by Sally Andrew
I felt lots of different kinds of crazy as I sat looking at the butterfly blotches on the page.
I saw a woman trying to run away from herself. Her legs galloping out and her arms reaching away, but she was getting nowhere. Because she was joined at the hip to the same woman running in the other direction.
I wanted to tell her she was also a butterfly and if she stopped trying to get away from herself, maybe she could fly.
Then I blinked and the women were gone and the picture was of a creature run over in the road, flattened and bleeding. I heard a sound, like an animal in pain.
‘Are you okay, Tannie Maria?’ said Hattie.
Jessie and Hattie were on either side of me. The animal sound was coming from me. I held up the paper for them to see. My hands were shaking and the shapes on the paper came to life. It looked like fire. A fire that could destroy everything.
‘Oh, my goodness gracious!’ said Hattie.
‘Don’t touch it,’ said Jessie. ‘Maybe we can get the bastard’s fingerprints.’
‘Oh, Maria,’ said Hattie.
I had a feeling I was falling, but Jessie and Hattie were standing on either side of me, so I didn’t fall because their hips were there holding me up. A woman on each side of me, a butterfly of women.
The picture was still in my hand, still shaking. It looked like a big bird, those ones that rise up from the flames and ashes. Like a dragon. Flying.
Then everything went black.
‘Just have a sip, Tannie Maria,’ said Jessie’s voice.
I opened my eyes. Hattie was putting my hand around a cup of tea.
I brought it to my mouth. Warm and sweet.
For shock. I’d had a shock. What had happened? I’d been run over. By Fanie. But he’s dead, that’s all over. I had another sip. I was okay. Alive. I wasn’t even in hospital. I was in the office. My desk at the Klein Karoo Gazette. The fan was turning slowly on the ceiling.
I saw the paper on my desk, and remembered.
BACK OFF OR DIE
‘Maybe we must shut down for a while,’ said Hattie.
‘We can’t just let him get away with it,’ said Jessie.
‘What is that bird,’ I said, ‘that comes back from the dead?’
‘The police can catch him,’ said Hattie. ‘I am going to call them right now.’
She put her hand on the phone.
‘But will they?’ said Jessie. ‘Fifty per cent of murderers don’t get caught. And our murder rate is five times higher than the world average. Tens of thousands of murderers get away with it. He’s threatening us because he’s nervous. We’re getting close to finding him. We can’t give up now.’
‘It rises from the flames . . . ’ I said.
My brain wasn’t working properly; it just couldn’t find the right word.
‘He knows you two were there the night of the murder,’ said Hattie. ‘Maybe we should all three go away, get out of Ladismith for a while.’
‘Flies up from the ashes . . . like a dragon, but it’s not a dragon,’ I said.
‘We could stay on my cousin’s farm in Oudtshoorn,’ said Hattie, looking up a number in her phone book. ‘Do the holiday edition of the Gazette from there. It’s a phoenix, Maria, a phoenix.’
‘You mean just do as the bastard says? Back off?’ said Jessie.
‘This is a murderer we are dealing with, Jessie,’ said Hattie, picking up the receiver and punching numbers into the phone. ‘He’s already killed two people. And now he’s making death threats. It’s just not worth it.’
I drank the last of my tea and put my cup down next to the paper. Next to the red phoenix on my desk.
‘I’m not running away,’ I said. ‘If the end of the world’s coming, let it come. But I’m not going to run.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Piet moved around the Gazette office like a sniffer dog. Kannemeyer stood behind me. He picked up the phoenix with gloved hands and put it in a plastic bag.
‘Only she has touched it,’ said Jessie.
Kannemeyer wasn’t looking at me, but he inspected all around me, and all around my desk. He even looked inside the kettle. He paced the room, then he froze and stared at the whiteboard. He tugged on one side of his moustache as he read the notes we’d made about the case. He shook his head, and turned to stare at me. I knew we were in for a skelling, but I wasn’t scared any more. I had the strength of a phoenix. I could die and come back. I was scared of nothing.
I saw in his eyes not the anger I was expecting, but a sadness. And perhaps fear. Could he be scared of me? His silence was big and heavy and I wished he would speak.
He waved his long arm at the names on the whiteboard and said, ‘Suspects? Which of these people have you been harassing?’
I tried to answer, but nothing came out.
‘We’ve harassed no one,’ said Jessie.
‘Would you like some tea, Detective?’ said Harriet, putting on the kettle.
‘Chasing, investigating, whatever you want to call it,’ he said and now he was looking cross.
‘Why don’t you sit down?’ said Jessie.
‘Have you had arguments with anyone in the last few days?’ he asked.
I shook my head.
‘We prefer not to argue,’ said Hattie. ‘Would you rather have coffee?’
‘Have you been bothering all these people on your list of suspects?’
‘If you sit down, Detective,’ said Jessie, ‘we could discuss the case with you. Maybe we can work with you in finding this murderer.’
He looked like he wanted to spit, but he sat down. Hattie gave him coffee and Jessie explained the notes on the whiteboard. Kannemeyer listened for a long time, while she spoke. Piet was outside now, studying the garden path. Jessie was a very good reporter, and Hattie added a thing or two. I was just watching, as if it was a movie.
‘So, what can you tell us?’ said Jessie, when she had finished. ‘Do you have other suspects? Or more information on any of this lot?’
Kannemeyer turned to me and said: ‘Is there somewhere out of town you can stay?’
I blinked.
‘Tannie Maria,’ he said. ‘Your life is in danger. You have had two death threats. And this one is even more serious than the first. We don’t have the manpower to give each of you twenty-four-hour bodyguards. You wouldn’t need a bodyguard if you had left police matters to the police. I am asking you. Please. Can you move out of town? Just for a while.’
I shook my head. His face got red and his moustache twitched, but he didn’t speak. Then he stood up and walked outside.
I thought he had gone, but he stuck his head back in the door and said: ‘Do any of you know where Anna is?’
‘Anna Pretorius?’ said Jessie.
I shook my head again.
‘Not at her house?’ said Jessie.
‘No,’ he said. ‘If you hear from her, tell me.’
‘Is she in trouble?’ asked Jessie.
He stepped into the doorway and looked at each one of us. He took in a breath, like he was going to speak; his moustache lifted up. But then he sighed and closed his mouth. He turned and stomped down the pathway.
Everything went black again; I think I fell asleep for a minute. What was wrong with me? I shook my head fast, like I was shaking water out of my ears. Jessie and Hattie were arguing.
‘But, Hattie, the only way we are going to be safe is if we catch him,’ said Jessie. ‘If the police manage to do it, that’s grand – we can relax – but I’m not going to sit around doing bugger-all in the meanwhile.’
‘We’ve got a paper to run, for heaven’s sake,’ said Hattie.
‘Ja. And this is hot news material. Let me look into Marius’s links with Shaft. If he’s linked to the frackers, it’s a motive for killing Martine.’
Harriet sighed, and said: ‘There really is no stopping you. Just don’t get yourself in trouble and don’t post anything on the website that I haven’t checked first.’
I needed a prope
r lunch. That would bring me right.
‘I’m going to the Spar,’ I said.
It made me feel peaceful, just being in the grocery store, looking at those piles of fresh fruit and vegetables. Bananas, apricots and melons. That sweet smell of ripe spanspek. I peeled a banana and ate it. I started to think straight again so I went to the bakery counter and bought four doughnuts and ate one. I would pay for everything at the till, but I was glad they didn’t really have security cameras.
Now that my brain was working, I realised I hadn’t come here just for food.
I wanted to know what that call from Van Wyk to Kannemeyer had been about. Was the Spar manager contacting him about the stolen tins? Or could it have been to do with the pomegranate juice?
I got a little trolley and did some more shopping. There was still frozen game mince, so I took a couple of packs. I picked up some herbs, tomatoes and pasta for a nice spaghetti bolognaise. Then I waited until there was no one at Marietjie’s till and headed over there. I put the trolley behind me, to chase others away from that queue. Today her hair was pulled into a small bun at the back of her neck. She wore a pink bow around the bun and pink lip gloss, which made her look like a teenager.
‘Good afternoon, Marietjie.’
‘How are you, Tannie Maria?’
‘So the police were here today?’ I said.
I took the shopping from my trolley one item at a time. She rubbed her glossy lips together and leaned towards me. She smelled like cherries.
‘Ja. It was me – I got the photo. On my cell phone.’
She took it out of her pocket and wiggled it at me.
‘Mmm,’ I said, as if I knew what she was talking about.
‘She bought all six bottles. All six.’
‘The pomegranate juice?’
She nodded.
‘Ja. The policeman, the one with that moustache. He knew who she was straightaway. He just looked at my photo of her in the wheelchair. That’s Anna Pretorius, he said. And Cornel— Mr van Wyk said he’d definitely seen her here before. And the picture would help the tellers remember. He really wants to help out, you know.’
‘And what did the tellers say?’ I said, handing her the mince.
‘Ag, they’re useless. They don’t remember anything really. But I have seen her here before. Definitely. I’ve seen her saying hello to Mrs van Schalkwyk in the office.’
‘But did she buy the pomegranate juice last Tuesday?’
‘I think so. I’m sure she did.’
‘What did you tell the police?’
I held the tomatoes back.
‘Mr Cornelius really wanted to help them.’
‘So you told them it was her.’
‘Mr van Wyk did the talking mostly . . . ’
‘Marietjie, this is serious. You don’t want the wrong person being locked up, and a murderer running around.’
‘But she bought all six bottles of the juice. All six. It’s very suspicious, Mr Cornelius said. She must have bought some before. I didn’t say she killed anyone. I just said she bought all six, and now that I look at her, I do remember her, she bought a bottle here last week.’
She moved the tomatoes quickly through the scanner.
I didn’t look at Marietjie as she packed the food into the Spar packets because I didn’t want her to see how cross I was. I studied those plastic bags. I thought of the ones I had found in Martine’s rubbish bin. Somebody had shopped for Martine, here at the Spar, on the day of her death.
‘Thank you, Marietjie,’ I managed to say.
‘Enjoy your day further,’ said Marietjie.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
‘Yum,’ said Jessie, when she saw the doughnuts I brought back from the Spar.
I put my mince in the little Gazette fridge and made us all tea and coffee to go with the doughnuts. Then I sat down and I told them what Marietjie had said.
Jessie and I ate up our doughnuts, while Hattie pecked at hers.
‘I spoke to my cousin, Boetie, last night,’ said Jessie. ‘I think he knows something about the pomegranate juice at the Spar, but he was too stoned to make sense. He’s a bit of a daggakop but his ma says he only smokes after hours – so I’ll talk to him another time.’
‘You have to admit, there really is rather a substantial pile of evidence against Anna,’ said Harriet.
‘But it’s all rubbish,’ said Jessie.
‘Her prints are on the murder weapon. She’s got means, motive and opportunity,’ said Hattie.
‘So have lots of other people.’
I gave Jessie a napkin, to wipe the icing sugar off her mouth.
‘Maybe we should warn her,’ I said. ‘Tell her to get a lawyer.’
‘There’s no reply at her house,’ said Jessie. ‘And she doesn’t have a cell.’
‘I wonder if Dirk would know how to find her,’ I said.
‘Sanna from the AgriMark tells me he’s moved back home,’ said Jessie. ‘I wouldn’t mind another look at his place.’
‘Ja, we left in a bit of a hurry last time.’
‘I’ve got his phone number,’ said Jessie. ‘Or shall we just maar go?’
‘Let’s just pop in.’
‘My dear girls, I implore you to be careful,’ said Hattie, standing up and putting her unfinished doughnut on my desk. ‘And before you go gadding off again, I want your completed copy for this week’s website and paper edition.’
Jessie and I made a quick job of finishing that doughnut, then we washed our hands and sat down at our desks.
I looked at the envelopes on my desk. I thought about the bloody letter from the anonymous murderer. He didn’t deserve a response from me. He certainly didn’t deserve a recipe.
I sorted through my letters and decided to open the two that had Oudtshoorn postmarks. This is a town a hundred kilometres east of Ladismith, famous for the Cango Caves and ostrich farming.
The first said:
I’m an ostrich farmer. I know how to make biltong and an ostrich steak, but I need a change. My wife used to do all sort of lekker things with the meat. But she is gone now. For a while I missed her so much I couldn’t think of making anything. Now I minced some of my meat, but I don’t really know what to do with it. Can you help maybe? Thank you.
Before I answered, I read the other Oudtshoorn letter. It was from a woman who had too many sweet potatoes:
Suddenly, after a year of almost nothing, my vegetable garden is just full-full of sweet potatoes and I don’t know what to do with them. I’ve made some fritters, and even sweet potato jam, but I live alone and haven’t got such a sweet tooth myself and my children live far away and don’t come and visit all that often. I thought of giving the potatoes away, but I don’t really know my neighbours all that well and have been a bit shy since the accident. The scars are not so bad any more, but still I feel people staring.
I decided to give them both one recipe. A cottage pie made with ostrich mince and a mashed sweet-potato topping.
Why not meet at the Farmers Co-op on Saturday mornings at 10 a.m., I wrote. You could swap some meat for vegetables . . .
‘Maria,’ Hattie said, ‘I’ve just got an email addressed to you. It’s marked as urgent. Here, you can look at it on my computer. I’m popping out for a minute.’
She stood up and I took her chair.
Oh, Tannie Maria, the email said.
Thank you so much, the braai went really well. You were right, the bread was easy to make and she was very impressed. She said I was a very good cook. Haha.
Sorry about writing an email instead of a letter but this is an emergency. I wish there was someone else I could ask, but I can’t, and I need help.
We, you know, did it, together. And we have done it now three times. It’s amazing being so close and breathing her smell and there is no need for words. We feel so good together. Too good. The problem is I get so excited it’s all over for me in two minutes and she doesn’t always get a chance to, you know . . .
Is there
medical treatment for me?
Karel, the mechanic (in need of brakes)
Jessie’s phone rang: I’m your man. She answered it with a smile and went outside to talk. I tried to think of some advice for Karel. But what did I know about good sex? I’ve always imagined it would be something like a really good cake. That gave me an idea.
I wrote:
Here is a way you could slow yourself down. Memorise a good recipe, then say it inside your head if you are getting overexcited. This should distract you enough to make it last longer, but still keep your mind on something delicious.
Then I gave him a recipe for a chocolate cake. Not the one I made for Kannemeyer, but a fluffy chocolate mousse cake, made with dark chocolate. The recipe required a long time to beat the eggs and sugar to make them very thick and frothy, and the cake was topped with cream and berries.
Jessie and I drove along the dirt road to Dirk’s farm in my little blue bakkie. It was afternoon now and there were fat clouds above us. But instead of cooling us down, they were just trapping in the heat. We rode with the windows wide open, and what with the sound of the wind and the bumping car, we didn’t try and talk. It was good to be riding with Jessie again. Back to the scene of the crime.
The klapperbos were flowering; the little red lanterns looked like Christmas decorations. And there were purple handfuls of reëngrassie popping up between the wire-grass that grew by the side of the road. Jessie pointed out a shiny green sunbird that was landing on an aloe flower, and I slowed down to look at it.
‘Whoa,’ said Jessie, as a mongoose came charging down the road, racing towards us. I put on the brakes, and it darted into the grass.
Then we heard a whole lot of bangs in a row.
‘Gunshots,’ Jessie said.
But we kept on driving, heading towards the farmhouse.
The sound of shooting got louder.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
We drove past the house and the big gum tree and saw Anna’s bakkie parked behind Dirk’s 4×4.
Again we heard: Bang. Bang.