by Arno Joubert
Alexa sighed. “It is. How well did you know her?”
Theron shrugged. “You know. She drifted in and out. Sometimes came to grab a bite to eat.”
“Did you supply her with drugs?” Neil asked.
Theron’s eyebrows shot up. “Why would you ask that?” He brushed his nose. His irises were dilated and he seemed agitated.
“Because you’re a drug dealer. As a matter of fact, you’re high right now,” Alexa said.
The man squirmed, his head hunched between his shoulders. “You can’t prove that. And if I am, which I most certainly am not, what does that have to do with anything?”
“I could get a warrant to search this place.”
“OK, lady. Jeez I had a snort or two.” He leaned forward. “Look, I don’t need this . . .” he looked around uncertainly, “. . . this information to come out. This is a small town.”
“Did you supply Alida with drugs?”
He pursed his lips. “Off the record?”
Who did he think she was, a damn reporter? “Of course.”
He nodded. “Yes, I did.”
“Did you have a sexual relationship with Alida?” Neil asked.
The corner of Theron’s mouth lifted into a smile. “There was no other way that she was going to pay me. Daddy’s pocket money wasn’t going to buy her a gram of anything.”
“What type of drugs?” Neil asked.
Theron shrugged. “Whatever she wanted.”
“Cocaine?”
Theron nodded.
“She had expensive taste. And she didn’t need to pay for anything?”
Theron shrugged. “She paid some. She was very pretty, you know?” He looked around. “Look, I have a business to run. Will that be all?”
Alexa stood up and slid in next to Theron. She grabbed Theron’s wrist and pulled it beneath the table then pushed his pinky back until she felt it snap. Theron’s eyes widened in shock then his face went red. He bit his lower lip until Alexa thought he was going to chew it off. His eyes darted around the room then settled on Alexa. “What the hell?” he hissed.
She started leveraging his ring finger back. “I’m going to do this until you promise me one thing,” she whispered, leaning closer to him.
“OK, anything,” he said, his voice cracking as he spoke. A drop of snot formed on the tip of his nose.
“Promise me you won’t be selling any more drugs.”
Theron closed his eyes and nodded fervently. “Anything, anything.”
“Pinky promise?” she asked with a smile.
He nodded again.
She let go of his hand. “I’ll be checking back often. If you break your promise, I break your fingers. And I tell Moolman.” She slid out and took her seat.
Theron sobbed, clutching his injured hand to his chest. He shuffled out of the booth uncomfortably then stood up and hurried away.
She turned to Neil, who was staring at her incredulously. “What?”
“Wasn’t that a bit extreme?”
“Only way to make sure he won’t harm anyone in the future.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Damn, I’m hungry. Where’s the food?”
Neil shook his head. “Amazing.”
“You know, I think we should pay Mitsu a visit after we’ve eaten.”
“De Vos’s wife?”
Surfer boy arrived, placed their plates on the table, and scurried away.
“Yep. Could you call her and set it up?”
Neil dug in his pocket, still shaking his head. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
Alexa flashed him a sweet smile then attacked her meat like a ravenous steppenwolf.
Yumi opened her eyes and sat bolt upright on the large bed. She blinked, trying to adjust to her new surroundings. She was in the cleanest room she had ever seen. And the strangest—like the photos in the magazines Ally used to bring.
Beautiful pictures adorned the patterned walls, and the place was filled with wooden objects polished to a sheen. Chairs and tables and other objects she didn’t know the use of were arranged around without any apparent pattern or reason. A large picture with people mouthing silent words hung against a wall, and a cool breeze wafted in from a window covered with a fine gauzy material.
She heard noises outside the window: jangling sounds like breaking glass, a sound like somebody hitting a tin plate with a spoon, and the soft crash of waves against rocks somewhere far away.
She sniffed the air. It smelled of flowers and grass and the salty ocean. No sweaty bodies or the stench of pee. None of the overwhelmingly starchy smells of the rice porridge that usually drifted in from the kitchen. Everything smelled foreign.
She sucked in a sharp breath as she heard a chair scrape behind her. She tried to push herself deeper into the cushions as she noticed an older man stand up from his chair and saunter toward her. He smiled. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust any man. They hurt girls. The only good man was a dead man, Ally used to say. Except her dad. And Jake.
He walked back to the table and fiddled with something, then he muttered something unintelligible, like he was speaking to himself. He turned around and watched her with a slight smile, like an old, crazed man. Like Dr. Wattana would do before he called one of the girls to his chamber. Before they would ultimately finish up on the altar.
He looked nothing like the doctor, though. He had silver hair and cold blue eyes. His face was brown, but she noticed that his chest was untanned above his V-necked T-shirt. He looked wiry, like he had been starved for years. But she noticed the thick veins on his muscular arms, and she knew he was strong.
He simply stood there, hands behind his back, looking amused. He didn’t move. It felt like forever.
Yumi jumped as she heard a loud banging noise. The man casually spun on his heel and walked to the door. He cracked it open and she heard a whispered conversation, then he came back carrying a steaming white bowl and a plate of bread. He placed it on the table then turned back toward her. Boy, it smelled good. She was starving.
He said something, the intonation of his voice making her guess that he was asking her a question. She swallowed hard. Questions meant trouble. Questions always needed to be answered. Questions like “Who’s next?” always had an answer.
He repeated the question. She shrugged. He smiled. Then he shifted his feet apart slightly, folded his arms behind his back, and smiled. He looked amused. An old, crazed, amused man.
She was trapped.
General Alain Laiveaux watched the child as she stuck her thumb in her mouth and started sucking. He had washed her with a washcloth as best he could then went to the local supermarket and bought her a frilly pink dress and a pink headband encrusted with costume jewelry. She held this in her hand, her eyes darting between him and the headband. She was a pretty young girl with large brown eyes and long black hair.
He didn’t know much about kids, Alexa being the closest person he had ever come to feeling a fatherly love for. He knew kids had to eat and sleep often, and when they were younger they shat themselves. He hoped this one was past that stage. If she did shit herself, he guessed he would probably have to dump her in the shower and rinse her off. He wasn’t going to change any diapers, that was for sure. He guessed he could probably ask Latorre to do it.
The girl obediently followed him around when he led her by the hand, but she didn’t speak and never responded to any of his questions. He didn’t know how to deal with kids, but one thing he did have was patience. She needed to eat soon, and he would wait patiently until the time came when she opened up to him.
He had asked Interpol to send him an interpreter, and the efficient busybody at Geneva had wanted to know which language. Damned if he knew. He said, “Asian,” and she responded that there were more than two thousand languages spoken in Asia and probably hundreds of thousands of dialects. He told her that he was the commander of investigations of Interpol, outranked only by one person and He lived in heaven, and she should send him somebody who knew which language t
he little girl spoke, even if it was the president of the USA. Damn smart-assed kids these days, no respect. Alexa would never be that cheeky with him. Not that he would mind. She was different. She had been through a lot in her short life. She had earned the right to be cheeky.
He watched the girl put the headband on her head. Merde, but she had almost ruined it all, l'enfant. If he hadn’t spotted her running around in the forest when he did, he might never have gotten the opportunity that he had now. She was worth a pretty penny to Wattana, he guessed.
The child swapped thumbs, staring at him in a stupor. He felt sorry for her, felt sorry for all of them, but he needed to do what he needed to do.
The girl looked up at him then gestured with her hand to her mouth. She was hungry. At last, he would feed her a spoonful for every piece of information he could get. He didn’t even know her name. He turned around and went to pick up the bowl of chicken soup when the kid made a dart for it, jumping up and bounding toward the door. Laiveaux jumped after her, dropping the bowl and messing up his neatly creased pants. He grabbed her around the waist as she struggled to unlock the door then lifted her off the ground. To his surprise she didn’t struggle, she simply went limp in his arms, admitting defeat. He carried her to the closet, shoved her inside, then locked the door firmly.
“Merde, do all kids have brain damage?” he thought as he tried to clean his pants with a towel. “They only develop an inkling of intelligence at thirty, I’m sure,” he muttered in French.
The girl slammed against the door, wailing and sobbing, making an awful racket. He knocked on the door. “Shush, be quiet.”
Putain, this wasn’t any good. He would have to quiet the little runt down before anyone heard. He fished the phone from his pocket and punched in a number. It was answered after one ring.
“Good day?”
“Hello, Dr. Wattana? My name is General Alain Laiveaux from Interpol.”
There was a brief silence before the doctor responded. “Yes, General. How may I help you today?”
“I think I have something that belongs to you.”
The doctor chuckled. “And what might that be?”
“The tattoo on her back says she’s number eight one three.”
Wattana was silent. Laiveaux could hear him breathing.
“Doctor?”
“Um, yes, I’m here.”
“I want one million dollars, cash.”
“You want me to pay you for her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Laiveaux laughed. “Money makes the world go round, my good doctor. If you don’t pay, I take her to Interpol. I’m sure that won’t do your research any good. Besides, I know a lot of people who are on your payroll already; why should I miss out?”
“OK. When can we meet?”
“As soon as you book my plane ticket.”
“Can I get hold of you on this number?”
“Yes, it’s my private phone.”
“Give me five minutes. I’ll get back to you.”
“Very well,” Laiveaux said and disconnected the call.
He wondered if the good doctor would set him up. He was almost certain he would try. He chuckled. The good doctor had another thing coming.
Mitsu de Vos sat on the edge of the couch, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes to the ground, her long hair forming a veil to the side of her face. The living room was decorated with sailing paraphernalia; an intricate model of a sailing vessel stood on a showcase filled with books. An old-fashioned television stood in the corner, turned to mute. The place lacked something, that female touch.
Neil leaned forward. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”
She cast him a quick glance then studied her hands again. “That’s OK. You’re doing your job, I suppose.”
She looked fragile, like a porcelain doll. She must have been twenty years younger than Eben. She was quite a catch. She wore no make-up except for bright red lipstick. He noticed that her upper lip was puffed up.
She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Sorry, I’m still very emotional.”
Neil nodded. “I understand, Mrs. de Vos.”
“Please call me Mitsu.”
“OK, Mitsu.” He looked at Alexa uncertainly and lifted his hands. She had wanted to see the woman, she should be asking the questions.
Alexa shrugged. “Mrs. de Vos, did you know your daughter was using drugs?”
Mitsu’s eyes darted up. “Alida? Drugs?”
Typical Alexa, getting straight to the point.
Alexa nodded. “Yes, Mrs. de Vos. Jake Petzer found drugs in her satchel and we questioned Henry Theron, the innkeeper. He supplied her.”
“Call me Mitsu,” she spat, then closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “Sorry.” She clutched the cushion to her chest. “I guess I suspected it. She was acting strange lately.” She blinked and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
“What happened to your lip?” Neil asked.
She gently touched her lip. “I walked into something.”
“Mitsu, does your husband beat you?” Alexa asked.
She straightened her back, the same defiant reaction. “That’s none of your business.”
“What happened to your lip, Mitsu?” Alexa asked again.
Mitsu held her hands to her face. Her shoulders jerked as she sobbed silently. She calmed down and dabbed her eyes with the tissue, then she took a deep breath and turned to Alexa. “I guess I need to be honest?”
“That would be appreciated, Mitsu.” Alexa said.
She hesitated. “Look, I’m no angel, Inspector Guerra. Neither is my husband.”
Alexa waited.
“I have certain . . .” she closed her eyes, then pursed her lips resolutely, “. . . certain character flaws.”
“Such as?”
“I’m bipolar. I suffer from bouts of extreme depression and elation. When I’m down, I hurt myself.” She pulled up her sweater and showed them her arm. It was marked with small, straight incisions, the ones closest to her wrist having healed, the ones on her forearm still scabbed. “I hurt myself. I hit myself because when I’m like this, I hate myself. I hate myself for doing this,” she said, rubbing her arm.
Alexa stood up and sat next to Mitsu, holding her hand. “I’m so sorry, Mitsu. Why don’t you get help?”
“And let the entire town know that the mayor’s wife is crazy?” she sobbed.
There was a soft knock on the door and a young black kid appeared in the doorway. “Everything OK, Mom?”
Mitsu nodded. “Yes, yes. I’m fine.” She smiled uncertainly. “Run along now, go do your homework.”
The kid nodded. “OK, but call me if you need any help,” he said, glowering at Alexa and Neil. He closed the door.
“Is that the boy from the township that Eben brought home?”
Mitsu nodded. “Yes, his name is Edward. He is very protective.”
Alexa smiled. “Bipolar is a sickness that can be treated, Mitsu.”
She shook her head. “No, no. You don’t know this place. I’ll be banished.”
“Does Eben know?”
“Of course. We live together.”
“So he doesn’t beat you?”
She laughed. “No, he’ll never. He’s the gentlest person you’ll ever meet.” She stared at the wall, a smile on her face, then she became serious again. “Don’t get me wrong, we have our arguments. In fact, lately we’re arguing all of the time. But no, he’ll never lay a finger on me.”
Alexa squeezed her hand. “Be honest, Mitsu. We ran blood tests on Alida. She was clean. If Alida wasn’t using the drugs, who were they for?”
Mitsu’s eyes darted up. “It’s a long story, Inspector,” she said softly.
“We need to get to the bottom of this.”
“I know.”
“So?”
Mitsu took a deep breath. “Alida gave the drugs to the security guards at PEP.”
“Why on earth would she do that?”
“Because they’re blackmailing me.”
Alexa stared at Mitsu in confusion. “Why?”
“Because I had an affair with one of them.”
Alexa glanced at Neil. “What?”
Mitsu closed her eyes. “I know. I was stupid. I was alone; Eben is always out and about on his official duties. I met Andy Peterson at the pub one day while having lunch. I was tipsy and he was sweet, in a rugged kind of way. He met me here and we made love. I was stupid. I told him never to come back again, that it was over between us. He didn’t take it very well.”
“But why don’t you just tell Eben about it? Clear the air.”
Mitsu laughed. “Oh, you don’t know Eben. He’s very loyal to me, but I don’t think he’ll ever have it in his heart to forgive me. He’ll leave me, I know he will.”
“How did Alida pay for the drugs?” Neil asked.
“I gave her the money, whatever I could get my hands on. We got it for cheap from Theron. Alida also tended the bar to help pay for them.”
Alexa and Neil exchanged brief glances. “OK, now that Alida is gone, why hasn’t Peterson gone through with his threats?”
Mitsu sniffed then dabbed her nose with the tissue. “Oh, he will. He’s phoned me probably a dozen times threatening to write a letter to Eben.”
“Why don’t you tell Eben he’s lying? It’s not like he has video footage or anything?”
“Oh, he’s got something way better than that.”
“What?” Neil asked.
Mitsu look embarrassed. “Do you mind if we excuse ourselves for a minute, Mr. Allen?”
Neil looked confused. “Sure, I guess.”
Mitsu stood up and led Alexa out of the room. “I need to show you something.”
A minute later they returned.
“What’s up?” he asked Alexa.
“She has a tattoo,” Alexa said. “In a very private place. She says only two men know about it.”
Neil nodded in understanding then smiled at Mitsu.
She averted her eyes, self-consciously picking at the thread on the hem of her dress. “I was quite adventurous during my youth.”
Neil chuckled. “OK, then. Moving right along. Do you want me to have a little talk with Peterson, show him the error of his ways?”