Thanks, Piet, said Clare. And if youve got some tea, thatd be great.
Clare opened the report on the DNA match. The coding was clear. Mother and daughter. The algorithms of the corpses genetic makeup had churned through Clares database, producing a name and a nationality: Esther Previn, German.
Born and bred in Berlin, the dead woman had been reported missing a decade earlier. The last time she was seen alive was at Daddy Cool, a youth hostel wedged between a row of clubs on Long Street. In an interview, the hostel manager had said she was on her way to India. That was it apart from the name of a lawyer, Jens Bekker, and a Berlin phone number.
From the professor. A mortuary attendant in white overalls and white rubber boots handed Clare a mug of tea.
Youre a saint, she said. Thanks.
Prof says to just close the door when you done.
Sure, said Clare, picking up her phone.
A womans voice answered. Clare gave her name and asked to speak to Bekker.
In connection with what matter is this? the secretary asked after a brief delay. He is busy.
Tell him its about Esther Previn, said Clare. She went missing in South Africa ten years ago. We have found her body. Tell him this and hell want to talk to me.
A mans voice, incredulous.
Dr Hart? This is Bekker. You are telephoning on behalf of Fraulein Previn?
No, said Clare. Weve found a body, and weve matched it to the Interpol missing persons data bank.
This is not possible, he said. It must be someone else.
Theres something I need to know did Esther Previn play the flute?
Yes, yes, said the lawyer. She was with the Berlin Philarmonic, how do you know this?
A DNA test. There is no doubt its her. Please tell me what you know about Esther Previn.
The fraulein had a breakdown and went travelling. She left Germany, went to South Africa. She played in the Cape Philharmonic. That is all the family knew. People thought she might be in India. She had written once to say she was going, but they werent sure.
So, no one looked for her?
She was not a child, remember that, said the lawyer. She was a woman of twenty-five at the time.
Why was she declared dead? asked Clare.
Her things were found by the sea her flute, everything. They think she went into the sea and drowned.
Where was this?
On a beach near a forest I think it was a forest, along a coastal route. You know the place?
Sounds like Natures Valley, said Clare.
Jawohl. That is the place, he said. No body was ever found, but I understand there are sharks there.
Did the parents not follow up on this?
Both of them had passed away, said the lawyer. There was a sister, but she and Esther were estranged. The parents left a large estate. The details had to be resolved. But she was declared dead many years ago I suppose you have found the skeleton?
What we found was a body.
The lawyer was silent.
Well, as long as she remains deceased, said the lawyer. It would make for a lot of legal difficulties if she were alive.
Shes only been dead a week, said Clare. And nobody has looked for her.
But the important fact is, Esther Previn is dead, said the lawyer.
Yes, shes dead, said Clare. She also suffered a great deal before she died, thats for sure. But theres also a child, a little girl of three or four we arent sure yet, as she cant tell us. Weve established that she is Esther Previns daughter. The little girl is very much alive.
There was a long silence.
Now that does complicate matters, said lawyer. Where has the child been all this time?
In a place where neither of them seems to have seen the light of day for many years the child perhaps never, said Clare. But we have no idea yet where they were held, or by whom. All I can tell you is that the child whose name is Esther will need a great deal of care. So I would ask you to find someone who will claim her.
Of course. This is most unfortunate.
Clares phone vibrated on the desk.
I have another call coming in. Please excuse me. I hope to hear from you soon.
Is that Dr Clare Hart? A voice all mink and manure. This is Cassies dressage teacher. She gave me your private number. A claw in the voice. The hotline is hopeless. Its like phoning an Indian call centre. It probably is an Indian call centre.
Cassie?
Its been terrible for her, I can tell you. Her poor horse, he pulled a tendon when he bolted and its touch and go whether theyll be ready for the national trials in July.
Has Cassie told you something?
No, no, said the woman. Cassies fine, but Ive been so dis tracted with her that I didnt pay attention to the other poor girl. This cellist.
What about her?
I saw her picture in the paper, said the woman. And I said to Cassie, Ive seen her. Im sure it was her. So she said that I had to phone you at once, it was your case too.
Clare closed the folder on Esther Previn and her daughter.
Where did you see her? When? she asked.
At that garage with the KwikShop. It was the Friday. Mustve been the twenty-fifth of May.
Youre sure of the date?
Absolutely, said the woman. One of my horses had colic. I was up all night leading him. They die if you dont, you know, the intestines twist and they keel over. Too ghastly.
Do you know what time you saw her?
It was late, said the woman, One, maybe two in the morning.
And it was definitely Rosa Wagner? Long black hair, slim, brown skin.
Oh, absolutely, said the woman. She was wearing a red velvet dress and carrying a cello case. It got stuck in the door. I helped her get it out.
Did you speak to her?
She just said thank you and went round the back to where the loos are.
And you didnt see her again?
No, she said. Which is funny, because I walked my horse up and down that road all bloody night. It was my daughters wedding the next day and, as you can imagine, I looked a wreck. Jemima was furious.
Did you see any cars that night? Clare asked. Round the time you saw Rosa?
Not a thing, said the woman, until that absurdly expensive vet of mine arrived and did sweet blow all and charged me anyway. So sorry that I dont have more to tell you, Clare.
Thats plenty, said Clare. Thanks. Send my love to Cassie. Shes a fine girl.
Clare closed the file on the two Esthers. The mother was dead, and the daughter was alive and safe with Anwar Jacobs. She felt a surge of hope that Rosa was alive and that she was going to find her.
52
Clare swiped her security card and the door to the Section 28 offices opened. She put her coffee and croissant on the desk and opened Moutons report on the DNA match. Mother and daughter. The coding was clear. Esther Previn and the little girl slowly coming back to life in Anwar Jacobss orderly hospital ward. Clare made her notes, put the file away, and opened the folder with Rosa Wagners name on it.
She took it over to the map on the wall, marked a place in red. The same place Chadley Wewers had been on Friday night, where he had bought cheap party food en route to the dismal cottage in Sylvan Estate. She stepped back from the map, her finger on her cheek. She dialled and waited for the officer on duty to pick up.
SAPS. Exhaustion in the womans voice.
Chadley Wewers, said Clare. I want to ask him a couple more questions. Dont let him go yet.
Hes long gone, Doc, said the officer. Him and Jonny Diamond, that other low-life you brought in. Both of them released last night. I thought the order came from you.
Not mine, said Clare. She turned round and glanced at the Hout Bay Police station on the other side of the muddy lot. And not Captain Faizals either.
We were told to let them go, said the officer. Theyve both lodged a complaint against you.
What for?
Wrongful arrest. Im sorry, Doc, but we were just fo
llowing orders.
The vehicle turning into the parking lot caught Clares attention. Her heart gave an annoyingly anxious jump. A shiny black Pajero, not Ina Britzs old Jeep that shed been looking out for.
Jakes Cwele, she said to the officer at the other end of the phone.
I think so. The officers voice muffled, as if she didnt want to be heard. Theres even more rumours than usual. Someone said Major Britz is going to be arrested.
Dr Hart.
Clare turned to see Cwele filling the doorway.
Can I come in?
Without waiting for her response, Cwele sauntered into her office. She stepped sideways, putting the desk between them.
You released two suspects, said Clare. Why did you do this?
Police business is no concern of yours, Dr Hart, he said, leaning his torso across the desk. And Captain Faizal is on his way to join the Economic Stability Unit. There are enough stray bullets up there to keep his attention.
With all due respect, sir, said Clare. Do you have a reason to be in my office?
You are suspended, Dr Hart. His voice was thick with menace. The 28s are finished. You are going back where you belong. And Ina Britz, once shes answered corruption charges, will write the report shes instructed to write.
No chance of that, said Clare.
Major Britz does not have the luxury of your privileged position. He stepped around the desk, ran a finger along Clares wrist. She will write what shes told in the end. Because otherwise shell have nothing. That you can be sure of.
What are these corruption charges? demanded Clare.
I ordered an audit of the 28s expenditure, said Cwele. Several unverified invoices were found. For petrol, for coffee, for flowers. This is where it starts. This is where it must be rooted out.
Youre telling me this, having just released two suspects in a possible abduction case?
There was no proof, said Cwele, plus you entered the home of a well-respected member of the public.
Milan Savić, said Clare. Yes. You may be interested to know that Rosa Wagner this girl you are happy to see disappear was last seen at the home of Mr Savić. We had every reason to go there.
You went without a warrant, said Cwele. A powerful man with lawyers and connections, and you decide to drag the good name of the South African Police Service through the mud?
Cwele took a letter out of his pocket and put it on her desk. Clare did not even glance at it.
Your suspension order, Dr Hart. He smiled a slow, triumphant smile. And the terms of the investigation into your activities.
Clare grabbed her keys and headed for the doorway. Cwele moved fast for such a big man. He pinned her to the door. Hard hands. One on her left wrist, one on the right. There were no cameras to catch what he was doing. He knew that. And she knew that.
Im not finished with you, Dr Hart.
But Im finished with you.
Clare raised her right knee fast and hard. He bellowed as she ran down the steps and yanked her car door open. She had wrenched the car into reverse before the front door flew open.
Cwele filled the doorway. He made the perfect target, framed there if shed had a gun in her bag. Clare watched him in her rear-view mirror, imagining herself turning, firing, the doorway empty again, the sunlight streaming back inside. But the guard was already opening the boom for her and she was turning into the road filled with Monday-morning taxis, and the moment was lost.
53
Clare wished that her heart would slow down. Her hands were shaking on the wheel. Part rage, part fear, part revulsion. The traffic lights up ahead were red. She stopped, opened the door and threw up, and felt better.
Ag, shame, my lady. The beggar was watching her through fake Ray-Bans, holding up his sign. He moved in front of Clares car; hed had the sign laminated. No fingers, small change, pleese help. He wasnt moving out of her way.
You promised me something next time.
It was true, but all she had was a fifty. She gave it to him and he got out of her way.
God bless you, my lady, he said, as Clare turned into the garage. God bless.
The parking in front of the KwikShop was blocked by a Land Rover with a horsebox, so Clare drove around to the delivery area at the back of the building and went into the KwikShop. The television was muted, actors silently shouting at each other on the screen. The single cashier was slumped over a magazine. Mercy said the sagging nametag on her green-and-yellow uniform.
Hello, Mercy, said Clare.
The cashier glanced up.
Have you seen this girl? Clare pushed a photograph of Rosa over to her.
Mercy did not look at it.
No.
She was seen in here, in your shop, three weeks ago. Her pictures been everywhere. In the papers. She picked up a copy of The Voice, pointed to a photograph on page three.
I read, I saw, said Mercy, popping a piece of gum into her mouth.
You didnt think of phoning the Section 28 hotline? Clare struggled to conceal her impatience. It was in all the papers, on TV, with her picture.
Mercy eyed Clare. I left home, came here. I never told anyone till one of my cousins saw me in Cape Town. It was four years after I left. I never wanted them to know. I never wanted to go home again. With a long red nail she tapped the picture of Rosa. Maybe this girls like me.
Her grandfather
I also had a grandfather. Mercy folded her arms. Hes why I left.
Im sorry, Mercy. But imagine that you had a grandfather you loved, said Clare. This girl was going home to him he was sick shed earned money to save his life, but she never made it back home. Three weeks later she phoned him, asking for help. When I arrived to help her there was no one, just blood on the wall.
You should write for Isidingo. Mercy took the photograph from Clare, studied it a long time.
She bought some Grandpa headache powder, and some pads. She asked for the toilet key, said Mercy. I gave it to her. She was gone for a long time, then she brought it back. She gave me the key. She turned the photograph over. She had a big guitar case with her. It got stuck in the door. The lady with the horsebox, she came in, helped her, and then she was gone.
Mercy pushed the photograph back to Clare, shifted on her stool.
Thats the last you saw of her? asked Clare.
She walked that way, into the dark.
Mercy pointed down the tree-shadowed road that wound its way up the valley. Big houses, paddocks, a streetlight or two, cameras that had seen nothing, and the soaring sweep of Judas Peak.
Did a car come by? asked Clare. Did she get a lift?
No, she was just gone.
Mercy blew a big pink bubble. Popped it.
Can I have the key to the bathrooms? asked Clare.
Mercy unhooked a key, already reaching for her magazine.
Clare walked around to the womens toilet and unlocked it. She looked inside, nothing but chipped white tiles and the smell of bleach.
She pictured Rosa, remembered her grandfathers story about her schoolgirl panic, her running away from playground harassment. Boys pulling up her skirt. Looking, laughing.
Clare washed her hands in the stained basin Rosa had used, returned the key. On the garage forecourt, she stepped over water puddles iridescent with oil. She studied the tree-lined avenue. Mountain Men Neighbourhood Watch signs everywhere. Nothing moved, but there was a tall steel pole where the oaks reached the vanishing point.
Clare dialled Ina Britz, but she didnt pick up. A text came through instead.
Shit + Fan here. Cweles checking all the 28 accounts & is looking 4 U. sez U assaulted him!? Stay away. Will call later. VOK!!
Fuck, indeed. Clare paused a minute, dialled Mandla Njobe.
Mandla, said Clare. I need a favour. Pictures from the Neigh bourhood Watch cameras. Can you go into the office?
Im here, Doc, said Mandla. What do you need?
Friday, twenty-fifth of May, two people saw Rosa Wagner at the KwikShop. The same place Chadley Wewer
s did his late-night shopping on Friday. Its on the way to Sylvan Estate.
Whats Captain Faizal say? asked Mandla, respect in his voice.
Right now, hes on a plane out of Cape Town, said Clare. Official orders.
Why? The Cape is what he knows, we need him here.
Economic Stability Unit, said Clare.
Doing the dirty work for dirty politicians, said Mandla. And Wewers did you ask that piece of rubbish if he was at the shop three weeks ago?
I would if I could, said Clare. Jakes Cwele released him, so you have to help me. Im relying on the Neighbourhood Watch cameras, the ones you Mountain Men monitor.
Eish, said Mandla. What time was this girl there?
It was late, one or two in the morning. Then she walked up the road. There are some facial recognition cameras half-way up, I want to know if she passed that way.
We already checked those, said Mandla. They dont show anything.
Please check again, said Clare. From one till three, on the twenty-fifth of May.
OK, Ill call you back.
Clare thought of Riedwaan, about to head north to sprawling Joburg with its Highveld dust and veld-fire smoke. It took her a long time to compose the text she wanted to send him. She put her hand on her belly. Jirre, vok, jys in die kak, meisie, is what Ina Britz might say.
Then her phone rang and it was Mandla and she could stop thinking and start doing again.
You find anything, Mandla?
Theres a picture of a girl with a funny suitcase at 2.03.
Thats her. Tell me what you can see.
Not much, said Mandla. She goes into the shop, comes out, goes round the back, goes back into the shop, then shes out and she just walks into the dark.
And thats it?
She takes her case and walks down the road, said Mandla. No vehicles, nothing. Shes there and then shes not.
And further down the road?
Theres a camera there, said Mandla. But it didnt pick her up.
OK, said Clare. Ill check it out.
She ended the call, shoving her phone into her jacket pocket. An articulated truck with engine trouble pulled up behind the garage, blocking the exit. She was about to ask the driver to move when she saw the black Pajero pull into the filling station. Cwele and a couple of uniforms went into the KwikShop.
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