The Fallen

by Jassy Mackenzie

  Ducking her head against the hard, driving rain, she ran towards the staff quarters, following the direction of the sound. A few seconds later she burst into the narrow corridor, under cover at last.

  Right in front of her was the cleaner. She was a few feet away from an open door, crouched down against the railings, her head buried in her hands. Sobs racked her body and the loud cries burst from her lips, harsh and agonised, as if she had no control over them at all.

  ‘Hi there,’ Jade called. ‘What’s the matter?’

  She could hear the uncertainty in her own voice, too. She walked forward and, although her feet made a loud noise on the hollow-sounding board flooring, the cleaner gave no sign she had heard her.

  Looking more closely at the door, Jade now saw the wood surrounding the lock was splintered, as if it had been forced.

  Inside … Jade’s breath quickened and she blinked rapidly as she took in the gruesome scene.

  The body of a young woman was sprawled face up on the floor in front of the bed, her arms outstretched, her head half covered by the duvet. The floorboards were stained dark with blood and the pale bed linen was covered with deep-red splashes and streaks.

  And the corpse … Jade steeled herself for a closer look, realising her hands were cold and her heart was hammering.

  The wounds must have been made by a knife. One long, deep cut had slashed right through her pink T-shirt and sliced her stomach wide open, the wound exposing a bloody mess of innards. A smaller stain on her left breast showed Jade where the only other visible cut had been inflicted.

  Looking around the tidy room, Jade could see no sign of the weapon that had been used to kill her.

  Then she heard herself give a small, involuntary moan as the awful truth hit her.

  This little bedsit was neat. The covers might be blood-stained, but there were no half-empty bottles of mayonnaise on the windowsill and the window itself was shaded by a new-looking bamboo blind, not by curtains.

  This was not Monique’s room, as she had first assumed. Looking further down the corridor she could see that Monique’s wooden door was shut tight, the way they had left it last night. In fact, since Monique clearly hadn’t been alerted by the Zulu woman’s screaming, Jade doubted whether she had even come home.

  This was the room next door.

  Stepping forward carefully to avoid a dark, sticky-looking pool of blood, she took hold of the top of the duvet and carefully teased it away from the corpse. To her dismay, she found herself staring into the lifeless eyes of the woman she had last seen alive the day before; the scuba-diving instructor she now realised she had come to regard as a friend.

  Amanda Bolton.

  13

  Detective Inspector Pillay from the Richards Bay investigation unit reminded Jade of a startled fawn. She had no idea they made detectives so young these days, so wide-eyed, or indeed so slim. He barely looked out of his teens, although she knew he must be in his mid-twenties at least.

  At any rate, she didn’t place a whole lot of confidence in the slender, olive-skinned, smooth-jawed man who, after having instructed his even younger-looking black assistant to cordon off the corridor on both sides of the door with a brand-new roll of yellow crime-scene tape, was now approaching Amanda’s corpse as cautiously as if it might bite.

  Although inexperienced, the crime-investigation unit had certainly been prompt. They had arrived within a few minutes of Jade dialling 10111, and an ambulance had arrived shortly afterwards.

  The first thing Jade had done was to run back to the chalet and wake David. He had been fast asleep on the couch in an uncomfortable-looking position that she was sure his back would start telling him all about later in the day.

  He’d frowned when he saw her, struggling into a sitting position, and she knew he was going to ask where on earth she had been.

  She’d pre-empted his questions by telling him, rather breathlessly, to call the emergency services and then get his arse over to the staff quarters as fast as he could, because there had been a murder.

  Then she’d run straight back to the scene of the crime, where she had helped the cleaner to her feet and led her gently back to her own room at the end of the passage. There, Jade sat her down on her bed and made her a big mug of strong, sweet tea.

  The woman, whose name Jade learnt was Nosipho, was still trembling from head to toe. She held the mug of tea in both hands and sipped it carefully, staring at the wall with the blank gaze of somebody who had seen too much.

  At the sound of approaching sirens, she’d hurried outside again to find David standing by Pillay’s car. Once introductions had been made and David’s assistance been offered and accepted, the detectives had splashed over to the crime scene, leaving Jade waiting near the police car, staring across at the splintered door.

  The news had already begun to spread throughout the resort, as fast and nasty as a bad smell driven by the wind. And, just like a bad smell, the closer people were to it the sooner they reacted.

  Her immediate neighbour was the first to appear.

  ‘Is there something wrong?’ She heard Craig’s voice, softly, from behind her.

  She turned to see him standing a few feet away and staring through the rain at the crime-scene tape, his waterproof jacket slung over his shoulders. His hair was still rumpled from sleep.

  ‘Yes, there is,’ Jade replied, her voice equally hushed. ‘Amanda’s been murdered.’

  Craig stared at her, shocked into silence. His eyes widened and his jaw slackened as the horror of the words sank in.

  ‘Jesus,’ he said eventually. ‘You mean, here?’

  ‘Yes. In her room.’

  Jade had to speak loudly, because another set of sirens was signalling the arrival of an ambulance.

  ‘She was stabbed,’ she added.

  ‘Holy shit.’

  They were silent for a minute. Then, ‘Where’s Monique?’ Craig asked.

  Jade shrugged. ‘I don’t know. The detective knocked on her door a few minutes ago and there was no answer. Her car’s still parked round the back.’

  Craig’s lips tightened and he shook his head.

  Then wheels splashed through water as Elsabe’s Corsa drove slowly towards the chalet. Elsabe braked hard when she saw the ambulance, then inched her car forward and into its parking bay. Craig turned away and went to meet her.

  The policemen went slowly about their work. Jade watched Inspector Pillay dusting the outside of the door for prints. He did it carefully, methodically, with narrowed eyes and rather unsteady hands. He looked like he was doing it the way that a person did it when they’d only ever read about it in books, or perhaps done it a few times at training college.

  It took a few minutes for the news to reach the last chalet in the row; the one occupied by a married couple called Larry and Roxanne. They were from Gauteng as well, according to the number plate on their oversized, bright-orange Hummer.

  Roxanne’s hair was almost exactly the same colour as the car. When Jade had first seen that, she couldn’t help wondering which of them Larry had acquired first.

  Jade was still on the balcony when she heard the distinctive growl of the Hummer’s gas-guzzling engine. Larry and Roxanne weren’t walking the short distance to the crime scene. They were driving. Definitely from Gauteng, then.

  The ridiculously large vehicle skidded to a stop on the verge, its thick tyres digging deep gouges into the wet sand. Roxanne didn’t get out. She stayed in the car, dark glasses covering her eyes.

  Larry got out, but he left the engine running. Jade was sure the environment would be pleased about that.

  The squat, dark-haired man marched over to Jade and glared at her as if she was responsible for the disruption. His shirt collar was open and Jade noticed a number of gold chains nestling in his abundant chest hair.

  ‘I was told there’s been a murder.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jade said. ‘Amanda was stabbed. The scuba instructor.’

  ‘Hell,’ Larry muttered. The
n, louder, ‘What is the resort doing to take care of our security? I mean, it could have happened to any of us. I heard her door was broken down.’

  ‘Not exactly. The lock was splintered.’

  Once again, Jade glanced across at the damaged door.

  Larry stared at her as if she was mad. ‘Same thing, isn’t it? So, what precautions are they going to take?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jade said. ‘I’m not the right person to ask.’

  Looking through the Hummer’s passenger window, she saw that Roxanne was combing out her orange hair, peering into the little vanity mirror while she did so.

  Priorities.

  With an exasperated sigh, Larry strode over towards the taped-off crime scene.

  David came to the door when he saw Larry arrive, and the two men exchanged words. David’s voice remained calm, but Larry’s grew louder and more aggressive as the conversation played out.

  Eventually, Larry threw his arms in the air, turned around and marched back to his Hummer. He climbed in, slammed the door and stomped on the accelerator hard, turning the car around so fast that Jade was surprised Roxanne didn’t stab herself in the eye with her comb.

  He stopped when he drew level with Jade and buzzed the window down.

  ‘Are they going to be finished before ten?’

  Jade shook her head. ‘No way. They’ll be here longer than that, probably most of the day.’

  He turned and spoke briefly to Roxanne. Jade heard the word ‘brunch’ mentioned. Then he stuck his head out of the window again and addressed Jade.

  ‘When they’re done, can you come and tell us?’

  ‘No, I can’t.’

  Larry glowered at her. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’m not going to be here.’

  He blinked. ‘Oh.’

  Then he buzzed his window up again and the orange vehicle roared back down the bumpy driveway, belching exhaust fumes in its wake.

  Behind the crime-scene tape, Jade saw Inspector Pillay tap diffidently on Monique’s door once again before opening it. He stood stock still for a moment, frozen when he saw the mess inside, until he too realised what he was looking at.

  The ketchup was still there. Jade could see the splashes. They were darker, now. Congealed, just like spilled blood.

  Monique was nowhere to be seen.

  14

  Richards Bay had grown to such a size that it now boasted two hospitals—a large and relatively new clinic to the north of town, and the old hospital that had been built more than fifty years ago.

  Jade’s GPS had become confused when she’d asked it to locate the old hospital. It had wanted to send her to the new clinic. Then, on the second try, it had directed her into an area full of dilapidated houses near the railway lines. So she’d done what any sensible South African in her situation would do—backtracked and pulled over at a petrol station to ask for help.

  One of the pump attendants gave her detailed directions. Drive along this main road. Go through four robots. Turn right at number five, then left at the second stop street, then right at the next robot. Keep going through one more robot, and look for the hospital on your right-hand side.

  Distances did not enter into the explanation, but Jade knew from experience that the numbers of robots and stop streets that the man had told her to look out for would be both exact and reliable. All she had to do was keep driving and keep counting.

  This she did, and in due course the signpost for the hospital appeared on her right.

  As Jade drove closer, she saw that the hospital was showing its age. The tarmac in the car park was cracked and broken. The security guard’s booth looked as if it might well fall to pieces in the next strong wind. The guard himself, a young black man, didn’t even do a proper check on her or her vehicle; he just walked out of his cubicle and pressed a forearm down on the handle of the peeling red and white boom.

  It lifted, and Jade drove inside and parked in the half-empty lot.

  This was Richards Bay General Hospital, where she had been born.

  There were no other visitors arriving on this dull, drizzly morning. The main reception desk was unoccupied, but barely a minute passed before Jade heard the increasingly loud slapping of shoes on the linoleum floor. A black woman who looked as if she could have been the security guard’s grandmother came hurrying in through the doors leading to the wards.

  ‘Good morning,’ the woman said somewhat breathlessly. She sat down heavily on the squeaky chair, propped her elbows on the ward register and looked enquiringly at Jade.

  ‘I’m here to find out about a patient.’

  ‘Visiting hours are from twelve to one, intombazane.’ Her use of the Zulu word surprised Jade. She’d thought she was too old to be referred to as ‘girl’. ‘I can try and phone the ward for you, if you want. What is the patient’s name?’

  Jade shook her head.

  ‘Do you know the ward number?’

  Jade stared at the lady in silence. She wasn’t used to finding herself so tongue-tied.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said eventually. ‘I’m not talking about one of your current patients. This lady was a former patient. She was here a long time ago.’

  The woman’s face wrinkled into a puzzled frown. ‘A long time ago?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t think you’ll have any records, but I’m hoping that you might know of somebody who worked at the hospital at that time.’ Seeing the woman’s frown deepen, Jade added, ‘The patient’s name was Elise de Jong. My mother. She died here.’

  Watching the woman give a small, understanding nod, Jade allowed herself to acknowledge the impossibility of the task she had set herself. Elise de Jong had been admitted to this hospital long before computers were in general use.

  Her mother had not passed away recently either, as she was sure this grey-haired receptionist assumed. How could Jade hope to obtain any information on a woman who had been dead for almost thirty-five years?

  To Jade’s surprise, however, when she’d explained the situation to the grey-haired receptionist, she hadn’t been told that it would be impossible. Instead, the lady had asked her to take a seat while she made a couple of phone calls. She’d pointed to a row of cracked plastic-covered chairs against the opposite wall, and Jade had obeyed.

  Now, perched on the edge of the nearest chair, she realised this was decision time.

  Should she go back to Jo’burg or not?

  She’d packed up before leaving the resort and her bag was in the boot of the car. If the police wanted to get a statement from her regarding the murder, she reasoned, they could damn well talk to her over the phone. She wasn’t a key witness, and she had little information that would be of value to the investigation team.

  Going home was by far the most appealing option. And yet, she knew that David could use her help. That there were many ways in which she could assist with the investigation.

  Jade resolved to put her fate in the hands of the hospital receptionist. If the lady didn’t come up with anyone who may have known her mother, then she would get on the highway and drive straight back to Jo’burg.

  If she did locate somebody who’d known Elise de Jong—well, then, Jade would stay a little longer, just until she’d spoken to them. Assuming that the person was still living in Richards Bay.

  She had tried to persuade herself that she didn’t care either way.

  But when the grey-haired lady called out to her, ‘Intombazane, you can come to the desk now,’ Jade felt a thrill of the same nervous expectation she’d felt when she’d arrived at the graveyard the day before.

  A few minutes later, she was climbing back into her car, her decision made. The receptionist had given her two names, written on a small white notelet bearing the logo of a pain-relief product she’d never heard of.

  Martha Koekemoer, who had been the matron of the maternity ward at the time when Jade was born, and Doctor Abrahams, who had worked at the hospital for many years and was now on the board of directors.

  Muc
h to Jade’s disappointment, the receptionist had not given her their contact numbers. Perhaps she hadn’t trusted her. Instead, she had taken Jade’s number and promised to pass it on to the two of them.

  Slamming the car door, Jade reversed out of the parking space.

  She would go back to the resort and stay there until she’d spoken to one or both of them.

  15

  Jade changed the channel on the radio as she drove, hoping to find a station that was playing hard rock or heavy metal. She felt like listening to something nihilistic, that would match her mood. Enrique Iglesias crooning ‘Tonight I’m Loving You’ just wasn’t doing it for her. She didn’t want to think about tonight—especially not as far as loving was concerned.

  She slowed down as she approached the intersection with the winding access road that led to the chalets, and prepared to make the turn across the double-lane road. A glance in her rear-view mirror showed the snarling grille of a large truck with a big steel bull-bar coming up behind her.

  It was going way too fast. What the hell was the driver thinking—or hadn’t he noticed that her brake lights and indicator were on? She didn’t think the truck would be able to stop in time to avoid hitting her. In which case, making the right-hand turn would be suicidal, because the driver would almost definitely swerve right, trying to overtake her when he realised he couldn’t stop in time.

  Jade jammed her car into gear, stamped on the accelerator and swung hard left, off the road and onto the bumpy, sandy verge. The pint-sized Fiat bounced and rattled.

  A horn blared behind her and the screech of brakes seemed to slice right through her eardrums. With tyres smoking, the truck swerved past her. As she’d thought he would do, the driver had swerved right, into her turning lane.

  As he passed, he turned and looked her straight in the eye. His face was drawn and weather-beaten, so lean and deeply lined that the skin appeared to be hanging from the bones.

  Like his truck, he seemed to be snarling at her.

  And then he was gone, roaring off into the distance.