The Monster's Daughter (24 page)

“I know he's not an easy person, but there's something else going on between them.”

“Interesting.”

“I hate it when you do that.”

“What?”

“The way you say ‘interesting,' when you know something I don't.”

The corners of Theo's mouth spread, warming his whole face.

“
Ja?
” she went on.

“It's rumors, mostly. Which is why I won't repeat them.” The quotation marks between Theo's eyes deepened. “If you want, I can look into it.”

Alet hesitated. Policemen all did things that they weren't proud of in the apartheid era, and these days old misdeeds had a nasty way of coming to light at the worst possible time. If she was going to work with Koch, she needed to know who she was dealing with before it buggered up her case come court day. “
Ja
.” she said. “If you can, that would be great.”

A plump woman with Malay features came over to their table. She had an array of plates and small dishes balanced on each arm. Fish curry, yellow rice,
waterblommetjie
stew, sambals, and fruit chutneys threatened to spill over the edge of the table by the time she had unloaded her burden. Theo bowed his head for a second, his lips moving quietly before he picked up his fork.

“I'm in trouble, Theo.” Alet hadn't planned on bringing up the subject, least of all to Theo, but she needed someone to talk to. Theo knew what it was like to be on the wrong side of the SAPS.

He finished his first bite of curry. “Man, that's
lekker
.” He put his fork down. “So now we come to the real reason you're here.”

“You know what, never mind.”

“Sorry.” Theo reached for her arm. “Tell me.”

Alet took a deep breath. “I shot a hijacker.”

“Is he dead?”

“Not last time I checked.”

Theo withdrew his hand and picked up his fork. “You're okay, then.”

“He wasn't an immediate threat, see? That, and my demotion, all in under a year …” She bit her lip.

“With all the corruption going on in the police? It takes more than that, believe me. This job has opened my eyes. We get to research all the cases, put them in a spreadsheet for statistics. Superintendents taking bribes, dockets disappearing. One day a guy is under investigation, the next, he gets promoted. Can't say I blame them for trying to make extra cash, though. You know that working here, at the university, it's the first time that I don't have to choose between child support and a decent place to live.”

Alet felt her mood souring. “
Ja
, but I'm pigmentally challenged, see? They'll go after me to set an example.”

Theo's eyes grew hard with the same deadpan expression he'd worn at their hearing. Alet wished that she had bitten her tongue. Theo's mother was coloured, his white father a lowlife who had skipped town the moment he'd found out she was pregnant. Theo had had to fight both poverty and stereotypes all his life.

“I'm sure your dad can call in a few favors, make the docket disappear,” Theo said.

“What?”

Theo shrugged. “I got kicked out. You got to stay.” He pushed his food around on his plate. “It doesn't take a genius to figure out the difference between us.”

Alet knew she was foolish to have contacted Theo, to try to confide in him as if nothing had happened. She pushed her chair out. “You know what, I have to go.”

“You haven't even tasted your curry yet.” Theo spoke with a measured joviality that barely masked his anger. Alet knew all too well the way he shut down.

“I have to get back to Unie,” she said. “Get things ready for Koch.”

“Suit yourself.”

Just outside the door Alet looked back at him. Theo didn't notice, didn't look up from his food. There was that pressure behind her eyes again, but she refused to give in.

Professor Koch removed the victim's charred bowels from the abdominal cavity. He ran his gloved hand along the large intestine, like he was stuffing
boerewors
. The stench penetrated the Vicks VapoRub that Alet had smeared under her nostrils earlier. Mathebe seemed unfazed as he scribbled in his notebook, his neck stiff, his expression stony. He had hardly spoken to her since she'd gotten back, nodding curtly when she told him about Koch's impending visit.

On the exam table, a Y-shaped gash sliced through the corpse's chest cavity, running from both shoulders down the center of the body to its pubic bone. Organs, tongue still attached to esophagus and lungs, were spread on a stainless-steel tray. It reminded Alet of the offal her grandmother used to cook for Sunday lunch when she felt nostalgic for the farm life of her childhood. Gerda would usually treat Alet to a well-done burger at the Wimpy after.

Koch muttered an occasional, “Can't conclusively determine,” and other medical terminology into a small microphone, his tongue lingering on his teeth, producing muddled sibilant sounds. He seemed unaware of their presence, only acknowledging Oosthuizen when he needed information on the “damage” he had done with his earlier handling of the corpse. Oosthuizen answered questions patiently, unfazed by Koch's remarks. Yes, he took the X-rays of the body while it was still in the body bag. No, the right arm had detached during removal from the crime scene. Yes, soil samples were taken from the surrounding area to examine the melted body fat. He quietly handed Koch forceps, pruning shears and something that looked very much like a bread knife, taking photographs and measurements of the brain, body parts and organs when instructed to do so.

“Well, I think that's it,” Koch said, peeling his gloves off and dumping them in a bio-waste container. “I'll leave you to close her up while I compile the report.”

Oosthuizen took the primary position next to the table, methodically sealing the bowels and intestines in a plastic bag before returning them to the body cavity. Koch washed his hands at the sink, scrubbing his nails with a small brush. Alet followed him and Mathebe out of the room, relieved when Mathebe suggested that they conduct the interview at the station the next morning. Koch, however, wasn't as pleased.

“You may not realize this, but I do have other responsibilities.”

“Please, Professor.” Alet tried her best to calm him down. “Captain Mynhardt wants to sit in. It's late and I'm sure you're tired. We'll be much more productive in the morning.”

Koch waved his puffy hand as if he was swatting flies. “Just as well. It might take till morning to explain all your man's mistakes.” He waddled to his car. As soon as he got in, he bounced out again. “I don't know if I can find the guesthouse again.”

“You really can't get lost here. I can ride along with you,” Alet offered. Tilly would be closing Zebra House's bar in the next fifteen minutes; perhaps she could make last call.

“I need to discuss a few details of the case with Constable Berg, Professor,” Mathebe said before she could get into Koch's car. “You can follow this street to the main tar road. Turn right and then left when you reach the big stone church. Zebra House is up the block.”

Koch's sedan disappeared down the road, dust billowing in its wake. Mathebe headed for the police van without a word. He waited until Alet had closed the passenger side door before he spoke.

“Professor Koch's assistance will be valuable.” Mathebe didn't make eye contact.

“Lucky break, hey.” Alet hoped this wouldn't take long.

Mathebe took a deep breath. “I have shown you respect since you joined the Unie police service, Constable Berg. Have I not?”

“Ja.”
A dull headache suddenly flared behind Alet's eyes.

“I do my best to show respect to all, because I believe it is the only way to move forward. Things were not fair in the past, but no matter what was done to me or how I was treated, I cannot hold anyone but the person who did those things responsible. I keep my feelings here,” he brought the fingertips of his right hand together and touched them to his chest, “and my actions here.” He touched his forehead.

“Very healthy of you.”

“Then why do you feel that I should not be respected in return, Constable Berg?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Captain Mynhardt appointed me to lead this investigation. I trust that he believed I could do the job.”

“Look, Johannes—”

Mathebe held his hand up. “Please give me the opportunity to finish what I have to say.”

Pressure built at Alet's temples.

“You did not feel it was necessary to involve me in recruiting Professor Koch. You withheld your findings from searching the path and lookout. You neglected to mention Doctor Oosthuizen's findings about the race of the victim. You did not come to me with any of this information. Instead, you went to Captain Mynhardt.”

“I had to get permission from the captain to involve Koch.”

“You did not include me in the investigation of which I am in charge. Is this not true?”

“Dammit, Johannes. We only got Koch because of me. It wasn't as if I was taking anything away from you. Besides, you would have stopped me before I even picked up the phone.”

Mathebe pursed his lips. “You still do not understand.”

“Explain it to me, then, because it seems that the only progress in this case happened because of me.”

“That is the way you see it.”

“There's no other way to see it.” Alet stared out the windshield of the van. The clinic was dark, except for the bright fluorescents in the makeshift autopsy room. Oosthuizen was alone with the body, touching its charred fragile exterior, stitching it back together. She shuddered.

“I thank you for your help in this investigation, Constable Berg, but I do not believe that your continued presence will be a benefit in solving this case.”

It took a moment for Mathebe's words to sink in. “You're kicking me off?”

“I will discuss the situation with Captain Mynhardt in the morning.”

The sudden rush of blood to Alet's face augmented the hammers in her skull. “This is
kak
. You hear me?”

Mathebe closed his eyes.

“And stop doing that. It's getting old.” Alet got out, slammed the door and started walking to Kerk Street. Mathebe started the engine and drove away.

Zebra House was dark by the time Alet reached it. She went around the back to see if Tilly was still there. The kitchen door was unlocked and she felt her way to the hallway. A slither of light snuck out from under the door of the management office. Muffled voices entwined in a heated discussion.

“… let me talk to him, sort things.” A man. Jeff Wexler, if Alet was not mistaken.

“What if he doesn't?” Tilly's strained reply.

“Dear child, I'm not hiding anything from you.”

“Wouldn't be the first time.”

“You're being paranoid. Make the call.”

The door opened before Alet had time to step back into the kitchen. Wexler stopped short, a peculiar look on his face when he saw her. “What are you doing here?”

Alet smiled. “I was looking for Tilly.”

Wexler's initial surprise morphed into practiced charm. “She's just finishing up, Constable.” He looked back into the office.

Tilly's head appeared in the door behind him. She looked tired, her mascara lightly smeared, forming asymmetrical black lines in the corners of her eyes.

“Hey, Till. You up for a drink?”

“I'll be there now-now,” Tilly said. “Give me a minute.”

“I'm afraid I've kept you from your plans, Mathilda.”

“No, I didn't—”

Wexler turned to Alet. “Why don't I pour you a nightcap, Constable?”

“
Ja
 … Thanks.” Alet followed Wexler to the bar, wondering what exactly she had overheard.

“Can you appreciate a good scotch, Constable Berg?” Wexler reached under the bar and produced a bottle. “I hide this from the plebeians.”

“I drink whiskey.”

“Prepare to be delighted, then.” Wexler set out two short glasses and poured a healthy measure into each. It was smoother than anything Unie had to offer, subtle layers of flavor dancing on Alet's tongue.

“You might be spoiling me for rotgut, Mr. Wexler.”

Wexler laughed. “Life's too short to drink bad liquor, my dear.” He took another sip. “Were you waiting long? Outside the office, I mean.”

“No.” Alet buried her nose in the glass. There was a tenseness in Wexler's charm, a wariness that made him seem all the more suspicious.

Tilly appeared in the doorway. “I'm sorry, Alet. Would you mind if we do this some other time? It's late and I have to make a supply run to Oudtshoorn in the morning.”

“
Ja
. No worries.” Alet pushed her chair away from the bar. “Hey, maybe I'll come with you? I have to go to Oudtshoorn anyway. We can catch up on the way.” A brief look passed between Tilly and Wexler.

“I suppose that's okay,” Tilly said.

Alet drained her glass. “Thanks for the drink, Mr. Wexler.”

Wexler's fixed smile listed to the right. “Pleasure, Constable.”

Alet felt strangely alert as she descended Zebra House's steps. Something was off and Wexler was involved, that much she was sure of. The fact that he had suddenly appeared in Unie the day of the murder was suspicious. And he had looked positively spooked when he thought that she had overheard his conversation with Tilly.

Without knowing the identity of the victim, there was no way to tie Wexler or anyone else to the murder. Alet desperately needed to put a name and a face to the charred remains. To do that, she had to find out what was in Koch's report before Mathebe got her kicked off the case.

The tension in Sophiatown's narrow streets was palpable as Flippie stepped off the bus. He walked over to a group of people gathered in front of an eviction notice, which had come three days earlier than the government had initially scheduled it. Flippie read over the converging heads, the words banal, the message clear. Vacate your homes and leave for Meadowlands by six a.m. Or else. Policemen armed with Sten guns and knobkerries drove by and the crowd dispersed, skulking back to their shacks.