A Beautiful Place to Die Part 15

"What? And get my business burned down when Madubele finds out?" Tiny waved the boy away. "Make tracks."

"He won't find out."

"If he does? You going to make him pay compensation like the captain did for Anton? You lucky I gave you anything. Now get moving before someone sees you."

"The captain's gone to the other side," Louis repeated. "There's no one to see us."

Tiny ended the conversation by closing the gate in Louis's face. The boy unscrewed the whiskey bottle, took a long swallow, then raised his free hand to the sky with his palm held open. Another swig from the bottle and Louis's clear voice graced the empty lot and the night sky.

He sang "Werk in My Gees Van G.o.d," "Breathe in Me Breath of G.o.d," a well-known Afrikaans hymn. The tune was the source of uncomfortable memories and even now Emmanuel could recall the words: Blend all my soul in Thine, until this earthly part of me glows with thy fire divine. Blend all my soul in Thine, until this earthly part of me glows with thy fire divine.

Was Louis able to distinguish between the whiskey fire in his belly and the divine fire of the Holy Spirit? The back gate to the liquor store swung open and Tiny pushed his face out.

"Keep it for church, Pretorius. You're spoiling the mood."

Louis raised the bottle in a salute, then sidled off in the direction of the coloured houses and the Sports Club where the overnighting white families were camped. What was he going to do there? Give a sermon? Or find a dark corner to do a little of the devil's work?

The kaffir path was a gold mine of information and Emmanuel sensed that at least part of the answer to the captain's murder lurked out here in the shadows of the town.

The main street was in darkness, as was the dirt road running to The Protea Guesthouse. He pa.s.sed the police sedan, its locked boot home to the filthy suit and the captain's marked calendar. Tomorrow he'd find a proper home for the sensitive items. The Security Branch could jimmy a boot lock with no effort.

The door to his room was ajar and the light was on. He stepped inside. Piet and d.i.c.kie lounged on either side of the bed. Clothes and papers were dumped onto the floor.

Piet yawned and lit a fresh cigarette.

"You always pack this lightly, Cooper?"

"A hangover from the army," Emmanuel said. "You need to borrow a clean tie, or was it starched underwear you were after?"

"Your fondness for old soldiers?" d.i.c.kie asked. "Is that a hangover also?"

Emmanuel pulled up a chair and sat down. "I confess. I got to the rank of major by bending over for all the Allied generals. What else do you want to know?"

"We didn't come to ask questions," Piet said. "We came to tell you something."

"I'm listening."

"In the next day or two"-Piet spoke through a curtain of smoke-"we're going to know everything about you, Cooper. What you drink. Who you're f.u.c.king. Where you buy those sissy ties. We'll know it all."

"I drink tea white, no sugar. Whiskey neat. Water when I'm thirsty. I haven't f.u.c.ked anyone since my wife ran back to England seven months ago, and I get my sissy ties from Belmont Menswear on Market Street. Ask for Susie. She'll help you find the extra-large sizes."

"It's good you have a sense of humor," Piet said. "You'll need it."

"When you take the credit for any arrests? Or when you dump a bad result on me?"

Piet's smile was a slash cut into his acne-scarred face. "Either way, you and your boyfriend van Niekerk are going to regret trying to grab a piece of our investigation."

"I thought the two of you came to my room because you wanted to be friends. You won't be bunking with me tonight, then?"

d.i.c.kie flushed red. "No wonder your wife left you."

"You're the one who came to my room uninvited," Emmanuel said. "Have a good time looking through my underclothes, d.i.c.k?"

d.i.c.kie leapt to his feet.

"Sit down," Piet instructed him. "I have to tell Cooper a few things."

"Threaten away," Emmanuel said. It was getting late and he'd had enough of the Security Branch.

"Seven AM AM tomorrow morning we will go to King's farm. You will show us over the hut. You will then investigate the Peeping Tom story. All other leads are our territory." tomorrow morning we will go to King's farm. You will show us over the hut. You will then investigate the Peeping Tom story. All other leads are our territory."

"There's only two of you," Emmanuel noted.

"No," Piet corrected him. "The local guys, Hepple, Shabalala and Uys will make up the rest of our team."

Emmanuel had no trouble interpreting the information. The Security Branch was officially shutting him out of the case.

"Nice to see some people still make house calls," he said when Piet and d.i.c.kie squeezed their giant frames through the doorway.

Piet stopped and flicked his lit cigarette b.u.t.t into the garden. "Let me tell you how this will end, Cooper. If you work against us, I will find you out and then d.i.c.kie here will beat the English snot out of you. That's a promise."

Emmanuel closed the door on the Security Branch. His breath was tight in his chest. He resisted the urge to gather his scattered clothes, throw them into his bag, and head back to his flat in Jo'burg. He was in Jacob's Rest on Major van Niekerk's orders. The choice to leave wasn't his to make.

"f.u.c.k them up." It was the sergeant major with some gentle late-night advice. It was the sergeant major with some gentle late-night advice. "Go in hard. Take no prisoners." "Go in hard. Take no prisoners."

Emmanuel looked up at the ceiling. He'd hoped he'd heard the last of the Scotsman and his deranged p.r.o.nouncements out on the road.

"Take the tire iron. Give them a taste of steel."

Emmanuel touched the lump on his skull. His head ached, but not enough to bring on a delusional episode. He emptied five white pills into the palm of his hand and chased them down with water. He lay back down. The voice would go away as soon as the medication took effect.

"Use the element of surprise." The Scotsman continued his barrage. The Scotsman continued his barrage. "Get them before they get you, soldier." "Get them before they get you, soldier."

"It's peacetime." He didn't bother answering out loud. He knew the sergeant major would hear him fine. "Killing people isn't legal anymore."

"What are you going to do, then?" The sergeant major was at a loss now that brute force wasn't an option. The sergeant major was at a loss now that brute force wasn't an option.

"Figure it out," Emmanuel said. "Find the killer."

"Hmm..." The prospect of a peaceful solution threw the Scotsman off balance. The prospect of a peaceful solution threw the Scotsman off balance. "How are you going to do that?" "How are you going to do that?"

"Don't know yet."

"Do you have a plan?"

"Not yet."

"I see..." The sergeant major's voice drained away into the darkness. The sergeant major's voice drained away into the darkness.

The pattern on the ceiling changed when the wind moved the tree outside the window. Figure it out? That was easy to say, but what did he have? A couple of coloured girls pa.s.sing as white, a father and son who played with cheap wh.o.r.es, and a wily white boy with a taste for whiskey and dagga. Big news in a little town, but no match for the solid evidence he'd let slip away from him at the hut. And who'd left the note with King's name on it in the dead of night? The killer or someone trying to help the investigation?

"You have the calendar." The sergeant major fought his way past the flow of medication. The sergeant major fought his way past the flow of medication.

True, he had the calendar. But how was he going to get across the border without drawing the attention of Piet and his gorilla?

"Sleep," the sergeant major instructed in a slurred voice. the sergeant major instructed in a slurred voice. "I'll keep the dogs at bay for you." "I'll keep the dogs at bay for you."

Darkness folded in and Emmanuel floated down to a blackened barn smoldering in twilight. The sergeant major sat in front of the ruin surrounded by a dozen soldiers in torn and bloodied uniforms. One of the soldiers turned to Emmanuel. His face was reduced to lacerated flesh and smashed bone.

"All eyes to me," the sergeant major ordered. the sergeant major ordered. "Gather round, lads, and let's talk about drinking and f.u.c.king. And women and children and home. Our man Cooper needs a kip." "Gather round, lads, and let's talk about drinking and f.u.c.king. And women and children and home. Our man Cooper needs a kip."

The soldier with the smashed face laughed. The troops pressed close around the sergeant major. Emmanuel closed his eyes and fell asleep.

9.

EMMANUEL EASED THE Packard into the s.p.a.ce next to the Security Branch Chevrolet at 6:55 the next morning. The police station appeared small and abandoned in the morning light. Piet wound his car window down and leaned out. Packard into the s.p.a.ce next to the Security Branch Chevrolet at 6:55 the next morning. The police station appeared small and abandoned in the morning light. Piet wound his car window down and leaned out.

"Change of plan, Cooper. Follow us." He gave the command and d.i.c.kie flicked the engine on. "We'll make a stop at the black location first, then go to Pretorius's hut."

"Whatever you say, Lieutenant."

d.i.c.kie and Piet swung a right at the Standard Hotel and headed west on the main road. Emmanuel turned in behind them and pressed the accelerator.

He couldn't get a handle on why the Security Branch was heading to a black settlement outside a small country town. Not a single clue led in that direction.

They peeled off onto a pitted dirt road and minutes later entered the black location, a haphazard planting of cinder-block houses and mud huts on a dusty span surrounded by veldt. Children in Sunday clothes played hopscotch in front of a dilapidated church with a rusted tin roof.

The Chevrolet pulled to a stop near the children and Piet waved a boy over. It was Butana, the little witness from the crime scene.

"Shabalala"-Piet raised his voice to a near shout so the kaffir boy understood-"go get Constable Shabalala. Understand?"

"Yes, baas." Butana raised the volume of his his voice so the Dutchman understood, then slipped off his too big shoes and took off down the dirt road that bisected the location. The other children followed behind, happy for an excuse to put some distance between themselves and the white men in the big black automobiles. voice so the Dutchman understood, then slipped off his too big shoes and took off down the dirt road that bisected the location. The other children followed behind, happy for an excuse to put some distance between themselves and the white men in the big black automobiles.

Emmanuel got out of the Packard and scoped the scene. It was a clear spring day. Fallow cornfields ran from the edge of a gra.s.sed area to a stream swollen with night rain. Beyond that, a lush carpet of new gra.s.s and wildflowers spread out beneath a blue sky and a roll of white clouds.

Breathtaking, Emmanuel thought. But you can't eat scenery.

He turned his attention to the irregular grid of dwellings. They were ramshackle constructions put together with whatever was at hand. A corrugated iron roof patched with flour sacks to keep out the rain. A fifty-five-gallon drum rolled into a doorway to keep out the draft. It was spring, but the memory of a hard winter lingered over the native houses.

The young and fit could move to E'goli, the City of Gold, Johannesburg, where even a black man had the chance to become rich. Or they could stay in the location with their families and remain poor. Most chose the city.

The church door opened and a wizened pastor with watery eyes peered out. Emmanuel lifted his hat in greeting and received a wary nod in return. From down the dirt lane came the sound of children's voices.

Constable Shabalala hurried toward the cars, followed by a long train of children. The black policeman was in his Sunday clothes: a graying white shirt, black trousers, and a corduroy jacket with leather patches at the elbows. The bottom seam of his trousers had been let out to their full length, one inch too short to cover his socks and boots. Perhaps the captain's hand-me-downs.

He approached the Security Branch car with his hat in his hand. He knew that Afrikaners and most whites set great store by a show of respect. Piet pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket.

"N'kosi Duma," Piet said. "Where is he?"

Shabalala spread his palms out in an apologetic gesture. "That man, he is not here. He is at the native reserve. He will be home maybe tomorrow."

"Christ above." Piet lit a cigarette and blew smoke into the clean spring air. "How far is it, this reserve?"

"Before baas King's farm. One hour and a half on my bicycle."

Piet had a quick discussion with d.i.c.kie, who was hunkered down behind the wheel.

"Get in," Piet told Shabalala. "We'll go and get him."

Emmanuel made his way over, determined to wedge himself into the situation somehow. He felt the beat of his heart. Piet knew whom to ask for. How the h.e.l.l did they know a man named N'kosi Duma lived on a location outside of Jacob's Rest?

"Constable Shabalala can ride with me," Emmanuel said. "I've got enough fuel."

"He's with us," Piet said coolly. "Your job is to show us the hut."

"The reserve is between here and the hut." Emmanuel knew he was pushing his luck but kept going. "Should we call in there first?"

"The hut," Piet said.

"It's a hunting camp," d.i.c.kie said after they'd examined the captain's clean little s.p.a.ce. "Only an English detective from the city would think it was anything else."

"A waste of time, just like I thought," Piet muttered. "Let's move on."

Emmanuel didn't show them the hidden safe.

They ducked out through the hole in the tall stick fence and rejoined Shabalala, who waited patiently between the cars. Piet motioned d.i.c.kie into the black Chevrolet and turned to Emmanuel.

"You will go back to town," Piet said with a glimmer of pleasure in his pebble eyes. "The Peeping Tom story is your area of investigation. Remember?"

"It's Sunday. I don't think there's much chance to make inroads there."

"You're a religious man, aren't you? Here's your chance to get to the church service in time. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"Amen," Emmanuel said, and approached Shabalala, who'd stepped back to allow the Dutchmen some room. The Peeping Tom story was all he had to keep him in Jacob's Rest and close to the main game. He had to follow that trail and do it with a smile.