by Sally Andrew
Hattie and I sat in silence with the phone line between us. I could hear the crickets outside and a dull hum on the line. We were waiting for words of comfort to give to each other, but could not find any.
‘God Almighty,’ she said again before we hung up.
‘You’d better go,’ I said to Kannemeyer, taking an empty pot out of his hands.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he said.
‘You’ve got to find Jessie,’ I said. ‘It’s your job.’
‘My job tonight is to make sure nothing happens to you,’ he said.
‘Henk,’ I said. ‘You’ve got to look for her.’
‘I’m staying here.’
I wanted to shout, but instead I did the dishes. In a way that was more noisy than usual.
‘So you want us to do nothing?’ I said over the clatter. ‘While she could be in the hands of that . . . that monster?’
Henk took the dishcloth and was drying what I washed. The noisier my washing, the quieter his drying.
‘We have to do something, Henk,’ I said, banging down a pot on the sink counter.
‘We are doing everything we can. They are searching all over. We could get word she’s okay any minute now. It doesn’t help to get all upset.’
His phone rang. He put down the dishcloth and answered.
‘Lieutenant Kannemeyer. Ja . . . Ja . . . And the hotel too? Okay. Keep looking for the scooter. When you’ve covered the dorp, move on to the farms outside of town.’
I turned to look at him.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Yet.’
I put my hands into the warm soapy water, and closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
Henk was right. It didn’t help to get upset. What would help was to find the murderer. I prepared a pot of coffee and took it onto the stoep with a tin of beskuit. I turned on the outside light. Then I went and fetched my notebook and pen.
‘Come,’ I said. ‘Time to talk.’
Henk poured the coffee.
‘I don’t suppose you will consider leaving town now?’ he asked.
‘The time is finished and over for you to tell us not to be involved. We need to work together.’
Kannemeyer raised an eyebrow. The coffee was too hot, and he blew on it.
It was warm and muggy because of the clouds, and there were insects flying onto the stoep, attracted by the light.
‘Henk, nothing you say will be reported in the Gazette until you give permission, I promise you. But there are two people dead, and now Jessie’s disappeared. I know I am not a policewoman, but like it or not I am involved in the case. If we can work together, maybe we can save a life here. Jessie’s life.’
He twirled a tip of his moustache and said: ‘Okay, Maria. What do you want to know?’
‘Everything,’ I said, opening the notebook. ‘We told you what we know. Now it’s your turn.’
We sat late into the night, talking about suspects and motives and investigations. The moonlight slipped through a gap in the clouds and lit up the big gwarrie tree in the veld as he told me what the police had been busy doing.
‘Piet checked on John’s tyres at the farm. They don’t match. He’s also got an alibi from his girlfriend for both murders.’
‘But wouldn’t she lie for him?’ I asked.
‘Maybe,’ Kannemeyer said. ‘Quin Crush delivered a pile of sand to the station. We’re getting people with Firestone tyres to drive across it. Once we’ve been through our suspects, we’ve also got a list of sales in this area from the dealers, HiWay Tyres.’
‘Don’t forget that Seventh-day Adventist,’ I said. ‘And Mr Marius, of course.’
‘Marius was meant to come in for the tyre test today, but he didn’t, so I’m going to fetch him from his house first thing tomorrow.’
‘What have you learned about him?’
The insects were thick around the light now. Big moths, a green praying mantis, and some other little flying things.
‘Shaft is his client, and they want to frack in this area. Marius has no alibi for the morning of Martine’s murder. He has one for the night of Lawrence’s murder. From his wife. But I visited there and it looks to me like they sleep in separate rooms.’
The moths were all throwing themselves at the light. The mantis was sitting next to it. Hunting.
‘Has he got a basement or anywhere he could hide someone?’
‘Not that I could see. But if Jessie’s still missing, I’ll get a warrant to search tomorrow. I might bring his wife in for questioning. I have a feeling she knows something. She seems scared of him.’
I poured us both another cup of coffee.
‘What else have you found?’ I said.
‘Martine’s most recent accounts show a deposit of forty thousand rand.’
I frowned, and said: ‘We didn’t see . . . I suppose her most recent bank statements wouldn’t have been posted to her yet.’
‘We got three years of statements from the bank.’
‘Do you think it could have been a deposit for the sale of her property?’ I said.
‘Could be. It was a cash deposit,’ he said. ‘Made at a Standard Bank in Riversdale. The name given on the deposit slip is V. Niemand.’
‘V. No one. A false name. Martine told me she was making a plan to leave. I wonder if this was part of it.’
‘Maybe. Up till now all there has been is her regular salary from the Spar.’
A fat little gecko was heading down the wall towards the insects. My hand went to my arm, and I stroked the place where Jessie had her tattoo.
‘And the pomegranate juice, with the sleeping pills in?’ I said.
‘We think the murderer probably took it to her. The teller says Anna bought it. But we’re not sure she’s reliable. We believe Anna bought the six bottles today, but not necessarily the one on the day of Martine’s murder.’
‘Thank goodness, I thought you’d take her word.’
‘We aren’t fools. She’s just trying to please her boss. And the other tellers can’t remember.’
‘What happened with those petty thefts at the Spar?’ I asked.
‘We didn’t catch them, but it seems to have stopped.’ He looked at me. ‘What? What do you know about that, Tannie Maria?’
I opened my eyes wide and shook my head.
‘Who else knew Martine liked pomegranate juice?’ I said. ‘Anna, Dirk, David? Candice?’
‘We can be sure that Dirk and Anna were in the hospital for Lawrence’s murder. And Dirk’s work gives him an alibi for Martine’s. We are busy checking on the other alibis.’
‘And has forensics found anything?’ I said. ‘What about my veldskoene that were cut up? And the letter sent to me?’
When the gecko was just behind the mantis, the mantis whirred up into the air and landed on the other side of the light. There were even more moths now, flying around, bashing their wings on the globe.
‘Oudtshoorn LCRC tested for prints – there was nothing. For other investigations they had to send the shoes to the Cape Town forensics lab. No results there yet.’
‘Why not? Don’t they know it’s urgent?’
‘Cape Town forensics lab has to serve a hundred and fifty police stations. And there’s a lot more crime in the city. Results will take a month, if we’re lucky. The fluids are tested up here in Oudtshoorn. The red stuff on your letter was blood. Fresh blood. But it wasn’t human. They have sent it off to the vet lab for tests. Everything takes time.’
‘We haven’t got time,’ I said.
Kannemeyer looked at his watch and said, ‘We need to get some sleep.’
‘We haven’t finished.’
‘Tomorrow.’
I put out a sheet and pillow for him on the couch and I went to bed. I lay there in the dark, worrying about Jessie. I was still awake after the crickets went to sleep. My thoughts went round and round like the moths at the light.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
I woke to the sound of thunder. I sat straight up. Where w
as Jessie?
It was light. I’d overslept. The last time I’d heard thunder was with Jessie, the night of Lawrence’s murder. My spinning thoughts were now focused, hunting:
What was the murderer doing there that night? Why was he looking in her study? Did he find what he wanted?
Anna told me that the study was messed up again. Dirk thought it was Martine’s ghost. Anna thought it was Dirk. But what if it was the murderer? Still looking?
And if he didn’t find what he wanted – where was it?
The thunder was rumbling but no rain was falling. I looked out of my window. The clouds were dark and heavy. It felt like they were about to burst.
Her office at work, I thought. She would have papers there.
I got dressed then went into the lounge.
‘Henk?’ I called.
There was a crash of thunder and a flash of lightning and the heavens opened and fell onto my house. Rain battered down on my roof.
I looked out onto the stoep. Not Kannemeyer but Vorster. He spoke but I couldn’t hear him above the rain.
I went closer and asked him: ‘Any news? About Jessie.’
He shook his head. I stood on the stoep and watched it pouring down. It washed away the view of the hills and mountains. I could only just see the big gwarrie tree.
It was good to have rain, but I could feel no gladness. I was too worried about Jessie. I prayed she was okay. Can I call it prayer? I sent my feeling of longing, that was as strong as an arrow in my heart, up into the sky:
Rain down on Jessie. Keep her safe. Lead me to her.
I went and stood out in the rain. The water flattened my hair, ran down my face, wet my clothes. Vorster must have thought I was mad, but I didn’t care.
Help me find Jessie, I asked the rain. Alive.
Since I was already wet, I walked around the back of my house to check on my chickens. They were all there, tucked under the shelter of their hok.
They gave me a couple of warm eggs and I cupped them in my wet hands. My veldskoene had handled the water, but I needed to change into dry clothes. I put on my pale blue dress with buttons down the front. I fried and ate the eggs for breakfast. Then I phoned Hattie at the office.
‘Maria,’ she said. ‘Oh, heavens! I was about to call you. The police have just left.’
My heart beat in my throat.
‘Is Jessie . . . ?’
‘Her boots, they were on the doorstep when I arrived. Destroyed. Burnt.’
‘Burnt?’
‘Constable Piet thinks they were fried. They’re all black and oily.’
I could not find words. The rain was falling softly now.
‘Piet reckons the boots were left here in the early hours of the morning,’ said Hattie. ‘They were sheltered by the eave, so they didn’t get too wet and he could read some signs, don’t ask me how.’
‘No sign of Jessie or her scooter?’
‘No. They’re still searching. I promised Kannemeyer I’d call you.’
‘We’ve got to find her.’
‘Poor Reghardt’s a wreck. Before now there was a tiny chance of another explanation . . . I’d even hoped she was off investigating something. You know what a bloodhound she is when she gets on a trail. But now with the boots . . . ’
‘I’ll come in to the office now, Hats. I’m just going to stop at the Spar on the way. I’ll explain when I see you.’
I called Kannemeyer but he wasn’t answering his cell so I left a message. I told him I’d heard about the boots, and my thoughts about the messy papers in Martine’s office. And that I was going to stop in at the Spar on my way to the Gazette.
‘Wait,’ said Vorster, as I headed out. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going to work,’ I said. ‘You can go and look for Jessie.’
Vorster nodded, but he stayed sitting. He wasn’t taking orders from me. I walked carefully along the walkway, trying not to step in the streams and puddles.
The travelling tin of rusks rattled beside me as I drove. The veld and farms looked blurry in the soft rain.
‘I’m going to find Jessie,’ I told the rusks.
By the time I got to the Spar, the rain had stopped. I knocked on the office door. But there was no answer. I peered through the mirror strips, and saw no one inside, but knocked again anyway. A young man came up to me.
‘Can I help you, Mevrou?’
He had a pale white face with skin pulled tight over his bones, and a neat short-sleeved shirt with green stripes.
‘Is the manager here?’
‘He’s coming in a bit later today, ma’am,’ said skull-face politely. ‘I am the floor manager. Can I help you?’
‘I need to look through Mrs van Schalkwyk’s papers in the office. It’s important.’
‘I’m afraid Mr van Wyk will need to let you in for that.’
‘Don’t you have keys? It’s really important. Life or death.’
‘You’ll need his permission, ma’am.’
‘Can you call him?’
The young man frowned at me and walked away. He spoke on his cell phone then came back to me.
‘He’s on his way, ma’am. He won’t be long.’
I walked up and down the aisles of the shop, hoping it would calm me down. The sight of all that food usually does. But today it didn’t help. I went back to that floor manager with the bony face.
‘Did you see Jessie here yesterday after six o’clock?’
‘Jessie?’ he said.
‘Pretty girl, reporter, works at the Gazette.’
He shook his head, and said, ‘Sorry, don’t know her.’
‘Her cousin works here. What’s his name? Boetie. Can I speak to him?’
‘Sorry, ma’am, Boetie called in sick today.’
I walked past the cold meats and the butter and yogurts. Rooibosflavoured yogurt. That was a new one. I spotted Marietjie at a till.
‘Marietjie, did you see Jessie last night?’
‘Hello, Mr van Wyk,’ said Marietjie, looking past me.
‘Mr van Wyk,’ I said. ‘I’m glad you are here.’
Mr van Wyk was blowing his nose. His eyes were red and puffy. His hair was smoothed across his head, but it had been done badly and a bald patch was showing.
‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘A cold. Nothing serious.’
It looked pretty bad to me, but I wasn’t going to let some germs slow me down.
‘Did you see her, Marietjie?’ I asked. ‘Yesterday after six?’
Marietjie shook her head and opened her till, started sorting through the change. Mr Van Wyk coughed.
‘How can I help you?’ he said.
‘Can we go to your office?’ I said.
As he led the way, he smoothed the hair on his head sideways, trying to get it in place. His shirt was creased, like he had no one to iron for him.
‘I need to look through Martine van Schalkwyk’s papers,’ I said.
He didn’t invite me to sit. He wiped his chocolate-milk moustache, but it didn’t go away.
‘What are you looking for?’ he asked.
‘Um, I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘I’ll know when I find it.’
‘The police have already been through her papers,’ he said.
I sat down at Martine’s tidy desk.
‘Would you mind if I looked through them again?’ I said.
‘I don’t really see how it’s any of your business . . . ’ he said.
He was standing, his arms folded, looking down at me.
‘It’s part of the Klein Karoo Gazette investigation into Martine’s murder,’ I said. ‘I’m Maria van Harten, a reporter and a friend of Martine’s.’
‘Look,’ he said, ‘I don’t think you should be sticking your nose into police business, but of course I want Martine’s murderer to be caught. So I’ll let you look through her papers. I’ll even help you.’
He pulled a chair up next to mine and we started going through Martine’s desk drawer and her trays, labelled In and Out. I di
dn’t really want his help, but I was glad he wasn’t stopping me. There was a big pile of books on her desks. They were full of columns with numbers.
‘Don’t you people do your maths on computers these days?’ I said.
‘Sure,’ he said, ‘but the auditor needs hard copies as well. There’s her computer.’ It was a little white laptop. ‘You want to look at it? The police took a copy of the hard drive.’
‘Another time,’ I said.
If the murderer had been searching through her papers, then it was paper I needed to look for. I opened a book titled Ladismith. It was full of columns and codes with numbers and ticks. I didn’t really understand it, and I think Van Wyk could see that.
‘She kept records of sales,’ he said. ‘She also noted all the stock coming in and out. These codes refer to items of stock.’
He leaned forward to point them out. He smelled funny. Like spices gone wrong. Too much pepper. I wondered if his wife cooked for him. Marietjie had mentioned a wife.
‘Does your wife like to cook?’ I asked.
He sneezed.
‘She’s gone away,’ he said. ‘Staying with her sister in Durban. I’m looking out for myself.’
He should use a recipe book, I thought.
I paged through the book, while he blew his nose. There was another book with Regional written on it.
‘What’s this about?’ I asked.
‘She kept a summary of the sales and expenses of all the Spars in this region. I’m the regional manager, you know. The bookkeepers in the other branches email through their information, and she puts it all together.’
I nodded. I picked up a really fat book called Salaries, which seemed to cover the salaries of all the workers in all the regions, their UIF and pension and all. The workers didn’t get paid very much.
There were too many books and too many pages. I was looking for a loose leaf of paper. Something that she might have been hiding. I didn’t have time to look through each page, so I turned the books on their sides, shaking them. But nothing fell out.
‘Have you looked through the papers at her house?’ Van Wyk asked me.
He was also shaking the books now.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Nothing useful?’
I shook my head.
‘What kind of paper do you want?’ he said. ‘Any idea at all?’