A Beautiful Place to Die Part 5

"Pa, look. Look, see," a boy of about ten called out from the veranda as the spinning top wobbled down the stairs and rolled onto the gra.s.s. The children followed in a rush of high-pitched squeals.

Henrick grabbed a tiny girl and threw her into the air. The other children crowded around, begging for a turn. Emmanuel wondered where the youngest brother was hiding himself.

"Where's Louis?"

"In the shed," Henrick said. "He's been in there all day working on that b.l.o.o.d.y bike."

"Ja." Erich ruffled the hair of a child in front of him. "Go see if you can get him out, Hansie. Ma will need his help soon."

Hansie turned to the far end of the garden where a small shed stood flush against the back fence. Behind the corrugated iron structure, flat-topped trees threw their s.h.a.ggy branches up against wide-open sky.

"I'll come with you." Emmanuel broke from the family group and fell into step with Hansie. A man's shed was a good place to start feeling out the man himself. Something about the captain had marked him out for a violent death, and something about his death had caught the attention of the Security Branch. No time like the present to try to find out why.

Hansie knocked on the shed door. "Louis. It's me."

"Come." The door swung open and Louis, a boy of about nineteen, stepped back to allow them entry. With a featherweight's build, the captain's youngest son was more finely drawn than the photo in the house suggested. If the other brothers were rock, Louis was paper.

"Louis, this here is the policeman from Jo'burg." Hansie performed the introductions in a rush, embarra.s.sed about taking an adult role in front of his teenage friend.

"Detective Sergeant Emmanuel Cooper," Emmanuel said, and shook Louis's hand. There was strength in the boy's grip that belied the softness of his appearance.

"Detective Sergeant Emmanuel Cooper." Louis repeated the t.i.tle as if memorizing it, then saw the grease stains on Emmanuel's hand. "I'm sorry, Detective. I've made a mess of you."

"It's nothing." Emmanuel wiped his hands clean with his handkerchief and Louis moved back toward a pile of engine parts laid out on an old rug. The restored body of a black Indian motorcycle rested up on blocks close to the rear door.

Louis kneeled down and continued cleaning pieces of metal with a rag. His whole body shook with the effort he expended. "I've been cleaning parts all day and I forgot..."

"What's this?" Hansie squatted down next to his friend. "I thought you finished the engine already."

Louis shook his head. "Have to wait on a part to come from Jo'burg. Do you know much about engines, Detective?"

"Not much," Emmanuel answered truthfully. The right-hand side of the shed was the hunting area. A pair of giant kudu horns hung above a gun rack holding three sighted rifles. Below the guns was a beautiful Zulu a.s.sagai, a warrior's spear, complete with lion hide bindings. Under the spear was a wooden desk with two drawers. To the left side of the shed engine parts and tools surrounded the Indian motorcycle. Diagrams and calculations were stuck to the wall under a manufacturer's ill.u.s.tration of the dismantled motorbike in its prime. The organization of the shed indicated a clear and methodical mind. The back door was propped open with a brick to let in the afternoon breeze and it wasn't hard to imagine the captain happily at work here.

"You know a lot about engines." Emmanuel stepped over the spare parts and headed for the hunting desk.

"Oh, no," Louis said, "Pa is the one who knows all about fixing things."

There was an awkward silence, then the loud clank of metal on metal made by Louis sorting through a pile of spanners with shaking hands.

"You can finish the bike, hey, Louis." Hansie pumped enthusiasm into his voice. "Get that coloured mechanic to help and you'll have it going in no time."

"Maybe," Louis said quietly, then began sorting the cleaned screws and bolts into neat piles on the floor. Emmanuel watched the compulsive behavior for a moment, then moved deeper into the shed. Grief made people act in strange ways; it could rip them open or close them right down.

A check of the guns found them clean and unused. Inside the desk, Emmanuel found newspaper articles on rural pursuits like the art of biltong making and the proper care of hunting knives. He kneeled down and peered into the empty drawer cavity.

"Looking for dirty magazines, Detective?" Louis asked.

Emmanuel caught the hard edge of the boy's stare.

"You want to show me where he hid the magazines, Louis?" he asked casually, aware it was a clumsy attempt to catch the boy out, but worth a try.

Louis flushed pink and began sorting through the spanner box again. "No, because there aren't any. My pa was very clean that way. If you knew him you'd understand."

"That's right." Hansie took up the fight on Louis's behalf and threw Emmanuel a look of disgust.

"I wasn't the one who mentioned dirty magazines," he pointed out. Did the captain have a secret stash somewhere? Or was Louis worried about a dog-eared magazine hidden somewhere in his own bedroom?

Two maids and a garden boy hurried past the back entrance to the shed without slowing pace or looking in. The three figures disappeared into the darkening veldt.

"What's this?" Emmanuel pointed to the gra.s.s pathway the servants had taken.

"A kaffir path. The kaffirs use them to get around," Hansie said. "They run all through the town and join up near the location. It's quicker than using the main roads."

"People don't mind?"

"No. n.o.body uses the paths in town after eight-thirty. There's big trouble if a kaffir is caught walking along here between then and sunrise."

"You ever use them?"

"They're kaffir paths. For kaffirs." Hansie had the dumbstruck look of an idiot asked to explain the facts of life to an imbecile. "Coloureds use them sometimes, but we never do."

"Then how do you know they're not used at night?" Emmanuel stepped out of the shed and onto the path.

"The captain," Hansie replied. "He ran along these paths three or four times a week. Sometimes in the morning and sometimes at night. Shabalala took care of the paths near the location."

Emmanuel moved deeper into the veldt as a second group of house servants, determined to clear the white part of town before curfew, jogged by singing. Emmanuel knew the song: "Shosholoza, shosholoza...Kulezontaba..."

The song translated roughly to "Move faster, you are meandering on those mountains. The train is from South Africa." The sound of the word "shosholoza" was like the hiss of a steam train itself.

The servants' rhythmic chant drifted back and he felt the African night warm on his skin and hair. The voices of the servants grew softer and he turned toward the captain's house.

"How often did you and Lieutenant Uys patrol?"

"We patrolled when the captain asked," Hansie said. "Once we went out every night for a week, then not again for a long time. It wasn't a regular-type thing."

"Random," Emmanuel said, aware of the simple genius underpinning the captain's system. Zweigman was aware of the close scrutiny of the patrols and didn't like it. How much did the captain see and hear as he crisscrossed the town at constant but irregular intervals? Had he uncovered a secret someone was willing to kill to protect?

Emmanuel reentered the shed where Louis packed the last of his tools into a red metal box. The boy appeared engrossed in his task, but there was a tightness in his shoulders that suggested an alert and mindful presence.

"Hey, Louis." The shed door swung open and Henrick stepped in. "Get yourself cleaned up, it's time for supper and Ma needs you."

"Ja." Louis ducked out past his elder brother and made his way quickly toward the house. He scuttled up the stairs and across the veranda like a crab racing for safety on a rock ledge.

"Ma will see you now, Detective," Henrick said. "She's not doing so well, so make it quick."

"Of course," Emmanuel said. Henrick's boss-man act was starting to get on his nerves.

Lamplight flickered over a group of young women in mourning clothes who were gathered around a small blond woman in an oversize armchair. Her pale face, lined with grief, was all cheekbones and wide mouth. It was still possible to see vestiges of the young beauty who had married a hulking policeman and produced five sons to swell the ranks of the Voortrekker Scouts and the Dutch Reformed Church.

"Who is this?" she asked. Emmanuel felt her blue eyes focus on him for the first time. "Who is this person?"

"The detective," Henrick explained from the doorway. The room was now a female s.p.a.ce that he did not want to enter. "Detective Cooper has come from Jo'burg to lead the investigation. He's going to help find out who did this to Pa."

Mrs. Pretorius sat forward like a sleepwalker awakened. "What are you doing here? You should be out there, arresting whoever did this evil thing."

"I need your help. I know it's hard, but there are some things only you can tell me about your husband."

"Willem." It was the first time the captain's name had been spoken. "My Willem is gone..."

The tiny woman howled in anguish, her body swaying back and forth like a marionette on broken strings. Emmanuel sat down, breathed deeply, and allowed himself to observe but not connect. Disconnection. That was the trickiest part of the job, the one in which he excelled.

"Shhh. Ma. Shhh..." Louis slipped into the room and kneeled beside his mother. He kissed her on the cheek, and mother and son held on to each other for a long moment. There was a startling resemblance between the youngest Pretorius boy and the fragile woman who held him in her arms.

Out of his grease-covered overalls, Louis was comfortable in the room full of women. He was blonder and finer boned than the sisters-in-law, buxom farm girls built to outlast famine on the veldt.

Emmanuel glanced over at Henrick and caught a flicker of discomfort. How had the captain felt about the soft boy who bore no resemblance to the hard-edged Pretorius men?

"It's okay," Louis whispered. "I'll take care of you, Ma. I promise."

Emmanuel waited until mother and son loosened their grip on each other. The daughters-in-law murmured comforting words.

"Mrs. Pretorius..." Emmanuel knew he was about to make himself unpopular. "May I talk to you alone? I have a few questions I need answered and it would be better if we had some privacy."

"Not Louis," Mrs. Pretorius said. "Louis stays."

The daughters-in-law glared at him and walked out of the room to join the family groups congregated on the back stoep. He waited until the sound of their whispers faded, then said, "Mrs. Pretorius, when was the last time you saw your husband alive?"

She held on to Louis's hand. "Yesterday morning. We had breakfast together before he went to work."

"Did he say he was going anywhere unusual or meeting anyone in particular?"

"No. He said he was going fishing after work and that he'd see me in the morning."

"You were normally asleep when he came home from fishing?"

"Yes. Willem used the spare room so he wouldn't disturb me." She squeezed Louis's hand tighter. "I had no idea he wasn't home until Hansie came..."

She began to cry and Henrick stepped into the room. Emmanuel held his hand up like a traffic policeman and Henrick stopped in his tracks.

"Can you think of anyone who would do this to your husband, Mrs. Pretorius? Anything he told you would help." Emmanuel kept his voice soft and urgent.

"Come, Ma," Louis said. "Tell the detective what you know."

The blond woman took a deep breath. When she looked up, her eyes were hard as uncut diamonds.

"The old Jew," she stated flatly. "Willem said he caught him hanging around the coloured area at night. He was up to some funny business."

"Did your husband catch him doing something?" That would explain Zweigman's resentment.

"No. You know how clever Jews are. Willem saw him going in and out of different coloured girls' houses after sunset. It was obvious what he was up to, so Willem gave him a warning."

"Did he tell you how Zweigman reacted?"

"He didn't like it, I know that. Willem had to see him a few times before he was sure Zweigman had stopped."

"Did Captain Pretorius have problems with anyone else?"

She was ahead of him, ready with the answer. "That pervert Donny Rooke. Willem sent him to jail for taking dirty pictures of the du Toit girls. He's been back in Jacob's Rest four or five months."

"He lives out past the coloureds," Henrick said from the doorway. "He doesn't come into town unless he has to. His brother runs the shop now."

Emmanuel remembered Donny's All Goods on the main street. "He was angry with the captain for sending him to jail?"

"Of course. The worst sinners don't believe they should be punished for their sins." There was no mistaking the contempt in her for the morally weak. "Willem helped guide this town and now he has been struck down. I pray to G.o.d for swift retribution upon the killer."

"Amen," said Louis.

Emmanuel shifted in his seat, unnerved by the intensity of the woman in front of him. There was no room in her for forgiveness.

"Anyone else?"

Mrs. Pretorius sighed. "There was always trouble with the coloureds, drinking and fighting, that sort of thing. They find it hard to control their emotions no matter how much white blood they have in them. Willem understood that, and tried not to be too hard on them."

Emmanuel flicked his notebook to a clean page. He'd heard every race theory in South Africa. None of them surprised him anymore. "Can you remember any specific names?"

"No. Lieutenant Uys will know all the coloured cases. Shabalala will know the native cases. They were a good team, Willem and Shabalala. Everyone respected them. Everyone..."

The tears came again and Emmanuel stood up before Henrick had a chance to kick him out. He flicked his notebook closed and put it in his pocket. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Pretorius. Please accept my condolences on the loss of your husband."

Louis sprang up and made it to the front entrance ahead of him. He swung the door open and leaned a shoulder against the wood frame. "You'll catch the killer, won't you, Detective?"

"I'll try." Emmanuel stepped out onto the veranda. "I can't promise you any more than that, Louis."

"My grandfather was Frikkie van Brandenburg and Pa was a police captain. Your boss sent the best detective out, didn't he?"

Stuck in the shed all day, Louis had no idea about little sister Gertie's botched call to headquarters. As far as the teenaged boy was concerned, the police department had handpicked Emmanuel to break the case open.

Emmanuel let him down easy. "I've solved quite a few cases and I'll do everything I can to solve this one. Good night, Louis."

"Good night, Detective." Louis's voice followed him as he crossed the veranda and walked down the stairs to the garden. He made his way back to the police station.

Emmanuel paused at the corner of van Riebeeck and Piet Retief streets, and felt himself pulled in the direction of the liquor store. Instead, he turned toward the station and Constable Shabalala.

Now he understood: Frikkie van Brandenberg was the reason the Security Branch was involved. Captain Pretorius was son-in-law to one of the mighty lions of Afrikaner nationhood, a man who preached the sacred history of white civilization like an Old Testament prophet. No wonder the Pretorius brothers hated Zweigman. Jacob's Rest was too small to contain two tribes claiming to be G.o.d's chosen people.