Hear Me

by Julia North

  ‘You might not see anything of alarm but my gut feeling is him. I want you to concentrate on Karlos.’

  Ferret-man does little to hide the sneer which slides across his face.

  ‘Maybe we should also look at the others Els, especially George,’ Nat says.

  Elsa frowns while Ferret-man clears his throat and starts shuffling the papers together. ‘I think your sister’s right. If you want, I can look more into Mannering, just to make sure. Two of the other patients are living together in a squat down Point Road – a Harriet Beauchamp and a Wolfgang Schmidt. She’s a heroin addict and he’s an alcoholic. If your sister had been robbed they’d be high on our list. The other one’s a Nicholas Davis, an ex-lawyer. Do you want me to look at all of them?’

  ‘I think we should,’ says Nat.

  Elsa grits her teeth and pushes back her chair. ‘You need to let me lead, Nat. Focus on Karlos and find out more about George Mannering. I just want those two for now. If we find evidence to write them off, we’ll look at the others.’

  ‘Okay. It should take me a few weeks but I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.’ Ferret-man places the file back in the briefcase and clicks it closed.

  Nat sits tense and tight-faced while Elsa stands up. ‘Thank you,’ she mutters.

  ‘Wait until I have more information before you pass this on to the police, if you don’t mind.’

  Elsa nods. ‘Will do. Let’s go.’

  Nat scrapes back her chair without looking at Elsa. She holds out her hand to Fletcher. ‘Thank you. We’ll wait to hear from you.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ says Fletcher, scrabbling to his feet and offering his yellow-nailed and limp-wristed hand to her. He turns to Elsa who barely returns the offered shake before marching out of the office with Nat, stiff-backed and silent behind her.

  ‘I’ll phone you as soon as I find something,’ calls Fletcher as the door closes behind them.

  I watch as they march, straight-backed, down the passage. I hate to see them angry with each other, but thankfully Nat’s a bit more open-minded than Elsa about Karlos, and the detective is sure to trace something about the roots of George’s psychosis. There must be some record of his psychotic woman hating, especially the ‘bitch’ he thought he was seeing in the meeting. Then hopefully Elsa’s sharp mind will put two and two together and realise it’s him, not Karlos.

  Nat clicks the car door closed and fastens her seatbelt in silence. Elsa gives her a sideways glance and grips the steering wheel before stabbing the keys into the ignition. The engine purrs into life and they drive out into the busy dual carriageway with the air tense and hot between them.

  Nat swallows and grips her hands together. ‘I feel so confused,’ she says. ‘I’m even beginning to doubt Lissa. Why would a drug be listed on her records if …?’

  ‘Liss was not psychotic. We’ve already established that. What the hell is wrong with you?’

  ‘We can’t be certain, can we?’

  Elsa turns open-mouthed to Nat and I mirror her shock. How can Nat even think that, let alone say it? Did she really think so little of me that she’d think I’d hide something like that from them?

  ‘I can’t believe you just said that.’

  Nat reddens and turns to stare out of the window. The air between them bristles while Elsa puts her foot down and squeals in and out of the thundering traffic. They drive in silence until she reaches Nat’s house and stops outside with the engine still running.

  ‘I’m sorry. I feel like I’m in some kind of nightmare … I just don’t know what’s happening any more.’ Nat’s eyes fills with tears. ‘I just don’t think we can assume Liss told us everything about her life, especially when she was drinking.’

  Elsa nods curtly but says nothing. Nat sits trembling next to her for a few seconds more before getting out and clicking the car door closed without speaking.

  Elsa watches her go into the house with her knuckles clenched around the steering wheel. My spirit is still stinging with shock. I can’t believe that Nat of all people would doubt my sanity. How can she betray me like that?

  Chapter 36

  Back in Ferret-man’s tatty office a few days later, a smug smile slides across his face as Elsa and Nat enter. He pushes back his chair and offers them a limp-fish hand before ushering them to two chairs. He’s wearing a crumpled brown suit this time; obviously models himself on Colombo. Let’s hope the modelling extends to the quality of his work.

  ‘What have you got?’ Elsa’s gaze is direct as she leans forward across the desk.

  Nat’s nose wrinkles slightly from the musty smell of the place. She’s pushes herself back into the chair so that she’s ramrod straight with a face as serious as a High Court judge. My eyes flick over her. She’s obviously lost weight. I’m still so angry with her at thinking I might be psychotic, but at the same time a knot of guilt lodges in my stomach.

  Fletcher leans back in his plastic leather chair. He places his hands together in the steeple shape and licks his lips, enjoying the sense of anticipation he’s creating. Elsa’s expression hardens into a frown.

  ‘I’ve found nothing more of concern on Beukes, but I’ve gathered information about Mannering’s background. It appears that his mother shot his father dead with his own shotgun when he was ten. She got off with a suspended sentence for culpable homicide. Shot him through the bedroom door, alleging he was in a drunken rage and threatening to stab them both to death. Medical records show Mr Mannering having ongoing psychological problems since that time.’ Fletcher pauses dramatically and gives his thin lips another lick.

  Nat’s shoulders sag. She closes her eyes and lets out a small sigh. I wish I could read her thoughts, but I’m sure she must now realise how wrong she was to doubt my sanity. Elsa frowns and narrows her eyes at Fletcher.

  ‘So he probably hated women …’

  Fletcher gives a dry laugh. ‘You read my mind. Yes, quite possibly.’

  ‘But that still doesn’t mean he’s the one who harmed Lissa. There was no sign of a break-in at her house and, as far as I know, she never had anything to do with him outside of rehab.’ Elsa twists her finger around a strand of hair before chewing on it, her eyes still narrow with thought. ‘No, I’m sorry, we can’t just assume it’s him. I’m not prepared to just jump at the first possible avenue. I told you I want Karlos Beukes properly investigated. What else have you found?’

  Ferret-man’s face hardens and he gives a shrug. His fingers tighten around the parker pen he’s holding. ‘As I said, nothing of concern. The farmer story matches out on paper and so does the dead wife. So far it seems to tie up.’

  ‘Well, until we’ve fully examined everything I want him to remain high on the list. Is that clear?’

  Ferret-man gives Elsa a curt nod.

  Nat looks up and leans in towards Fletcher. ‘I don’t agree,’ she says, ‘Karlos said he went to the gym early that morning. Maybe George could’ve broken in when he saw him leave?’

  ‘We’ve no evidence of a break-in.’

  Nat gives a small shrug. ‘I know, but what if Karlos forgot to lock?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ says Fletcher, flicking his eyes from one to the other, ‘or he could’ve picked it. A Yale lock’s quite easy to pick.’

  Elsa slaps her hand on the table. ‘We need proper evidence. We can’t just have pie-in-the-sky possibilities.’

  Nat pulls a face. ‘I know but maybe we should pass this on to the police now. They need to investigate properly? Even Govender can’t deny that it demands looking into.’

  ‘I think that’s what we’re paying Mr Fletcher for because the police are so bloody useless,’ says Elsa. She turns back to Fletcher and raises her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Okay, let’s look into both, but I want you to concentrate on Karlos first.’

  Nat pouts and grips her hands together in her lap.

  Fletcher purses his lips and looks at Elsa with narrow eyes. ‘Will do.’ He scrapes back his chair to put an end to the meeting, his stiff back a
nd jaw showing obvious signs of his irritation. ‘Later, if you want, I’ll also look into the two in the squat; can’t trust heroin addicts. They stop at nothing.’

  Elsa gives him a slight smile. She pushes back her chair and offers Fletcher her hand. ‘Possibly.’

  ‘I still think we need to speak to Inspector Govender and get him to contact Mr Fletcher so that at least they can work together on this,’ says Nat pushing back her chair and getting to her feet.

  Fletcher gives a wry laugh. ‘I’m sure the inspector will love that.’

  Elsa pulls a face at Nat. ‘I think Mr Fletcher’s right. Govender’s not going to want to work with anyone.’

  ‘Well, surely we still need to tell him,’ says Nat.

  ‘You could get Govender to check Mannering’s whereabouts the night before her fit and her death in the hospital.’

  ‘Good idea,’ says Elsa. ‘I’ll ask him. Thank you and keep us posted.’

  ‘No problem,’ says Fletcher, rising to his feet as they leave his office.

  Elsa and Nat pace down the corridor in silence, the air tense again between them. My heart aches as I watch them disappear around the corner. I don’t want to see them fight over this, but Nat’s right; surely the police will find it strange that I’ve got Trithapon on my record when any investigation into my past shows I’ve never suffered from psychosis, and as a bonus at least it will also clear up Nat’s doubts about my sanity. I think back to George. I never even spoke to him alone; how could he have been so deluded as to think I could threaten him in any way? But then again if he’s psychotic I guess his delusion doesn’t need to make sense. But he must be very shrewd to have changed my record. I can’t even imagine how he did it. He must’ve planned things so carefully, so far in advance. He must’ve stalked us, watched us, and obviously he was much better at doing it than Nic or I’d have seen him. At least if the police look into his whereabouts on those nights and find he’s been near me, alarm bells should ring.

  Chapter 37

  The strong salt scent of sea air tickles my nose and my ears fill with the crashing of breaking waves. I’m on the promenade at South Beach, and Karlos is standing about four feet in front of me. He’s wearing faded Levis and a white T-shirt and looks so good. The musky scent of his aftershave wafts over to me, igniting my longing. I want so badly to touch him, to be back in this earthly life as a living, breathing part of it, drinking in every precious second.

  Karlos heads towards a row of parked cars basking like a pod of seals in the hot midday sun. He’s holds a large brown envelope in one hand as he moves through the rows of cars towards my white Golf. And then I see her, someone sitting in the passenger seat.

  Karlos yanks open the driver’s door and eases in behind the wheel. He turns to look at the woman, as I stand in front of the bonnet and stare at her through the windscreen. She’s no looker; about forty, with lank black hair draped either side of a long, sallow face and a square jawline. Her eyes are lizard-brown and narrow, her lips a thin line, giving her whole face a bitter look. She reminds me of one those rough, poor white types. Her faded yellow shirt is open at the neck and a smoking cigarette burns between two nicotine-stained fingers, with chipped red nail varnish. She’s the type I’d pull my nose up at if we met. What on earth is she doing with Karlos, and what the hell is she doing sitting in my car?

  ‘Okay, Boetie?’

  ‘Ja, they say it’s on track, but will still take about three and a half months. We just had another paper to sign.’

  She grimaces. ‘Agh, that’s normal, hey? Any problems?’

  Karlos shakes his head. ‘Just the fucking sisters glaring at me, but fuck them.’

  I shake my head and dart my eyes from the woman to Karlos and back to the woman again. She called him boetie. Karlos never told me he had a sister.

  He leans across her and places the brown envelope in the glove compartment before turning to her with an ugly leer. ‘Should be around eight hundred thousand after taxes; not bad for a couple months’ fucking, hey?’

  His sister throws back her head in an ugly laugh. ‘Ja, a lot of people would kill for your job, hey, boetie?’

  Karlos joins the laughter and pulls out my car keys with the New South Africa key ring still attached.

  ‘Not bad for a few months’ fucking?’ Surely he can’t be talking about me, but even as I think it, I know it’s true. There was no romance. Instead my murder was carefully planned and executed. I close my eyes as the sea swops places with the sky. I thought things felt surreal before but now it’s all so much worse. I think back to the lurid tales in magazines of women duped by men with double lives. They’d all sounded too far-fetched to be believable. Things like that didn’t really happen in real life, or so I thought.

  Karlos’ words echo through my mind again and again. ‘Not bad for a few months’ fucking’ — each syllable is like a disembowelment. I think back to our lovemaking. I thought it was so pure, so full of love, when in reality all he wanted was my money.

  I sense a young couple stride through my hunched shell of a body, oblivious to my pain. I look up and see the young woman flinch and rub her upper arm as gooseflesh ripples over it. She looks about nineteen with long golden hair and a tanned, bikini-clad body. I stare after her. The surfer boy at her side looks down and puts his arm around her, drawing her in close to his side. His eyes twinkle and he looks like he loves her, looks like he cares, but does he? I remember Karlos smiling at me, taking my hand, playing the role of the caring lover so well, so incredibly well. We must have looked like that. His eyes twinkled, showed love, showed concern, showed red-eyed pain at my funeral, and in front of Nat and Elsa. He faked things well.

  I think back to the last time I saw him at the hospital. He told me he was on his way to the Shaloma meeting so it must’ve been around seven p.m. I remember him say that he needed the meetings after what had happened, and that he was trying so hard not to turn to alcohol to help him cope. He looked so genuine, so caring when he kissed me goodbye. He could have come back that night and put something in my drip while I was sedated. The nurses knew he was my boyfriend, They wouldn’t care and were too busy to watch him. He’d obviously failed with his first attempt to kill me. Had he sedated me and injected me with a mix Trithapon and whiskey to cause my fitting that first time? Is that why Trithapon was on my file? It’s feasible. What a shrewd bastard. If they’d done toxicity tests at King Edward’s and found it in my bloodstream it wouldn’t have looked suspicious because it was on my chart from Shaloma. I hold my head in my hands as the tears prick behind my eyes. Oh Lord … chance really conspired against me. Going to King Edwards’ gave him another fortuitous opportunity; an even better one in fact. Who’d suspect murder if I died in some foul, third-world hospital? Everyone knew if you went to King Edward’s the chances were you’d die either of neglect, incompetence or septicaemia. They didn’t even bother with post-mortems, so I guess he had to do it before I went to Hillcrest. I retch as I recall his lips on my forehead when he gave me the last kiss goodbye. He knew full well it was a kiss of death.

  Oh God. This is worse than I could ever have imagined. I stare out at the breaking waves as they crash onto the sand. How could I have been so stupid, so naïve? I guess it’s true that you see what you want. I chose to believe Karlos loved me and was one of the good guys, that we’d have the long ‘happy ever after’ together.

  I guess the only thing I can be grateful for now is that the scales are finally off my eyes. This must be a necessary part of my spiritual journey. I’m being shown the blatant truth. The true Karlos is sitting in front of me, sans his mask and his whole false persona, the one who only his septic sister really knows. The devil isn’t called the father of lies for nothing and Karlos is clearly one well versed in them. Maybe this is a truth I had to learn before I could move on? How do you attain spiritual enlightenment and final rest if you’re so deluded and ignorant about the real cause of your death?

  I close my eyes and try and paint my mind b
lack, but instead all I see is Nat, bent now on a mission of blaming George, and once Fletcher gathers evidence Elsa will no doubt agree with her. I rub a shaky hand across my forehead. What an idiot I’ve been! There I was thinking he was such a down-to-earth farmer with nothing underhand about him. He’s an ace conman.

  My Golf’s engine coughs and splutters to life and I watch grim-faced as Karlos backs it away from me with a self-satisfied sneer, while his revolting sister blows her dirty smoke in rings towards my car roof. I clench my fists as she stubs out her cigarette in my ashtray. That’s my car, mine! What’s she even doing in it? I close my eyes and wish I could just reveal myself and scare them both to death, but of course I can’t. My helplessness fills me with anger. What’s the point of sending me back and showing me this truth if I’m powerless to do anything? What the hell good is that?

  A red BMW pulls into the parking space Karlos has just vacated. I laugh in disbelief as Elsa sits behind the wheel with Nat next to her. Karlos is a step in front of them and they’ve not the faintest idea. The two of them changing places like pieces in a chess game without even knowing it. I have to find a way to let them know the truth. Karlos is much shrewder than I ever imagined; cunning which no doubt comes with experience. I wonder if he’s done this before, and who knows how many times? I wonder if he killed his wife? South Africa’s a vast country with hundreds of private rehabs, hundreds of vulnerable women, many of them with money. It’s a good hunting ground if that’s what you’re after. You don’t go into those type of rehabs unless you can afford it. The pale face of Alison rises back up in my mind. Hattie said Karlos had been friendly with her. Did he dump her because I was better pickings? Of all of us, she was the most vulnerable and her family are very wealthy. He knew Dad was dead and had left me money. He fished for it, listened to the story of my pain and loss like he was catching a prize marlin. How am I going to let Nat and Elsa learn the truth? What a fool I’ve been. What a ridiculous, gullible fool!