Water Music

by Margie Orford

  Its hard for her. She hasnt got a father, said Mrs Daniels. My husband, he drowned in a fishing accident. A girl needs her father in a place like this. Thats what I say. Otherwise she goes with gangsters. What else can she do? They dont take no for an answer.

  Whats his name? asked Clare.

  The shoulders of the womans dressing gown sagged.

  Chadley, said the little boy who was wrapped around her legs. Chadley Wewers. Hes mos there in the Wendy house at the back.

  22

  Clare knocked on the flimsy wooden door.

  Whos it? A rough voice.

  Child Protection, said Clare, not quite truthfully. Open the door. She didnt need to knock twice. A man opened the door, his jeans buckled low. Calvins a white stripe against his belly. His chest was inked blue with the gang chappies hed earned in prison, the tattoos giving a detailed history of his relationship with the law. He looked to be twenty-one, an old man by some standards. He had a gold bridge where hed had his Flats passion-gap filled the abalone hed fished out converted into mouth bling.

  Clare flashed her badge. Im looking for DesRay.

  A girl appeared in the doorway, the cold wind moulding her pink nylon nightie against her breasts, the tight curve of her belly, her bare legs. Bambi-eyes, full mouth, her bleached hair windblown.

  Youre DesRay? asked Clare.

  What you want, she said. I did nothing.

  There was a gap between the two young people and the door. Clare stepped inside. It was dim the windows salted up and grimy from the stiff wind that blew in off the ocean. Another flatscreen television, a sound system that looked like a spaceship. The room smelt of cigarettes and takeaways and sex. DesRays clothes lay in a heap on the floor. An orange hoodie, black leggings, muddy Nikes.

  You went mountain climbing last night, DesRay? Clare picked up one of her tackies. Size three.

  She looked at Clare and shook her head.

  I was here, she said.

  He was with you? asked Clare.

  We were together. The girl glanced at her boyfriend. He put his arm around her narrow shoulders.

  You been on the mountain too, Chadley? asked Clare. Theres mud on your jeans. Ive never seen mud in Hangberg all you get here is sand.

  Why you fucking with us?

  Like I said, Child Protection, said Clare. Is that your baby?

  Of course its my fucking baby, said Chadley.

  Do you go to the clinic with DesRay?

  Of course I go, said Chadley. I got to see what she must eat. What she must do. I check what they write there, its mos our baby. I take DesRay and the card to the clinic. I know what they think of me, but Im not a monster. Im making it right.

  I found DesRays clinic card on the other side of the valley, said Clare.

  His hand went instinctively to his empty back pocket.

  You dropped the card? asked Clare.

  I didnt drop nothing, he said.

  What were you doing up there, Chadley? asked Clare.

  I wasnt there, he said.

  So how did this get into Sylvan Estate?

  Maybe I lost it. DesRays hands went round her belly, a flash in her eyes. Maybe somebody picked it up.

  Like I say, why you fucking with us? He stepped forwards, but Clare didnt move. His eyes were bloodshot, and on his breath was the smell of decay of an amphetamine user.

  Chadley, dyou know a girl called Rosa Wagner? said Clare. She didnt step back, didnt drop her gaze. Theres traces of her blood close to where this card was found. It would help if you told me what you were doing up there.

  I did fuck-all, so fuck you. He fumbled in his pockets for a lighter. Leaned over and took a box of cigarettes out of the shopping bag on the table.

  There were a couple of Sweetie Pie wrappers there too, said Clare. She lifted a shopping bag from the mess on the table. Inside it were Nik Naks, a Sweetie Pie, a bottle of milk, a cash slip.

  The KwikShop on Valley Road, she said. Thats far from here.

  Its pregnant women. You mos know what theyre like. Want weird stuff all the time.

  Clare smoothed out the slip. So you walked up there at three this morning? She pocketed the receipt.

  I know my rights, said DesRay. You cant come in here and take my stuff without a warrant.

  Should I get one? asked Clare.

  DesRay shrugged and the sweater shed tied around her shoulders slipped, exposing her skinny upper arms. Five fading fingerprints on each.

  Id like to know what you and your boyfriend were doing up there, said Clare.

  Wes mos family, said Chadley.

  So thats why shes got those bruises? asked Clare.

  DesRay covered her upper arms with her hands.

  Chadley was with me all the time. Her face mutinous.

  You were both up there, said Clare.

  You cant prove fuck-all, lady, said DesRay. She looked at Chadley, her eyes question marks.

  Not yet, said Clare. But I soon will.

  Clare headed home, past narrow streets, cramped cul-de-sacs and graffitied walls. This is where he was most at home. This was Riedwaan Faizals territory.

  23

  The Gang Unit building had a state-of-the-art security system that had never worked. Riedwaan Faizal went through the motions anyway

  He placed his yellowed index finger on the scanner. It flashed red. He did it again. And a third time.

  State-of-the-art se moer, Captain. The security guard spat, lifting the heavy boom. Welcome back. Whereve you been, Captain?

  Joburg, said Riedwaan.

  He had been awake all night. His mother, spry as a city sparrow, had fractured her hip while he was away. Leaving suddenly to see her would have broken his cover and the precarious trust he had built with his twitchy source. So hed done what had already cost him a marriage: he put work before family. The most he could get from his job was a bullet in the head. But with family came reproach and yearning and the long, slow twisting of the heart.

  Still, he had come back, and last night hed been at her bedside, her bony hand in his, the hollow feeling in his chest growing as he watched her fade. And hed broken his promise to Clare. He was in shit.

  The building was only a year old, but the brass plaque commemorating its opening had not been polished in twelve months. The police commissioner who had done the honours was now serving fifteen years for racketeering. Or corruption; Riedwaan could never remember which, and in the end it didnt really matter.

  He took out his phone as he pushed the revolving doors open, and dialled Clares number. He counted the rings as he walked past empty offices along the Gang Unit corridor. Eight offices, eight rings. The specialised units bleeding, bleeding. What hed worked for twenty years to create was a husk of the dream he had started out with.

  Clare was not picking up.

  He kicked open the door to his empty office. His desk was a mess. Coffee cups, ashtrays, no one to nag him about it. He lit a cigarette.

  Dont smoke inside. Clare walked in, the tip of her nose red from the cold.

  Sorry I didnt make it back last night. No sleep and too many cigarettes had put gravel in his voice. He put his arms around her. She did not soften.

  At least I slept, and Fritz was happy.

  That cat hates me, said Riedwaan.

  Whereve you been?

  My mother broke a hip, said Riedwaan. I couldnt leave her.

  I missed you.

  Ja, well. But you knew I was undercover, said Riedwaan. I couldnt call you.

  Whatever. Clare felt the tears. She stepped out of his embrace and walked to the window. Gulls squabbled outside. A couple of homeless men were tipping dustbins. Friday nights KFC packs fluttering in the wind.

  My mothers on her way out, said Riedwaan. He took Clare by the shoulders, turned her round to face him.

  Why didnt you just phone me? The weight of what she had to tell him pressed against her ribs, but the bleak police building could not contain what she needed to say. I ask you for so little. Just t
his. Let me know youre safe.

  Im doing one thing, said Riedwaan. Thats where my thoughts are. I dont think till after, and then its too late.

  Its called male brain.

  Dont hide behind that, Clare, said Riedwaan. Dont disappear into yourself.

  She turned away.

  Whats wrong? he asked. What are you not telling me?

  Im fine, she said. The lines around his eyes did not disappear when his smile went. Clare wondered when that had happened, why shed never noticed this before. Just tired, and sick of all this.

  So thats why you phoned me early this morning?

  No, Clare looked ahead. Its not why I called.

  You going to tell me?

  Later, said Clare. At dinner.

  Oh, fuck, said Riedwaan. Its your birthday.

  Ja, said Clare. Its my birthday.

  Thats why youre so the moer-in with me?

  No, Riedwaan. Its not.

  The little girl, said Riedwaan. Tell me about it.

  You heard?

  On the news.

  Shes alive, shes in hospital, said Clare. Anwar Jacobs is looking after her. Shell pull through. Thats the most important thing. The rest who did it, why thatll come later.

  So thats not why youre here?

  Chadley Wewers, said Clare. You know him?

  Why are you asking? The name snagging a memory that wouldnt quite rise to the surface.

  A girl went missing. Rosa Wagner, shes a cellist, said Clare. Been gone for three weeks. Then she calls her grandfather. We find no trace of her. Except for some blood by the phone. Also a torn-up pregnancy clinic card in a cottage near the house where she phoned from. A whole lot of tik paraphernalia, sweet wrappers, cigarettes, some charming schoolgirl bondage porn. Mandla Njobe and Gypsy found the same tik stuff and rubbish half-way up the mountain. Turns out the clinic card belongs to a fifteen-year-old called DesRay Daniels. Wewers is her boyfriend.

  Youve met him? asked Riedwaan.

  Yes, said Clare. A gangster.

  Wewers, said Riedwaan. Ive heard the name, cant place it. Theres lots of them. Youve got your map?

  This is where they were. Clare spread out the map of Hout Bay. Shed marked where the child had been found, marked where Chadley Wewers had sat smoking and eating Sweetie Pies while a child was freezing to death in the slush. Marked where Rosa had made her last call, marked where the building was where shed found the antenatal card and the tik lolly and the pictures of the bound and naked girls.

  Riedwaan studied the terrain. Seeing what fitted together, what didnt. Clare stood beside him, her shoulder brushing his. It was easiest this way the two of them comrades absorbed into the heartbreak of others.

  When I went to DesRays mothers house this morning, I found a slip from the KwikShop in the Wendy house at the back, where DesRay lives, said Clare. Chadley was at the KwikShop; I saw the CCTV footage. He was also on the mountain and in that cottage at Sylvan Estate. I want to know what he was doing up there.

  Chadley, said Riedwaan. The girls probably the only person who calls him that, apart from his mother if you could find a woman whod confess to having given birth to him. Gang Records. Theyll have him down as that too. Lets see what we can get out of Tracy Darke. Shes in. I just saw her car.

  They walked to the opposite end of the corridor, Clare inscrutable beside him.

  Youve gone silent on me, said Riedwaan, as they waited for the lift. What are you not saying?

  The doors opened, but there were two officers inside. When they got out on the ground floor she simply said, Nothing.

  She was lying, Riedwaan knew that, but he didnt press her. He was afraid of the truth; he was afraid shed say that this last absence was one too many. That he wasnt worth the wait. That he couldnt hear not now. So he said nothing either, and the doors opened and they were in the basement and Riedwaan was tapping in the code for a reinforced steel door.

  24

  Gang Records. It was the Gang Units creation, massive and malign. An elaborate family tree of sorts, tracking the connections between members formal and informal of the gangs that ruled Cape Town. A vast family, bound by blood. A sinister web of loyalties and traded violence, operating inside the prisons, and also on the outside. Tracy Darke had transformed Riedwaan Faizals vision of ordered information into a reality, and Riedwaan treasured her for that.

  Tracy, he said when she opened the door. Whereve you been?

  Ive been right here, she grinned at him. Come in. Hello, Clare. Tracy had been pretty once, her fathers little princess decades before, and thats how she still dressed. Frills and curls and clips and too much lipstick.

  Captain. Heart FM was schmaltzing in the background. You missing me?

  Always, Tracy, he said. Always.

  Ha, youre telling me that because you want something from me.

  Tracy, dont be like that.

  Men, said Tracy, rolling her eyes at Clare, Not that hard to figure out, hey? OK, what do you want to know?

  Chadley Wewers, said Clare. Can you get his record for me? His connections?

  Hey, you know how many Wewerses there are?

  But I only want one Chadley.

  Ill see what I can get. She settled her spectacles on her tip-tilted nose. Wait over there.

  Tracy Darkes long red nails attacked her keyboard, digging into the database she had so painstakingly built, one depressing case at a time.

  I think youre going to be very happy with me, Captain, she said, leaning closer to her screen, clicking her way through the links that appeared.

  Im always happy with you, Tracy, said Riedwaan. Show us.

  Whats in it for me? She turned to face him; Riedwaan knew the deal.

  Dinner, said Riedwaan. Roxys in Rosebank. Wednesday. Ill pick you up after work. But now: Chadley Wewers.

  I have a couple here, said Tracy. One Chadley Wewers from Hanover Park, one from Hangberg, one from

  Hangberg, said Riedwaan. Thats the one I want.

  Pollsmoor Prison, Tracy read off the screen while the information printed. Thats where he was until a couple of weeks ago. Been a gang member since he was nine. The Sexy Boys. Been in and out of jail since he was fourteen. His uncle was a general in one of the prison gangs. He had his record wiped when he turned eighteen. All the usual, said Tracy. Dealing, rape, attempted murder.

  The latest charge?

  Assault, said Tracy. The victim was a drug dealer, by the looks of things. A foreign national.

  So whys he out?

  Paroled early, said Tracy. Good behaviour, participation in rehab programmes, anger management classes, an offer of work.

  Wewers Colin of course, said Riedwaan. Rang a bell.

  Hes dead now, Captain, said Tracy. Murdered in prison. But hang on, theres one more thing here.

  Clare waited. More typing, more Heart FM schmaltz.

  Here it is, she said. The new thing in the governments programme is community bridging. Meant to make citizens part of the crime solution… hang on a minute, bloody database is slow today.

  Another love song. Whitney Houston wailing from the other side of the grave. Clare thought her head might explode.

  The FAF, Captain, said Tracy. Thats the name of the Justice Department approved body. Stands for Fresh Air Fund.

  People get paid for this? asked Riedwaan.

  Apparently. Tracy Darke turned around to face them. Kind of outsourcing. They say here that theyre helping the less fortunate, giving a second chance. All that bullshit. You want the directors name?

  Tell me, said Riedwaan.

  The director of FAF, which has its office in Hout Bay harbour, said Tracy Darke, turning around to face them, is a Mr Stavros September.

  Tracy, said Riedwaan. Youre the hottest thing in Records.

  Anything for you, Captain. Sorry, I have to take this call its my father. She picked up her phone. Youll find your way out?

  Clare and Riedwaan walked along the corridor towards the entrance.

  Dyou know this Sept
ember guy? asked Clare.

  She pushed the revolving door open. It was cold outside, even the gulls complaining.

  Been watching him for years. Riedwaan lit a cigarette. Everyone calls him Stavros the Greek in honour of the man who may or may not have been his father, who may or may not have been Greek. Not even Stavross mother knew for sure.

  Hes from Hangberg?

  Born and bred, said Riedwaan. Knows the sea and the mountains like the lines on his face.

  Whats his business?

  The usual. Abalone and tik the Capes economy, said Riedwaan. Rents out rubber ducks to the abalone poachers, skippers yachts for men who can afford them but dont know how to sail them.

  So hows he connected to Wewers?

  Ill go ask him.

  Right now? Clare unlocked her car.

  Riedwaans phone beeped. He checked the message. I must talk to Phiri first. Hes on his way.

  Theres so little time, Riedwaan, said Clare, starting her car.

  Itll be OK. Phiri thinks you can do no wrong.

  Riedwaan watched the colonels white Isuzu turn into the entrance, a brief altercation with the guard. There he is now. Ill sort things.

  25

  Faizal. Colonel Edgar Phiri got out of his vehicle. He was a tall man, spare, hair graying, eyes that saw much and revealed little. Do I look like a nobody, Captain?

  Not at all, sir, said Riedwaan. Why?

  That guard, said Phiri. Every time he forgets my face. Every time I come he asks for my ID. Its like Im a spook.

  Youre not a ghost, sir, said Riedwaan. Not yet.

  Phiri pulled his briefcase out of the Isuzu.

  That was Dr Hart you were talking to, he said as he straightened up. She didnt seem happy.

  How dyou guess?

  Body language.

  Im in trouble, said Riedwaan.

  Tell me something new, Faizal. Phiri pocketed his keys. Ive had Cwele on my case. Tells me youve been making some high-ups uncomfortable. Ina Britz has had the ministers advisor yapping for Clares report. If he finds the two of you are working together its not going to be easy for me.

  Im sorry, sir, said Riedwaan.