See No Evil

by Michael Ridpath

  She handed over the envelope and Calder carefully removed a couple of sheets of well-thumbed air-mail paper, covered with small, closely spaced, spiky writing.

  ‘Todd said his mother’s writing wasn’t usually that bad. He thinks it’s a sign of how panicked she felt.’

  Calder began to read:

  Hondehoek

  August 25, I988

  Dear Mom,

  I know this letter is going to freak you out, and I apologize for writing it. When you get it, read it and keep it somewhere safe. When we next talk on the phone, we shouldn’t discuss it. I’ll tell you more next time I come over to America, which I hope will be in September.

  You know that things are not going well between Cornelius and me at the moment. I told you that he is planning to sell his South African papers and to close down the Cape Daily Mail, and how upset this has made me. Well, I have discovered some stuff about all that that worries me. It worries me a lot.

  If anything should happen to me … I hate writing those words and I know how much they will worry you, and I’m sure nothing happen, but just in case it does, then there are some things I would like you to know. You should get in touch with a friend of mine, Benton Davis. He works for Bloomfield Weiss, which is the investment bank advising Zyl News, in their New York office. I trust him, and he will be able to tell you what I’ve found out.

  There’s also some stuff in my diary, at the back, on pages marked “Laagerbond” and “Operation Drommedaris.” You can read the rest of the diary if you like, just don’t show any of it to Cornelius. I keep it hidden in my desk at Hondehoek. It’s a black moleskin notebook and it’s stuffed in a box marked “US tax records 1980–85” which is at the back of the bottom drawer. It seemed to me the kind of box no one would open. But if something does happen to me, please come down here as soon as you can and find it.

  When you’ve found it and read it, and when you’ve spoken to Benton, talk to Dad and decide what to do. I trust you two, of all people, to do the right thing.

  It is impossible to put into words how much I love you and Dad. You have taught me so much and given me so much love. If I can be half as good a parent to Todd and Caroline as you were to me, then I will be very happy. I know I have done some things that you thought were wrong, I know you forgave me when that was hard to do, and I thank you for that.

  With all my love,

  Martha

  ‘Wow,’ said Calder, handing the letter back to Kim. ‘I can see why you want to talk to Benton.’

  ‘He obviously knows something.’

  ‘You said Todd tried to get in touch with him?’

  ‘Yes. Todd called him from America before we left for England, but he couldn’t get past Davis’s PA. When we got to England we went to Bloomfield Weiss’s offices in person, but once again we were told Mr Davis was unavailable. We tried to talk our way in, but the security guards were absolute pigs and wouldn’t listen. We didn’t know what he looked like, so we couldn’t just wait for him. Cornelius refused to help. That’s when I thought we could try you.’

  ‘After what Martha says about him here, it is strange he didn’t want to talk to you. But then this isn’t the Benton Davis I know.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. But I suppose people change. After twenty years at Bloomfield Weiss, even the most trustworthy people might lose some of their integrity. Which is why I got out.’

  ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘Well, for a start, he’s black. Which is something in his favour. I would guess he joined Bloomfield Weiss in the early eighties, which was quite an achievement for a black person back then. He must have been pretty smart; there weren’t that many black investment bankers on Wall Street.’

  ‘You don’t think he’s that smart now?’

  ‘No. I always thought he was a bit superficial. Talks a lot about opera, name-drops like crazy, that kind of thing. But he might just be burned out. Once you get to fifty there are all kinds of younger men and women snapping at your heels trying to force you out of the hierarchy. He has a lot of charisma, though. He’s a big guy, quite athletic, impressive voice, you listen to him.’

  ‘Somehow or other he became a friend of Martha’s.’

  ‘Did Todd ask his father about him?’

  ‘Yes. Apparently Cornelius still does business with him. He said that Benton Davis and Martha met when Bloomfield Weiss were working on the deal to buy the Herald, right before Martha died. But Cornelius wasn’t willing to talk to him about Martha’s letter.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He’s adamant that he doesn’t want to reopen any discussion of Martha’s death. Which is all very well for him to say, but Todd has a right to know and Cornelius should recognize that.’

  ‘Does he have any idea what Martha had discovered?’

  ‘No. Or at least he wasn’t saying.’

  ‘And the diary?’

  ‘Never saw it. Didn’t even know she was writing one. He said he couldn’t remember the specific box she mentions, but he is pretty sure that it would have been thrown away unopened when they sold Hondehoek.’

  ‘What about this “Laagerbond”?’

  ‘Never heard of that either.’

  ‘Presumably it has nothing to do with beer?’

  ‘Two “a”s, you idiot. Actually, no one seems to know what it is. Laager is the Afrikaans word for a circle of wagons around a camp. It’s an image from the Boers’ great trek away from the Cape to the interior of the country and it symbolizes a kind of defensive mindset that the Afrikaners have in the face of change. Bond just means “band” or “group”. Todd has asked around and no one has heard of this particular group. He did find one reference to it on the internet. It was from testimony by a spy to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in 1997 who said that his handler in the security police was a member. But he only mentioned the word once, and the Commission didn’t follow up on it.’

  ‘And Operation Drommedaris?’

  ‘Drommedaris is Dutch for dromedary; you know, a camel. One hump not two. It’s also the name of the boat Jan van Riebeeck sailed in when he founded the Dutch colony at Cape Town. It must be a codename. But for what, who knows?’

  ‘What about the rest of the family? Has anyone any idea about any of this?’

  ‘No. Edwin was equally unhelpful. Todd called his sister Caroline in California, but she didn’t know anything – she was only twelve at the time. He also phoned Zan, his half-sister. She’s the only van Zyl who still lives in South Africa. She was staying at Martha and Cornelius’s house when it all happened. She couldn’t help much either, although she at least seemed more willing to try. She’s eight years older than Todd; they were quite close when he was little, although she seems to have disappeared from the scene as he got older. She’s fallen out with the rest of the family; she wasn’t asked to our wedding, for example. I met her once, when we went on a trip to South Africa soon after we were married. I thought she was quite nice, actually. A bit like the best of Cornelius but without the megalomania.’

  ‘Cornelius is a megalomaniac?’

  ‘Definitely. He loves power. And he likes to control the people around him.’

  ‘Like Todd?’

  ‘Todd has always been Cornelius’s blue-eyed boy. It drives Edwin mad. Cornelius wants Todd to take over Zyl News when he retires: he’s seventy-two, it’s got to happen some time. And much to Todd’s credit, he wants to determine his own life.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘What do you mean, “Ah”?’

  Calder smiled. ‘I assume you encourage him in this independence of mind?’

  She smiled sheepishly. ‘You’re right. A year after we were married, he decided … OK, with my encouragement … to quit working for Cornelius and to do what he really wanted to do. Which was teach. So he did an education degree and then we moved to New Hampshire. Cornelius is trying to force Todd to move back to Zyl News. Todd won’t do it, though.’ />
  ‘And you’re happy with that decision? To stay in New Hampshire?’

  Kim hesitated. ‘In theory, definitely. In practice … well, that’s another conversation.’

  Calder left it. He sipped his wine thoughtfully. ‘It sounds as if Martha was quite suspicious of her husband. And it sounds as if Cornelius doesn’t want anyone to find out why.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Kim frowned. ‘Frankly, I’m worried about his role in all this. But Todd isn’t. He’s crossed swords with his father many times but he’s incapable of thinking of him as a murderer.’

  ‘And you’re not?’

  ‘Obviously, I don’t know. Todd and I have spent hours discussing this and I think it’s a possibility we should bear in mind.’

  ‘Are you suggesting Cornelius had something to do with the accident?’

  Kim shrugged. ‘It might sound far-fetched but…’ She tailed off, not quite willing to put her thoughts into words.

  ‘But would he kill his own son? Especially one he’s so fond of?’

  ‘I’m not so sure he’s that fond of him now. He was seriously angry with Todd the other day when he refused to go back to work for him, he was quite scary. Cornelius is planning something at the moment …’ Kim hesitated ‘… a big deal, something that will transform Zyl News. But I think he’s asking himself what’s the point of building up an empire if he has to abandon it to Edwin in a few years – he has a very low opinion of Edwin, quite rightly as far as I’m concerned, the man is a worm. We’re talking about Cornelius’s life’s work here, and Todd walking away from it. No one likes being rejected, especially not someone as used to getting his own way as Cornelius. I’m not saying he sabotaged the plane himself, but he’s a powerful man, he can organize things. Which is why I was worried about the accident, whether it really was an accident.’

  Calder took a deep breath. ‘I can see that now. Although I still don’t see how that engine fire could have been anything else.’

  Kim shrugged. ‘Maybe. But I want to find out what’s going on here. Not just for Todd’s sake, but for my own. And I’d like you to help me. I trust you more than any of Todd’s family.’ Her bottom lip trembled, and she began to cry. ‘I’m scared, Alex. Just like Martha was when she wrote that letter. I’m scared.’

  6

  June 28, 1988

  I was in a foul mood all morning. Neels didn’t come home. I called George, who said that he and Neels had made the announcement. It was one of the hardest things George has ever had to do. The journalists were in uproar. And not just the journalists, a lot of people are going to lose their jobs, including George himself, of course. Neels has given them three months until closure, September 30. George says it’s going to be a nightmare keeping things going until then.

  What will I say to Neels? Last night I was all set to confront him and throw him out on his ear. But now I’m not so sure. It would be demeaning, degrading, to ask him where he was last night. It’s going to be hard to talk sensibly to him, and dangerous to scream at him. I’ll ignore him. He can manufacture a little business trip out of somewhere, he’s done that before.

  Caroline looked scared out of her wits this morning before she went to school. How’s she going to take all this? And Todd?

  And on top of all that, Zan’s coming this afternoon. I wonder how she’ll be. Polite and surly? Or awkward and bloody-minded? It’s going to be a disaster, I just know it, and I’m not sure I have the strength to deal with it.

  Later…

  Well, Zan came and it was fine. She’s gone all African. Her blonde hair is braided with beads, her arms are jangling with bracelets and she was wearing a yellow Hotstix Mabuse T-shirt, car-tire sandals and an East African skirt. She still swims, you can see that from her shoulders which are broad and strong. She looks extremely healthy and she still has Neels’s familiar blue eyes. She seemed genuinely pleased to see me when she arrived just after lunch. She was very friendly to Doris; one of the problems we had with her was the way she treated the maids as she got older. You could see Doris was thrilled. I think she was as upset as I was by the way Zan changed as she grew up.

  She asked all about Todd and Caroline and my parents. She asked about Neels, and I was positive, I really was. She’s staying in the room she always used to sleep in when she came to Hondehoek, and she started to reminisce about how Doris and I used to help her make clothes for her Barbie dolls. She says she wants to dig them out again. I’m pretty sure they weren’t thrown away; Caroline used to play with them sometimes. Doris promises she will look for them tomorrow. Four years ago Zan would have been mortified at the suggestion that she ever played with dolls. The Barbie stuff is a tad embarrassing, but it was fun at the time.

  In fact we had a lot of fun when she was a little kid. She was only five when Penelope and Neels divorced. After we got married she and Edwin came to stay with us for the odd weekend. I felt sorry for her; her mother was an alcoholic with men around all the time. I was trying to get used to this weird country and she became my ally. I probably spoiled her a bit: we got her the pony, and Matt, who started off life as a cute little puppy before turning into that boisterous bruiser of a Labrador. Poor fellow; I miss him. Anyway, she was my little shadow at weekends, prattling away about this and that. When she took up swimming and began to win races, I used to take her to the meets, I cheered her on.

  And then … and then it all changed.

  But I think it’s going to be okay now. In fact in my current frame of mind, it will be nice to have the company. Of course, she doesn’t know that Neels and I are not getting on. That’s going to be difficult. Because when he comes home tonight she’s certainly going to notice it.

  June 29

  As I write this, Zan is thrashing up and down in the pool outside despite the temperature – it’s only about sixty. I don’t want her to see me writing in this diary.

  She was overjoyed to see Neels last night, and he her. He embraced her so tightly I’m amazed she managed to breathe. Despite myself, I was touched.

  But I’m still furious with him, although I did my best to hide it. It worked, I don’t think Zan noticed anything was wrong, but I’m not sure how long I can keep it up. If it hadn’t been for the fact that my husband is a cheating sonofabitch, it might have been a nice evening.

  I made coquilles Saint Jacques. Doris and I are a good team, I do like cooking with her. Zan told us a little of what she has been getting up to in Johannesburg. Apparently she shared an apartment with Tammy Mackie, the daughter of Don and Heather Mackie who were both members of the South African Communist Party and are now in exile. Tammy is banned, which means that she can’t go to any meetings of more than a certain number of people, but Zan can and does. I’m sure she didn’t tell us the half of what she’s up to, but it sounded quite exciting. Neels asked her to promise to be careful while she was staying with us. This she agreed to do, to my surprise.

  We didn’t mention the newspaper business once, although Neels said he wants to invite the Pellings over to dinner in a couple of days. We know them a little, but we’re hardly best friends. Graham Pelling is loaded, so there’s got to be some business motive behind that, I’m sure. Perhaps Neels can get him to buy the Mail. That would be good.

  I let Neels into my bed last night, but I didn’t talk to him. He tried to touch me but I shook him off.

  Bastard.

  June 30

  It’s been raining. The Hondekop is wreathed in wisps of cloud and a couple of miles upstream the valley has disappeared into a ceiling of thick gray. Everything is dripping wet. There’s no wind. The fynbos smells wonderful in the damp air. I was standing by the slave bell, trying to decide how to protect the tulip bulbs from the moles, when I heard a complicated whoop, followed by an answering call. It was a bokmakierie and his mate, flitting about somewhere in the branches of the white stinkwood tree. They are a kind of bush shrike, small with a yellow breast, black collar and loud voice, but the Afrikaans word captures the cadence of the call. The cock s
ings out “ka-weet, ka-weet, bokmakierie,” and the hen answers. There is something wonderfully domestic about them; I feel as if this is their garden as much as mine.

  Suddenly I found myself standing there, in the damp lush garden, with tears streaming down my face. I’m jealous of the married bliss of two dumb birds. I really need to get a grip.

  July 1

  Zan went to an End Conscription Campaign meeting in Cape Town this morning. I considered asking whether I could come with her, but I don’t quite have the courage.

  I’ve seen very little of Neels this past couple of days, although whenever I have seen him he looks in a nasty mood. There’s some heavy criticism of him in the newspapers today. He’s gone from benevolent dictator to evil tyrant in one day. Serves him right. I hope it hurts!

  It’s Caroline’s last day at school before the winter holiday. She seems more subdued than she usually does at the end of term. I’m sure she feels the tension between me and Neels. Poor girl!

  July 2

  Saturday, and Neels is taking the day off. The newspaper editorials, the letter pages and the journalists are all outraged over the closure of the Mail. They hate Neels, and it’s really getting to him. George and his journalists are demanding that Neels allow them to buy the Mail themselves, or find another friendly buyer. Neels told them that if they could find a buyer he would happily sell. He’s certain they won’t and I fear he is right.

  He spoke to me and Zan about it this morning over breakfast. He is very bitter: disillusioned. He says he has sunk millions of rand into the Mail over the years and no one is giving him any credit for that. He is a businessman first and always has been and no one can hide from the fact that the Mail’s numbers don’t add up. When P.W. Botha first came to power ten years ago saying he would change things, Neels was optimistic. But now he says he is pretty sure that the country is going to go up in flames in a couple of years and there’s nothing he can do about it. The police are getting ever more brutal, but so are the blacks. Bombs, necklacings, schoolchildren rioting, the Zulus and the UDF killing each other, his brother’s murder. The spiral of violence that he had hoped to avoid has started and it’s going to end in the most God-awful bloodshed. It’s time to quit.