decision there,’ he said, throwing the tomato in the air and catching it.
‘Maybe,’ said Candy.
‘Look how things turned out,’ he said.
He held the tomato in his fist at his side. He was squeezing it. Red juice dripped out between his fingers.
‘These grapes,’ I said, ‘how much are they?’
‘Fifty rand a box,’ he said, dropping the squashed tomato.
I didn’t like to see food treated like that.
‘I’ll take a box,’ I said, ‘and a packet of tomatoes.’
‘I’ll have three of these mangoes,’ said Candy.
‘I’ll get a fresh box of grapes from my bakkie,’ he said, ‘I’m keeping them cool under shade cloth.’
He wiped his hands on his jeans. I followed him across the car park, while Candy picked out her mangoes.
‘Bit early in the season for grapes,’ I said.
‘These are early ripeners,’ he said. ‘But I’ve got a greenhouse. Bit of a cheat, I suppose. I set it up to keep out the porcupines and baboons. Then I realised I can regulate the moisture and temperature, and sometimes I can get unseasonal fruit.’
His car was a big white 4×4 vehicle. The tyres: Firestone.
‘Do you have any pomegranate trees?’
John acted like he hadn’t heard me, as he unloaded a box of grapes. I saw a sticker on the back of his car. It was big and red and said: No Fracking Way. Fracking? Where had I heard that before?
‘What is fracking?’ I asked.
‘She loved pomegranates,’ said John, talking quietly to himself. ‘I planted a whole field of them for her. But it did me no good.’
He carried the grapes across to the table, mumbling something I couldn’t hear.
As I paid him, I asked again: ‘What’s that sticker on your car about fracking?’
‘Those fracking mining bastards, Shaft. They won’t stop till they’ve got all the coal, oil and gas out of the earth. Fracking is how they search for natural gas. They blast through layers of deep-strata rock. Toxic chemicals. It would totally mess up our groundwater. And they want to take water from our deep aquifers. A disaster for the Karoo if they go ahead. Total disaster. We’ve got a very fragile ecosystem here.’
‘They want to do it here, in the Klein Karoo?’
‘Mainly the Groot Karoo,’ he said, packing Candy’s mangoes into a brown paper bag. ‘But they’ve started investigating here too. I hear they are buying up land in likely areas. They’ve scoped everything from the sky. With their infrared satellite devices. After last year’s drought, a lot of the farmers are battling, selling their land cheap . . . ’
‘Did you talk to Martine about fracking?’ I asked.
He started rearranging the watermelons on the table.
‘Those mining companies are the scum of the earth. We’ve got to stop them.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘Looks like it might rain. Think I’ll pack up for the day.’
There were a few clouds building up, but it was a long way from rain. He started packing his melons and cabbages into cardboard boxes.
Candy said: ‘It’s at the NGK church. The funeral. On Wednesday. Could you be a pall-bearer?’
‘Terrible,’ said John to himself, shaking his head as he walked away, carrying a loaded box.
‘I reckon that fella’s one sandwich short of a picnic,’ said Candy, as we got back in the car.
‘Maybe he’s got a few sandwiches extra,’ I said.
I wasn’t quite sure what I meant, but I knew it was time for lunch.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
We went to Tannie Kuruman’s café, where we killed two birds with one stone: we ordered two of her delicious chicken pies, and while they were being heated up, we spoke about the catering for the funeral.
‘What do you reckon we should provide?’ Candice asked Tannie Kuruman.
Tannie Kuruman adjusted the little red doek on her head, and looked at Candy’s purple heels and lilac dress and then at her face. It was quite a way up for Tannie to look, what with Candy’s height and heels, and Tannie K having more width than height. She folded her arms, and then looked back down again at Candy’s orange toenails. Maybe she was struck dumb by the look of Candy, or perhaps she couldn’t understand her American English.
So I repeated what Candy said in my own words: ‘What kind of kossies shall we give the people? At the funeral?’
Tannie Kuruman cleared her throat and spoke: ‘What about my little pies? I can do the chicken ones.’
‘Ja,’ I said, ‘and maybe some of those sausage rolls you make.’
‘Ooh, ja, and the melktertjies. Little milk tarts.’ She looked at Candy when she translated. ‘And small koeksisters . . . Cake sisters?’ She pointed through the glass counter at the twisted plaits of dough, fried and dipped in syrup. ‘Those.’
Candy smiled. ‘Sugar, I know what koeksisters are. That sounds just peachy. Whatever you two decide. Just send me the bill.’
‘Well, for thirty rand per person I can do something simple. Or for fifty I can make it more special. How many people?’
‘Special is good,’ Candy said. She looked at me. ‘Sixty people, you reckon?’
‘That should be fine.’ Funerals were not so popular in Ladismith as they were in the old days. ‘Can you maybe have some pies and puddings without meat or dairy?’ I said. ‘In case some of those Seventh-day Adventists come . . . ’
‘Ja,’ said Tannie K. ‘I’ve fed them before. Those children look a bit skinny to me, you know . . . ’
Our chicken pies smelled wonderful, and we took them outside and sat on a bench in the shade of a jacaranda tree and looked out onto Church Street. Candy was nibbling on her pie, but I took a big bite of mine, so that I could get the crust and the filling in one mouthful. Just then I heard a scooter. It was Jessie – turning in towards the café. Maybe she was coming to pick up lunch. Candy waved at her, and she saw us there on the bench, together, with our pies.
The look on Jessie’s face made me stop chewing.
I wanted to spit out my mouthful and call to her. Tell her that she was my investigating partner, and the person I most liked to eat with. I chewed very fast but by the time my mouth was free, she had turned around and sped off.
That fast eating meant my food was quickly gone, which wasn’t clever because it left me hungry. But then Candy’s cell phone rang and she gave me the remaining half of her pie.
‘It’s good,’ she said, ‘but I’m done.’
‘David! Sugar!’ she said into the phone, then more quietly: ‘What are you wearing?’ She laughed. ‘Did you get my message? Yeah . . . Wednesday. How’s my uncle Peter doing? . . . Really? I didn’t think he was capable of tears. Are you sure it’s not an eye infection? And his health?’ She stood up and walked away from the bench. ‘This afternoon . . . No, her lawyer’s here in Ladismith . . . Yeah . . . ’
Then I couldn’t hear what she was saying any more. When she came back she pulled a face.
‘David,’ she said. ‘Martine’s brother. I hope he gets a decent suit for the funeral. He has absolutely no fashion sense.’
I brushed the pastry flakes off my hands, and stood up. Twice I’d heard her speaking badly about this man, her cousin, but she sounded friendly enough to him on the phone. Maybe that’s how family politics goes.
‘Hell, sometimes I wonder about David,’ said Candy, as we walked to her car. ‘He’s been wanting to get his hands on his old man’s money for a long time. My uncle’s such a miser, but he’s had stomach cancer for the last year, and the doctors say h
e’s too old for an op. David’s been circling the old man like a vulture, making himself useful, he says. Taking him on holidays. They’re at Sanbona now. You know, that luxury game lodge . . . ’
We got into the MG. The seats were hot.
‘Did he visit her last week?’ I asked.
‘He says he didn’t,’ said Candy, starting up the sports car, driving out. ‘They were gonna come and see her. But they hadn’t got around to it.’
‘Was he close to her?’
‘The only thing David’s really close to is his cheap suits. And his longing for an expensive life. But he was her brother. I can’t believe he would, you know . . . ’
‘But with Martine dead, he’d get all his father’s money,’ I said.
‘That’s what he thinks,’ said Candy.
Then the wind was moving too fast for us to talk any more.
Candy dropped me and my grapes and tomatoes outside the Gazette office.
‘Martine’s lawyer asked me to come and see him,’ she said, looking in the car mirror as she put on orange lipstick. ‘About her will, I reckon. And I’d better stop in and talk to Dirk about the funeral.’
I couldn’t see Jessie’s bike outside, but I went in to look for her anyway. I put the fruit on my desk.
‘Jessie’s not feeling too well,’ Hattie said. ‘She says she’ll work from home. How did it go with John?’
‘Interesting,’ I said. ‘And Tannie Kuruman will do the catering.’
I told her about our discussions with John. Then I called Jessie on her cell, but couldn’t get through. I tried her home and no one answered.
‘I’m a bit worried about Jessie,’ I told Hattie.
‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘She has been acting strange.’
Hattie didn’t know the whole story, but I still felt it wasn’t for me to tell her about Jessie’s private life.
‘How about a cup of tea?’ I said.
I sat down at my desk with my tea and a beskuit, so I could have a quiet think. Then the office phone rang.
‘That was Sister Mostert,’ Hattie said, as she put down the receiver, ‘Jessie’s ma. She wants us at the hospital. Right away.’
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
‘Let’s go in my car,’ Hattie said when we were outside.
‘No,’ I said, quickly getting into my little blue bakkie. ‘Do you think Jessie is okay? Why didn’t her ma say what the problem was?’
We drove up the hill towards the hospital.
‘I couldn’t really hear her properly. I’m sure Jessie’s fine. Does this window not open any wider?’
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘it sticks. Here, I’ll turn the fan onto you.’
I wound my window all the way down and a warm breeze moved through my bakkie. I suppose we should’ve gone in Hattie’s car; but I just couldn’t face Hattie’s driving when I was so worried already.
‘I hate it when a hospital phones you but won’t tell you what the problem is,’ I said, as we drove up the hill. ‘It happened with my mother. They say it’s to make sure you don’t have an accident on the way. But that’s rubbish, I think. Worrying can be worse than knowing.’
‘There’s no shade,’ Hattie said, as we pulled in to the hospital car park. ‘Your car is going to get so hot.’
A police van and a cream 4×4 had taken the only shade under the big rhus tree.
The cicadas were screeching. It seemed to get louder and louder as we walked towards the hospital entrance. We passed the 4×4. Firestone tyres. Klein Karoo Real Estate written on the side in black letters.
It sounded like the cicadas were in a jakkalsbos in the flower bed at the hospital entrance.
As we were going through the doors a man walked out so fast he bumped into my shoulder.
‘Mr Marius!’ said Hattie, and he turned around.
He was not any taller than Hattie, but he glared down his nose at her. His hair was black and slicked into a side parting and he had a slim moustache curled around his lips. His mouth looked like he was eating something bitter. He stared at us both through narrow eyes then pointed a finger at me and then at Hattie.
The noise of the cicadas stopped. I could hear him breathing through his nose.
He opened his mouth and I thought he was going to speak, but instead he spun around, marched across the tar to the 4×4 bakkie, revved the engine and sped away. The cicadas started screeching again.
‘There you are!’ said Sister Mostert.
She was a short woman with a round face and nice shape. She reminded me of a vetkoek, wrapped in a clean white napkin – that smart nurse’s uniform.
‘Is Jessie okay?’ I asked.
‘Jessie?’ she said, looking at Hattie, then back at me. ‘No, no, this is not about Jessie. It’s Miss Pretorius and Mr van Schalkwyk. Fighting again. We’ve had to get in police guards now. I was hoping you could talk to them. Get them to stop this nonsense.’
We followed Jessie’s mom down the corridor as she spoke.
‘They caught Miss Pretorius trying to pour Dettol into Mr van Schalkwyk’s drip while he was sleeping. We uncuffed her to let her go to the toilet, and that’s when she sneaked off – in her wheelchair! Then in the middle of the night he somehow wheeled his whole bed to Anna’s ward. I don’t know how he managed, but it looks like he used the drip stand to push himself along – like he was pulling a boat down a river. The bed got stuck in the door, but there was some kicking and throwing of things before we separated them again.’
‘Honestly,’ said Hattie. ‘Like children.’
‘But more dangerous. We can’t watch them twenty-four hours a day. So we called the police. Reghardt said maybe you guys could talk some sense into them. Where is Jessie?’
‘She’s not feeling well. She went home,’ Hattie said.
‘I couldn’t get her on her cell,’ said Sister Mostert. ‘I hope she’s okay.’
‘Nothing serious,’ said Hattie, ‘just a bit of an upset stomach. But when you phoned and told us to get up here, we thought that maybe Jessie . . . ’
‘Ag, shame, I’m sorry. No, it’s just that the detective arrived just as I was calling you so I didn’t have time to explain everything.’
‘Kannemeyer?’ I asked. ‘He’s here?’
‘Ja, he wants to take statements from them, so they can do legal injunctions or something.’
‘Interdicts?’ I said, remembering my conversation with Legal Aid.
‘Ja, to keep them so many metres away from each other.’
‘Mr Marius – what was he doing here?’ asked Hattie.
‘Visiting Mr van Schalkwyk,’ she said.
We were at Anna’s ward now and I could see Detective Kannemeyer standing by her bed. My hair must have looked terrible. I hadn’t fixed it since riding around in Candy’s car. I ran my hand across it, but I really needed a mirror.
‘I’m just going to use the bathroom,’ I said to Hattie.
But it was too late – Anna had seen us.
‘Tannie Maria!’ she called. ‘Come and explain to the policeman what no means.’
I took a big breath and went inside.
‘Nee, no, hayi khona, blerrie hell,’ said Anna.
The detective was looking smart in a cream cotton shirt and maroon tie, as if he had been sitting in an air-conditioned office instead of a sports car in the wind and sun. He nodded at us and stood back while Sister Mostert put a pillow under Anna’s foot – which was sticking out from the plaster cast – and turned a knob on the drip beside the bed.
Anna’s hair was even more ruffled than mine, and her green hospital gown was wrinkled, but her cheeks were rosy. She smiled and patted the side of her bed, calling us closer. The sister winked at me and left.
Detective Kannemeyer cleared his throat. In his hand he had a clipboard with paper and a pen.
‘Miss Pretorius says she won’t press charges against Van Schalkwyk,’ he said. ‘She won’t even give a statement about what happened.’
Anna pressed her lips together.
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‘But, Anna,’ I said, ‘then Dirk will blame you for everything.’
She shook her head, raised her eyes towards Kannemeyer and did a rolling movement with her hand.
He sighed and said: ‘Van Schalkwyk’s also doing nothing.’
‘It was all just an accident,’ said Anna.
‘That’s what he says too,’ Kannemeyer said. He tapped his clipboard with his finger. ‘You will both be booked for disturbing the peace and shooting your firearms. And the hospital will be laying charges with that Dettol nonsense. And you aren’t off the hook for your original homicide charge— ’
‘Did you maybe bring me some vetkoek?’ said Anna to me.
‘Sorry,’ I said.
‘Tannie Maria. Mrs . . . ahm . . . ’ Kannemeyer said, looking down at Hattie.
‘Harriet,’ she said, ‘Harriet Christie.’
‘Tannie Maria and Mrs Christie, I hope you can talk some sense into this woman. Get her to understand the seriousness of her crimes.’
‘Cake?’ Anna asked.
‘Not even a grape,’ I said. ‘I’m really sorry.’
Kannemeyer looked down at the paper on his board. It was blank. He patted it against his thigh and walked towards the door. Before he left the ward he remembered his manners, and turned around.
‘Good afternoon, ladies,’ he said.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
‘What’s going on, Anna?’ I said. ‘Why aren’t you laying charges?’
Anna snorted.
‘Nothing’s going on,’ she said. ‘Nothing to do with anyone else. It’s between me and Dirk.’
‘But, Anna, we told you,’ I said. ‘He probably didn’t kill Martine.’
‘Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. But even when she was alive, that man was a stinking pig’s arse. And he was always in the way.’ She leaned back into her cushions. ‘She should’ve been with me.’
‘Mr Marius was just here,’ I said. ‘Visiting Dirk. Did Martine say anything to you about him?’
‘Who?’ said Anna, staring off at a place inside her own head.
‘The real estate agent,’ said Hattie.
‘She didn’t like him,’ said Anna. ‘They had a fight or something.’