'Ja, on second thoughts, we'll let Colonel Geldenhuis and his people in alone with the kaffir. If he's going to have to smack him round a bit to get whatever he wants from the bastard we don't want to be the people to stand in the way of justice. But tape the interview, Gert. Put a two-hour tape on and let it run; if he does something stupid and the coon dies, we want to be covered. But also, man, if they ask if we taping, just look stupid, let him think the
japies
from the
platteland
don't go in for that sort of thing.'
Tandia was arrested in the early hours of the morning and given five minutes to dress. It was the second time in her life she'd been roughly pushed into the back of a kwela-kwela, a police van, and taken into custody. In the ensuing years the frightened teenager had become a great beauty and a famous barrister, yet nothing, she told herself, had changed. She was still a kaffir and Geldenhuis, her original tormentor, still had his boot on her neck.
The back of the police van had the sharp pungency of African sweat and the sour smell of beer mash as though earlier in the night a drunk had vomited. In fact, Tandia concluded, this was precisely what had happened, for the floor and the wooden seat on which she sat were wet, suggesting that the back of the van had recently been hosed out. The wetness now added to the cold, though she was not sure whether she shivered from the damp, dark cold interior of the van or from her own sense of misery.
For some reason the siren on the van would wail intermittently, for fifteen seconds or so every few minutes. She wondered if it was intended to intimidate her; there couldn't be much traffic at this time of the morning nor, she imagined, was her arrival urgent.
After a while they slowed down and stopped. She heard the police driver talking to someone. They must have arrived at the gate into the huge, grey granite structure of the John Vorster Square police headquarters. The van moved off slowly again and proceeded for what seemed like only a few yards before it stopped. Moments later Tandia heard the passenger door slam and then the sudden rattle of the lock on the rear door of the van. The door opened and the detective sergeant who'd arrested her stood waiting.
'Get out now, please, miss,' he instructed. Tandia half stooped and climbed out, the air outside cold and fresh on her face after the smell of the van. He held a pair of handcuffs. 'I've got to do this, it's procedure, I should really have done it when we arrested you.'
Tandia nodded, holding up her wrists. It was dark but if the policeman had looked carefully he might just have made out the slight discolouring around her wrists which were the scars from the last time she'd worn handcuffs.
She expected to be finger-printed and formally charged but instead she was led down a long corridor into a brightly lit room which, under normal circumstances, would have seemed like a joke. It contained a powerful light with a larger than usual frosted bulb in the centre of the ceiling. A single wooden upright chair stood directly under it. A polished honey-coloured cork linoleum covered the floor and muffled her footsteps as she entered. The walls of the fairly large room were painted a light apple green. It was so obviously an interrogation room that it seemed to belong in the pages of a Dick Tracy comic book. The door was painted a glossy brown and on it was lettered in white:
Interview Rm.1. Europeans only.
Onderhoud Km.1. Slegs Blankes.
Tandia pointed to the door. 'You've brought me to the wrong place. I do not suffer from the affliction of being white, constable.' She was using the last of her courage, for she could feel her bowels beginning- to constrict; the well-known barrister was quickly dissolving into the small frightened teenager sitting in the play chair at Cato Manor police station.
The white female constable who'd taken over from the detective sergeant when they'd arrived at John Vorster didn't bother to reply. 'You can sit if you like,' she said, standing at the door and pointing to the lone chair. She was so nondescript in appearance that she almost defied description; she was twenty pounds overweight and the hem of her light-blue drill skirt was a good four inches higher on one side than the other.
'I'd like to use the toilet, please,' Tandia asked.
The female constable looked confused, then annoyed.
'The non-European toilets are on the other side of "C" block.
There's no time, man.'
Tandia pointed to the chair. 'If I can sit on that white person's chair, why not on a toilet seat?'
The woman seemed to hesitate again; then she jerked her head.
'Kom, maak gou, jong,
she said, telling Tandia to hurry. Tandia followed her down a corridor to a women's toilet. 'Leave open the door,' the female constable instructed. She stood directly in front of the open door looking into the toilet, her heavy brown stockinged legs slightly apart and her hands clasped behind her back.
They returned to the room and Tandia seated herself on the chair. The constable closed the door and left her, having first made her remove her shoes and confiscated her handbag and wristwatch. Placing the watch into the bag and taking both shoes and bag with her she placed them in the corridor directly outside the door. Then, using both hands, she pulled at the door which closed slowly. Tandia realized it was nearly six inches thick and must be sound-proofed. As the door clicked to a close a small red light went on above the lintel and she noted a telephone receiver fixed to the wall where it had been hidden by the open door.
Tandia longed suddenly for the calming effect of a cigarette. 'Hold yourself together, nothing's happened yet,' she said to herself, though she could feel the constriction in her chest and the leaden feeling in her stomach as her terror began to mount. It was oppressively hot in the room and she rose from the chair and removed the cardigan and then the sweater she wore under it. She was wearing a fashionably short green woollen shift which, she now realized, showed her figure. Soon this, too, became too warm and she was conscious of her clammy overheated body. Her scalp itched as the perspiration gathered on her brow.
She wiped herself down with a discarded sweater but the perspiration soon returned as she paced the room, fanning herself with both hands. She was becoming increasingly distressed. Finally after what seemed like an hour or more, with a rattle and a soft 'phffft', the door opened and Geldenhuis stood framed in the doorway.
'Here,
but it's hot in here,' he said, blowing through his teeth and fanning his face with his right hand. He turned and spoke to someone in the corridor, 'Tell them to take down the heat, you hear?' Then turning to her he smiled, 'Good morning, Tandy. I'm sorry about the heating, I told them they mustn't let you get cold.' He grinned, 'You know cops, they always over-react!'
Tandia sniffed, 'That was considerate of you, Colonel Geldenhuis.' She was surprised at the hint of sarcasm in her voice.
Geldenhuis took a step into the room, 'Now don't be like that, Tandy!' There was a grin on his face but his pale blue eyes were cold and seemed not to move, as though they were permanently locked into place. He turned. 'Bring a table and another chair!' he called at the open door.
Almost immediately two black constables appeared, one carrying a table and another carrying a chair. It was obvious to Tandia that they'd been waiting outside for permission to enter. The single chair placed directly under the light had been a ploy to unsettle her. Jannie Geldenhuis was dressed in full uniform, though he wore no cap and he carried a flat plastic zip-up folder under his left arm. He put the folder on the table which had been placed away from the light with the original chair moved to one side of it and the second chair placed on the other side.
Tandia was surprised. She hadn't seen Geldenhuis in uniform for several years and in it he took on a different dimension. If the uniform was meant to intimidate her it had slightly the opposite effect. As a uniformed policeman he tended to be the Geldenhuis who had terrorized the child. As long as she could hold on to her adult status, her lawyer's mind, Tandia told herself she could overcome these old fears. The uniform he wore would help her to keep this in mind. What she needed to fear far more was the plainclothes Geldenhuis where the evil and the private madness lay.
Had she known why Geldenhuis had appeared in uniform she would have recoiled from him in horror.
'You know why we've arrested you?' Geldenhuis asked suddenly, though his voice was still relaxed.
'On a conspiracy charge,' Tandia said. 'It won't hold up.'
'Ja, that's right. But you're wrong, it will.' His voice tightened a fraction. 'Sit please, Tandy.' He pointed to the chair and waited for her to sit. 'So, after all these years here we are at the beginning again, hey?'
'Only in one respect, colonel. This is the second time you have placed me under wrongful arrest. I would like to make a phone call please.'
'Maybe later, it's still early in the morning,' he glanced at his watch. 'Hey man, it's only six o'clock; your boyfriend, Peekay, will still be out running.' It was the first hint of animosity and Tandia braced herself.
'My partner is in Barberton today. I would like to call Hymie Levy.'
The policeman's lips puckered, 'Ja, that's right, I remember now. I was down there yesterday, they told me he was coming.'
'I've read the warrant, colonel, could. you please explain how it involves me?'
Geldenhuis held Tandia's eyes. 'Very simple. We have incontrovertible proof that you were aware of the killing and the identity of the killer of Samuel Nguni.'
'That is not true!' Tandia burst out, the volume of her protest betraying her nervousness.
'That is not for you to say, the court will decide.'
'Will you show me your supporting evidence?' Tandia asked, trying to keep her voice calm.
'Ja, maybe I will, maybe I won't, it all dependsâ¦'
'On what?'
'What do you think?'
'On whether I co-operate? I am no more implicated in Samuel Nguni's murder than you are.' Tandia was feeling safer; if Geldenhuis kept it to legal matters she could cope.
From the time he'd placed the plastic folder on the table Geldenhuis started to pace the length of the room, his arms behind his back, his whole attitude seemingly relaxed, never actually looking at Tandia. His manner was almost courtroom procedure, with her seated in the witness box and him prowling the floor as he cross-examined. Now, for the first time, he moved up close and placed his hands on the edge of the table opposite to her, leaning slightly forward so that he was almost directly above her, dominating the space they occupied, forcing Tandia to keep her eyes downcast. 'Cooperation, in our business that's a very important word, wouldn't you say, Tandy? Without co-operation we would be in a lot of trouble. But mostly, people, they're good, they co-operate with the police. Sometimes they need a little help, but mostly they're pretty good.'
Tandia realised that Geldenhuis was using standard authority structure, a slightly patronizing, though initially impersonal manner backed by an acute awareness in the victim of the authority behind it.
She told herself she would need to keep the dialogue on an equal footing as long as she possibly could. 'I cannot cooperate by pleading guilty, colonel.'
Geldenhuis moved even closer to her, raising his voice suddenly, so that she jumped involuntarily, looking up at him. 'I am not a fool, Tandy. I know that!' The expression on the policeman's face changed instantly and he smiled. 'There are lots of sorts of co-operation.' He paused. 'And each kind has, you know, its reward.'
'And what sort of co-operation did you have in mindâ¦' she paused for less than a second before adding, 'Colonel Geldenhuis?'
Geldenhuis realized that she was up to most of his tricks, that Tandia wasn't some ingenue with whom he could toy. But he had a long way to go yet and if she thought she knew where he was coming from, all the better. 'Well let me see now, Tandy, first we have to put our cards on the table. I show you the cards I got hey? Then you show me what you got.'
Tandia forced herself to smile, 'I'm afraid I'm not very good at card games, colonel.'
'Ag, man, it's easy, I'll teach you how to play. It's very simple, really. The one with the best cards wins.' He walked over to the door and closed it.
Tandia followed him with her eyes, noting again the small red light that went on above the door the moment it shut. 'I am not aware of having any cards,' she said, raising her voice so Geldenhuis could hear her.
He turned and walked over to the table. 'No, man, that's not true, you will see when we play the game you have a good hand.' Geldenhuis picked up the plastic folder on the desk and unzipped it. He withdrew two neatly typed pages and, leaning over, placed them in front of Tandia. 'I am putting my first card down. This is known as an ace. Take your timeâ¦read it.' He turned and started to pace again.
Tandia began to read the transcript which was headed up in the standard manner of a confession notice. After a few paragraphs she looked up and waited for Geldenhuis, who had his back to her, to turn. 'This is a police verbal, Colonel Geldenhuis.'
'Ja, and that's just the start.'
Geldenhuis dug into the folder again and produced a newspaper photo of Johnny Tambourine taken when he had been written up as the boy who had saved Tandia and Magistrate Coetzee's lives. 'We have positive identification from the cook.'
Tandia ignored him. She read through the documents, trying to seem the lawyer she was, although inwardly she was filled with misgiving.
'â¦and then man, my Bra comes to me. We are going to hit Nguni he says.'
P: How do you mean hit? To hit with your fist?'
Mendoza: 'No, baas, hit is like a hit-man. We must kill this Nguni guy. He is a bad cat, man.'
P: 'Why must you kill him. Did he tell you why?'