The Monster's Daughter (36 page)

Miriam appeared in the doorway with Alet's beer and a fresh cup of coffee. “Please excuse me while I tend to the children.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

Alet twisted the cap off the beer bottle and took a sip. Mathebe stirred his coffee as methodically as he did everything else. He took a languid sip.

“You don't like beer?” Alet knew Mathebe was a stiff, but she thought she could get him to loosen up before she dropped this bomb on him. “Must be the only policeman in the history of the force.”

“I prefer coffee.”

“Oh.” Alet took two large sips from the bottle. “It's been a week, you know. I mean, since we found her.”

“Yes.”

“I know I'm supposed to stay out of it. That I fucked up.”

Mathebe pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair.

“
Fok
, messed up. Sorry. I don't mean to … What I wanted to say, is that I am sorry. About going behind your back and not respecting your investigation.”

A light went on in one of the rooms of the house. Alet heard the muffled voice of Miriam quizzing Celiwe on her homework. She thought about the history exams she'd had to take in school, how the textbooks changed when the ANC came into power. A new history for the New South Africa. She wished that her own history could be changed that easily, her bad decisions erased with something as simple as a revised textbook.

Mathebe studied her, his expression unchanged. “I received a call from Oudtshoorn. Sergeant Maree. He wanted to let you know that he found a case that matched your criteria. The coroner had concluded that the victim was strangled before she was set on fire.”

“I'm sorry, Johannes, I—”

“You have continued investigating the case, Constable Berg. You come to my house, apologizing for going behind my back, and yet you are still going behind my back.”

“Please, just hear me out.”

Mathebe sighed. “Your beer is almost finished.”

“There is something very wrong, Johannes. I saw Professor Koch today. He ran DNA on the body. Trudie Pienaar wasn't white.”

There was a crack in Mathebe's expression.

“Not in the sense that I'm white or you're black, or April is coloured.”

“I don't understand what you are trying to say, Constable. Was she Asian?”

“No.” Alet sighed. “So, Trudie looked normal, right? But there's something different about her genes or something.”

Alet tried to remember exactly what Koch had told her that afternoon. They had met at the gardens near parliament. Koch led her to a secluded area, away from the tourists. His lisp was so bad that she could barely keep up with what he was saying. She had to ask him to repeat most of it, not understanding any of the scientific gibberish. Once he dumbed it down for her, her mind simply refused to believe that it was true. Koch explained that humans share 99 percent of their genetic makeup with chimpanzees, but that it was that 1 percent that made all the difference. Trudie's 1 percent looked different from other people's.

“What exactly does that mean, Constable?” Mathebe was losing patience.

“It means that she wasn't just a different race. Apparently this gene thing meant that she was … a different species.” Alet paused, watching a look of incredulity form on Mathebe's face. “I know,” she said. “I'm having trouble with it too.”

“The victim was not human?” Mathebe's coffee cup balanced at a precarious angle on his lap.

“Koch said it would have been like the difference between us and Neanderthals. They looked like ugly-ass humans, but they weren't human at all. Because some part of their genes was different.”

Mathebe raised both eyebrows so high that they almost touched his hairline. “We do not have a case to solve, then. The SAPS does not investigate the death of random animals. Only livestock. Was Mrs. Pienaar part cow or sheep, Constable?

Alet was taken aback. She wasn't used to Mathebe being sarcastic. “Look, Johannes. I know this is hard to believe, but Koch is sure of the results.”

“How did she get here? A spaceship, perhaps? Or did she one day decide to crawl out of a mud puddle?” Mathebe had a sneer on his lips.

“Listen to me, please? I don't know what this means yet, but I think that we are dealing with something bigger than just one murder. It's not just that murder in Oudtshoorn that was similar to the Pienaar murder. I've managed to find thirteen other murders across the country. All of them with the same MO. And there might be more.”

“Sergeant Maree said the murder in Oudtshoorn took place in 1958. Even if the killer was a teenager, he would be an old man by now.”

Alet sank back in her chair. “There are murders earlier than that. As far back as the forties.” Mathebe gave her a questioning look. “I have a friend at the university in Cape Town who has been helping me find them,” she said.

Mathebe's nostrils flared. “Are you absolutely sure they are connected, Constable?”

Alet nodded. “I wouldn't waste your time.”

“I have to speak to Captain Mynhardt.”

“No, please, Johannes. He can't know about any of this. Not yet.”

“He will know as soon as he receives Professor Koch's findings.”

The faint call of a hyena sounded in the distance. Alet took a deep breath, considering the possibility of walking away. She got up from her chair. “Koch has agreed to keep that part out of it. His lab guy doesn't even know. I think he wants to write some article or something on the discovery.”

“So why would he tell you?”

“I don't know. He said something about needing access to the body so he could run more tests.”

“This still does not explain why the captain has to be kept in the dark.”

“Mynhardt knows my father.”

“I am aware of this.”

Of course he was
. Alet shifted her gaze to the glowing white cross on the hill that overlooked Unie. “Eight of the thirteen murders I found were investigated by my father. They called them the Angel killings.” Alet was afraid of making eye contact with Mathebe, of seeing the judgment there. The hyena cried out again, closer this time. She crossed her arms. “There were no suspects. It was the only case in my dad's career he didn't solve.”

“Your father is not infallible.”

“There's more.” Alet bit her lip. She had received a call from Theo that morning after her meeting with Koch, linking the two case files she'd given him with news reports and media coverage of other similar murders. Theo had to search for death certificates to confirm cause of death. “The case files went missing when my father transferred to Security Branch.”

Mathebe shook his head slowly. “A lot of files went missing in those years.”

“Those files were destroyed on purpose.”

“Files were destroyed so that government-sanctioned assassins could get away with murder, Constable. Were your victims activists?”

“They were all Afrikaner women, housewives, secretaries, prostitutes.”

Mathebe narrowed his eyes. “Why are you really here, Constable Berg?”

Alet steeled herself. “I have to know the truth.”

“And if you find that your father has something to do with these murders, that he protected a killer in exchange for a promotion? What will you do?”

“I don't know.”

Mathebe took a moment before he spoke again. “Do you know what the date is, Constable?”

“What?”

“It is the sixteenth of December.
Geloftedag
—the day of the pledge. When the
Voortrekkers
made a pledge to God that they would always commemorate the day if He helped them beat the Zulu at the battle of Bloedrivier, because the blood of the savages stained the river red. A pact made in blood. The Afrikaner and God against the savages of this land.”

Alet frowned, uneasy with where this was heading. “Why the history lesson?”

“When I was a boy, we would watch the
baas
and his neighbors walk to church on this day, to celebrate their victory, to thank God and honor their ancestors. After, they would go home and feast and throw their leftovers to the dogs. It was that same
baas
who paid in cheap brandy to keep the workers drunk and under his thumb while he grew even fatter than his father before him. And the lower he pushed
those savages, the more they drank to escape despair. I do not drink alcohol, Constable Berg. I do not allow it in my house. When I left my mother's house, I swore I would never be controlled by the
baas
or the bottle like my father and his father. That I would never come home in a drunken stupor and beat my wife and my children because that was the only power I had. I worked hard to become a policeman. Because I wanted the power to change things. Because I wanted to give power to the people who were not chosen by God.”

Mathebe's hands balled in his lap. “You are asking me to help you investigate a very powerful man.” He looked at the light in Celiwe's room. “If this goes wrong, you will dust yourself off and say sorry, Father. All will be forgiven for you, but I will not have that luxury. My family will not have that luxury. In this land it is still us against them.”

Alet picked up her empty beer bottle. “I'm sorry. I should have realized.” She headed for the garden gate, not wanting to disturb Miriam and the children. Mathebe was the straightest arrow she knew. If even he was scared, there was little hope of her finding anyone who would help her. “It's not called that anymore, you know.” Alet's hand rested on the garden gate. She turned to face Mathebe. “It's called the Day of Reconciliation now.”

Mathebe didn't answer. Alet marched back, going on her haunches next to his chair. “I will make a promise to you, Sergeant Mathebe. I will share everything I find from now on. If I don't, you can hand me over to Mynhardt on a silver platter. And if it turns out that my father is guilty, I will respect your decision on what to do with that information.” Alet waited, her heart catching in her throat. She felt nauseated, her understanding of the world thrown out of balance in a few short days. There was an uncertain future ahead of her, and she hoped that she had been right to trust Mathebe.

“I am in charge of this case.” Mathebe's words came slow as molasses. “It is my duty to see it through. Give the victim justice, no matter who she was.”

“You will help, then?”

“I will talk to the captain to get you reinstated.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

“I am giving you until Boxing Day. After that, I will hand everything we have over to the captain.”

Alet made her way across the front of the house to where she had parked Tilly's pickup. The porch light went out behind her. Something stirred in the shadows behind one of the oak trees.

“Johannes?” Alet kept her eye on the trees. “Who's there?” She felt for the pickup keys in her pocket. As she turned around to unlock the door, a twig snapped behind her.

“Boet Terblanche, I swear if that is you …”

A hyena cried, much closer this time.

“Answer me!”

A soft ping reverberated, dust flying up against her leg. Alet hunkered down before her mind had a chance to process the fact that the shooter was using a silencer. She reached up for the pickup's door handle. The light in the cab went on.
Shit
. Another shot, this one lodging in the side of the truck, barely missing her hand. She jumped in as fast as she could and slammed the door behind her. She turned the key in the ignition, shifting into gear and slamming her foot on the petrol, driving blind. The truck skidded on the gravel, swaying dangerously as the front wheel hit the curb. Glass shattered next to her head.

“
Fok!
” Alet jerked the wheel back to where she thought the road was. She lifted her head just enough to see over the dash. The truck bounded over a bump in the road and she hit her chin on the steering wheel. Blood rushed into her mouth, the horn blaring. The lights went on in Mathebe's house.

“Stay down, there's a shooter,” Alet yelled out the window as Mathebe opened the front door. He crouched down and backed into the house.

In the rearview mirror, a silhouette ran across the road. Alet turned the truck around. The figure disappeared between rows of houses before she had a chance to train her high beams on it. She drove back up the block, searching for movement, not sure what she would do if the person started shooting again. Headlights. Alet saw a car starting up a few blocks away. She floored the gas. The truck jerked forward and stalled.

“Dammit!”

The distant headlights disappeared between the houses. Mathebe ran up to the pickup, gun held out in front of him. He got in on the passenger side. “Are you all right, Constable?”

“No! That
fokker
is getting away.” Alet turned the keys in the ignition, the engine groaned, then sputtered to silence. “Ugh!” She slammed her hands against the steering wheel.

“Constable?”

Alet looked over at Mathebe, realizing for the first time that he was only wearing boxers. She suddenly couldn't contain herself.

Mathebe frowned. “Why are you laughing?”

“You're buff.”

“You have to be fit for the job,” he said self-consciously.

Alet's laughter renewed itself. She crumpled over the steering wheel, her eyes tearing up.

Mathebe looked at her stoically. “I do not understand what is funny.”

“Sorry, it's just … you. In your underwear. And the pickup stalling.” Alet wiped her eyes. “It's just too much.”

Mathebe put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“I don't know.”

“I will get dressed and we can go to the station.”

“No.” The laughter died abruptly in Alet's throat.

“We have to report—”

“Listen, Johannes. I'm not supposed to be anywhere near this case. If Mynhardt finds out about this, he won't reinstate me. Please. I'm okay, really.”