The Monster's Daughter (27 page)

“
Miesies?
Are you all right?” A black man in a waiter's uniform hovered at the end of the alley. “Do you want me to go get someone,
Miesies
?” He stepped closer, but suddenly realized the position he was in and backed off.

“No. Don't go,” Tessa pleaded hoarsely. She couldn't see Ben anywhere, but she could still feel his presence.

The man looked around nervously, his eyes darting back at the street.

“Please help me get up. No trouble. I promise.”

The man came to her side. She leaned heavily on him as he helped her stand.

“Could you please stay with me? Walk with me to my car?”

“Ja, Mies.”

“Dankie.”
Tessa held on to him all the way across Preller Plein. As soon as she locked the door behind her, he darted away, putting as much distance as he could between them. Tessa suspected she owed her life to him. And he was fearing for his because of a good deed.

Tessa reached the end of Eeufees Road without remembering how she got there. The highway turnoff loomed in front of her. She pulled onto the side of the road to think. She couldn't go back to Booysen's farm. Ben would come after her, finish what he started. Flippie had gone to Johannesburg, to make a difference, he had said. The city had sheltered her once before; maybe enough time had passed that she could get lost among the faces again. Perhaps they'd make her invisible.

She would start over. One more time, just one more time. Tessa put the car into gear and turned north on the highway.

He receded into the night as the black man helped Tessa to her car. He watched her drive away until the red taillights disappeared in the distance. Longing and self-hatred burned his stomach. She had looked at him as if he was a stranger, delusional, out of his mind. Stupid, stupid Benjamin. How could he have expected her to carry the burden of God's plan when it was his alone to bear?

Leath's journals cataloged almost forty women. Many miscarried, and perhaps there were more like Apie, but other children must have survived too, walking the earth like him and Tessa, not truly understanding what they were. As Tessa's life ebbed under his hands, God had spoken to Benjamin, revealing His command, His promise. Tessa would be his. He alone would have her love, for as long as they both lived. But he had to earn her first.

A policeman stopped the black waiter as he crossed the street, and barked something at him. The waiter dug around in his pockets and produced his passbook, stating where he worked and that he had permission to be in town after dark. The black cowered, letting the policeman search the bag he was carrying. As he watched the familiar scene play out, Benjamin realized that he'd gotten it wrong. It was the police who had real power in South Africa, not the academics or political bulldogs. Nobody questioned their authority. A smile broke out on Benjamin's lips. Yet again God had shown him the way. With his connections in the Broederbond and a police badge on his chest, he would find the others. He would rid the world of the abominations. Then God would bestow his reward.

Maria had just opened the dining room for breakfast service when Alet walked into Zebra House. She ordered a cup of coffee and waited at the bar. At seven sharp, Koch came down from his room, trailing a small suitcase behind him.

“Professor. Nice to see you.”

“Constable Berg.” Koch didn't look pleased with the ambush.

“I was about to have breakfast. Want to join me?”

Koch consented reluctantly and followed Alet to a table. Maria filled their coffee cups and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Did you sleep well?”

Koch heaped three teaspoons of sugar into his cup before answering. “Why are you here, Constable?”

Alet didn't let her smile slip. “I was hoping we could discuss your findings.”

“I'm meeting with your captain in an hour. You couldn't wait till then?”

“We're a little shorthanded at the moment, Professor, so I won't be there. I was hoping you could fill me in on the important stuff yourself.”

Koch eyed her suspiciously. “Your father always felt that he deserved special treatment. Didn't ask for permission or follow protocol. Could it be that the apple didn't fall far from the tree?”

“Look, Professor, don't hold my father against me. I'm only trying to find a killer.”

“I suppose it won't matter either way.” Koch added another spoon of
sugar to his coffee. Alet felt her own teeth decaying as she watched him slurp it down. “The victim was an adult female. Somewhere between her late thirties and early fifties. It's hard to be more accurate than that.”

“It wasn't a child?”

“Heat makes a body contract. That's why it looked small.” Koch rearranged the silverware in front of him so it lined up at right angles. “That wasn't the only part Dr. Oosthuizen got wrong.”

“He thought that she might be white.”

Koch turned to her in surprise. “Yes, the skull suggests that, but it is not definitive. We have to wait for the DNA results. I take it you have tried to match dental records?”

“We have to contact all the dentists in the area. It takes time.”

The smell of fried onions and bacon drifted into the room. Koch unfolded his napkin and placed it on his lap.

“What about the fractures of her legs?”

“Extreme heat chars the muscle and soft tissue, resulting in exposure of the underlying bones to heat, which in turn causes fractures. You can see this on the skull too, on the temporal bones.”

“How do you know the killer didn't hit her over the head?”

Koch gave Alet a pitying smile. “The fractured edges are ragged and cross suture lines. Antemortem fractures usually terminate at suture lines.”

“So the cause of death was fire.”

Someone dropped something heavy on the floor of the guest room directly above the restaurant. Koch looked up at the ceiling. “Noisy place. I got no sleep from all the comings and goings last night. You'd expect the countryside to be quiet.” He sighed. “No. To answer your question. Cause of death was not fire or smoke inhalation.”

“Dr. Oosthuizen said—”

“Never mind what Dr. Oosthuizen said. There was no soot on the back of the tongue or trachea. The victim was definitely dead by the time she was set on fire.”

“Then what killed her?”

Koch took a dramatic pause. Alet half expected him to tap his teaspoon against his coffee cup for attention before answering.

“The hyoid bone had a clean break.”

A middle-aged couple entered the restaurant. The man was skinny
with enormous protruding ears. The woman, presumably his wife, was twice his width. Maria almost bumped into them as she exited the kitchen with a tray full of plates.

“Môre.”

“Morning,” the woman said stiffly in a European accent that Alet couldn't place. The woman glared at her husband. He seemed to shrink back before also muttering a greeting.

“Any place you like,” Maria said. “I'll bring coffee now-now.” She navigated her way around the couple, the man obviously waiting on the woman's decision as to where they would be sitting. Maria unloaded her tray at Alet and Koch's table. Bacon, fried eggs and
boerewors
for Koch, oatmeal for Alet.

Alet waited until Maria was out of earshot before she turned to Koch, who was already scooping egg into his mouth, bits of yolk accumulating at the corners. “What does it mean, the broken hyoid bone?”

Koch washed his food down with coffee before answering. “The hyoid is a small bone over here.” He held his hand to his throat. “If it's broken, it usually means the victim was either in a car accident, or died from some form of strangulation.”

“You're sure about this?”

Koch looked at her in astonishment. “I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't.”

“I'm putting you on administrative leave pending the ICD investigation, Constable.”

Mynhardt had called Alet into his office the moment she walked through the station door with Koch. The captain spoke in short, curt sentences, his easy demeanor gone, his face redder than usual.

Alet took her cap off. “Please, Captain. I know Johannes and I don't agree on everything, but I've helped this investigation.”

“I don't like this either, Constable. We need all the help we can get right now.”

“Then let me stay on.”

“I can't ignore everything that's been going on here, my girl. I took a risk taking you on.”

“And I'm grateful, Captain. Let me work the charge office, at least.”

“You have a complaint of excessive force against you, my girl, and Sergeant Mathebe has voiced doubts about your ability to conduct yourself.”

“That's bullshit.”

Mynhardt half raised himself off his chair, leaning his arms on the desk. “Now, listen here, Constable.” He dropped his voice, speaking through tight lips, low and urgent. “My
gat
is on the line here. Out there is a shithouse full of blacks who are the boss of you and me and can't wait to boot me out. I'm not losing my job because of you. Understand?” Alet nodded. Mynhardt sat back in his chair, pushing paperwork over to her. “Sign here.”

Alet glanced over the incident report, the role of perpetrator leaving a strangeness on her skin, sticky, like oil on a bird's wings. The pen dented the paper's surface as she signed. She pushed it back across the desk, glad to be rid of it.

“Captain Groenewald from Joubertina called me this morning.” Mynhardt said, his composure restored.

Alet's palms were moist against the wooden armrest of her chair. “Did he talk to the suspect?”

“He denies involvement in the murders.”

“Of course he does.”

“Says he found the two victims like that and panicked when you stopped. Thought he might be framed for what happened.”

“So he attacks me and steals my car. Sure sounds like he's innocent. I don't know what I was thinking.”

Mynhardt's lips tightened across his teeth. “I know this is hard, believe me. But the law is on his side.”

“I risk my neck every day for the law. When will it be on my side?” Alet looked away, crossing her arms. “What's his name, this innocent bystander?”

Mynhardt pulled a file out from under his computer's keyboard, scanning the first page. “One Joseph Ngwenya. Seems he ran with a gang that is well known in the area. Petty crime, drugs, nothing violent.”

“In other words, he could walk away.” Alet tried to keep her voice steady. “What happens now?”

“Now, you go home and wait until you hear from me.”

“You're going in uniform?”

Alet got in the passenger seat of Tilly's red pickup with the Zebra House decals on the side. “I'm on official business.”

“Put your seat belt on.”

“Ja, Ma.”

Tilly's chestnut curls cascaded from a ponytail high on her head. Combined with her pearl-buttoned blouse, she looked un​characteristically girly.

“Is that lipstick?”

“
Ja
. So?”

“Just wondering if you have a
skelmpie
in Oudtshoorn I don't know about.”

“You jealous?” Tilly flipped the air-conditioning dial to high.

“Been thinking of becoming a nun, actually.”

Tilly gave her a look.

“Don't ask. Just drive.”

Tilly pulled away from the curb. The dirt road's bumpy drone quieted down as they took the exit to the highway. Tilly turned the radio on to an Afrikaans station that played hits from the eighties and nineties, reporting on local events with bits of national news thrown in between the weather forecast and Pick n Pay ads. Alet put her cap on the dashboard and played with her braid, humming along to a Roxette song she used to like in high school.

“Sorry about bursting in last night.” Alet tried to sound casual.

Tilly bit her bottom lip, the burned-orange lipstick staining her teeth. “No worries.” She moved onto the skirt of the road, pebbles crunching under the wheels of the pickup, as a red Hyundai streaked past, its hazards flashing twice. Tilly made a smooth return to the tarred road, picking up speed, following the car closely. A-ha faded in with “The Sun Always Shines on TV.”

“Sounded like you and Jeff were going at it.” Alet sensed a shift in Tilly's demeanor, a subtle hostility as she leaned forward, her shoulders hunching over the wheel.

“Don't remember,” Tilly said. She turned the volume up on the radio. A woman droned the news in Afrikaans. Government corruption, as usual, AIDS infecting one in six, robberies, assaults, almost
five hundred dead on the roads already this month. The usual buzzwords losing their ability to shock, understanding numbed by too much going wrong and too little being done about it. Everybody called for the government, the police, to take control, when the truth was that nobody had control over anything.

The red Hyundai was doing close to 135 kilometers an hour in front of them, Tilly's pickup not too far behind. Green road signs flashed by, counting down kilometers to Oudtshoorn's city limits. The morning DJ chatted to a caller about her family's holiday plans.

“Shit.” Tilly slammed on the brakes.

Alet's kneecaps hit the dash hard. Ahead of them the Hyundai's brake lights flared. She saw Strijdom down the road, his arms extended, signaling the Hyundai to pull over. She released her seat belt in one swoop and ducked her head down.

“Mind telling me what you're doing?” Tilly slowed the pickup to a crawl, pressing the window button, opening it halfway.

“Don't let him see me.”

Tilly stopped the truck and leaned over Alet, sticking her face out the window, her elbow digging into Alet's side. “Hi Hein!”