The Monster's Daughter (40 page)

Alet stopped short as she got to the big stone church. In the distance, on the rise that snaked up the mountain overlooking Unie, she noticed Jakob's skinny body swaying up the path. “Jakob!” Jakob turned around, smiled, waved at her with the hand that wasn't clutched around a bottle neck, and continued up the mountain.
“Ag, Jissis.”
Alet ran after him. The incline was steeper than she thought, the day's heat rising off the barren ground. She really had to do something about getting back into shape. Sweat was pouring down her face by the time she reached him. “Jakob.
Fok
. Stop, okay?”

“What now,
Mies
?” Jakob grinned, the picture of innocence.

Alet walked closer, trying to catch her breath. The bottle in Jakob's hand had not been opened yet, but the smell of alcohol seeped out of his pores. “How much have you had to drink? It's not even five o'clock yet.”

“
Nee
,
Mies
. Is just a little happiness. Is all okay.”

“I had a
moerse
time catching you, man.”

“These legs are old but they're fast,
Mies
. Just see.” Jakob started speed walking up the mountain.

“Jakob! You come back here or I will
bliksem
you myself.”

Jakob stopped. “Ai,
Mies
. What now? Why you so
bedonnerd
?”

“I have to talk to you.”

“Not now,
Mies
. Let a man have his
dop
in peace.” He did a little jig. “Hey, hey, it's Friday!”

“We can do it here or I can take you to the station for the night.”

“Ai
,
nee. Ai, nee.”
Jakob sank down haunches in the middle of the road, shaking his head. “You're always ugly to me,
Mies
. I already tell you everything.”

“I need to ask about
Baas
Boet.”

“I don't know anything,
Mies
. I told you. True's bob. The
baas
is a good man. I told you, but you people never listen.”

“He hit you, Jakob.”

“Was nothing.” Jakob waved his hand in front of him. “Long forgot. Finish and
klaar
. No problems between us.”

“Okay.” Alet walked closer to him. “Tell me, Jakob. Does
Baas
Boet know
Baas
Jeffrey Wexler?”

“
Baas
Boet likes to
dop
at Zebra House,
Mies
. You know. I sometimes catch a ride when he goes to town.”

“Did
Baas
Jeff ever come to the farm?”

“I don't know,
Mies
.”

“How about
Mies
Trudie Pienaar?”

Jakob dropped his bottle. He covered his head with his arms.

Alet waited, but Jakob didn't move, didn't make a sound. “Jakob?” She bent down and touched his shoulder.

Jakob jerked and he fell back, his arms swinging, trying to stop his fall. His face was wet.

“Jakob, what's going on?”

“She's dead,
Mies
. That's all I know. Burned black. Black dead. Dead, dead, dead.” Jakob's wrinkled face contorted. “She never coming back again. Never ever.”

“You knew
Mies
Trudie?”

“She was good. A good lady. Better than all of them.” Jakob gestured to the town below them. “Whole stinking lot.”

“How did you know
Mies
Trudie, Jakob?”

Jakob pushed himself off the ground. He swayed unsteady for a moment before retrieving his bottle.

“Jakob, answer me.”

Jakob turned away and staggered up the mountain.

“Jakob!”

“Just leave it,
Mies
,” he yelled without looking back. “Maybe another day, hey?”

Alet let him continue his trek, determined to try again once he'd slept it off.

She was busy changing out of her uniform when her cell rang. She sank down on her bed in only a pair of shorts, her tank top dangling over one arm, listening to Mathebe's update. “That must be wrong, Johannes,” she said after he finished. “I thought you identified Trudie from dentals.”

“The record was from a dentist in Oudtshoorn. I ran the fingerprints we found at her house for confirmation. The query came back this afternoon.”

“Well, she looked bloody good for an octogenarian, is all I can say. Look, she must have used a fake ID, or there was a major cock-up when they digitized the records. Wouldn't surprise me.”

“I do not know how to explain it, Constable Berg, but the captain is asking questions.”

“Shit.” Alet pretended not to notice the silence on the other end of the line. “So who did Trudie's fingerprints match up to?”

“Lilly Maartens. Birth date, March 1931.”

“Hold on. What day?”

Alet heard a rustle of papers on the other end of the line.

“The second.”

“The date on Trudie Pienaar's ID is the second of March '58?”

“Yes.”

Alet forced a breath out pursed lips. Why would Trudie have taken the identity of someone so much older than she was? “What else do you have on Lilly Maartens?”

“One moment.”

There was a click as Alet was put on hold. She tried to get her top over her head, but Mathebe picked up again.

“Place of birth, Winburg. There is a record of marriage. Nothing else.”

“No DOD?”

“No.”

“And the husband?”

Papers rustled. “Dean Kritzinger. Lawyer. Some mention of activity in the ANC. He died during a home invasion.”

“Okay.” Alet's phone beeped. Call-waiting. “Look, I have to go, but I wanted to ask you something. Have you found anything that links Boet Terblanche's foreman to Trudie Pienaar?”

“I have not. Why do you ask?”

“Probably nothing, but he was very upset this afternoon when I tried to talk to him. I think he knew her better than he's let on.”

The second call disconnected before she had time to pick it up. Mike Engelman's number came up. Alet listened to the voice mail. Mike's voice rambled through static.

“Alet. I just saw the papers. I … well, I know you are working with Professor Koch, but I'd like to offer my help with the case. Please call if you need anything. Anytime. Okay? You have my number. Please call.”

Alet had read the article online that morning, complete with a fuzzy photograph of Trudie, sensationalized with doom-and-gloom statistics about the increasing murder rate, which was the highest in a country not at war, it claimed. The reporter identified Mynhardt as the officer in charge of the case, no mention of her or Mathebe. She wondered if Mike really wanted to help or if this was his way of feeling out the waters after the other night. Either way, she didn't want to deal with it, not right now. She turned her phone off and finished dressing. Grabbing a six-pack out of the fridge, she headed over to the main house. Tilly answered the door after a couple of minutes. A fragility hung about her, her pale skin punctuated by dark shadows.

“I've got refreshments.”

“Come in.” Tilly led the way through the house. Most of the earlier chaos had been replaced by stacks of boxes in the hallway.

“You want something to eat? Only toast and Marmite, I'm afraid.” Tilly picked up an empty plate from the kitchen table and dumped its contents into the sink.

“No. I'm good.” Alet took two beers out of the pack. “You've been busy.”

“I'm putting the house up for sale.” Tilly took a beer from Alet and twisted the top off.

“How are you holding up?”

Tilly shook her head. “I thought I could make up for things if I stayed here.” She sighed, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “But that's stupid, isn't it?” Her voice wavered. “Anyway. Perhaps it's time to start fresh.”

“What will you do?”

“I don't know. Maybe go overseas. Jeff said he'd help me out.”

“Really?”

“Anywhere is better than here, hey.”

“Cheers to that.” Alet clinked her beer bottle against Tilly's. “Jeff and your mom knew each other, right?”

“Let's go sit on the
stoep
. It's cooler there.” Tilly grabbed two more beers.

Alet followed her to the back of the house. Tilly opened the glass door and all the windows of the enclosed
stoep
. She tucked her feet under her on the old couch. Alet took a seat at the other end.

“You didn't answer me before.”

“Mmm?” Tilly stared out at the backyard, where the trees were becoming monochromatic in the twilight.

“Your mom and Jeff.”

“Oh. Um … she worked for him for a little while when he first bought Zebra.” Tilly changed her empty bottle for a fresh one. Alet had only taken a couple of sips of her first. “You know, the last time I spoke to her, we argued,” Tilly said. “I think Wednesday, maybe. It might have been Tuesday. You'd think I'd remember.”

“She was in the garden every morning. I should have noticed that she was missing. There was just so much
kak
going on.”

“It's okay.” Tilly sounded removed. “I don't blame you. She was difficult.”

Alet studied Tilly's profile, trying to figure out how she was going to broach the subject. “Do you think, perhaps, I could take a look at her things?”

Tilly dipped her thumb into the mouth of her beer bottle, making a popping sound as she pulled it out.

Alet wasn't sure if Tilly had heard her, or if she was just ignoring
the request. She tried again. “I'll be honest, we don't understand any of this. Maybe there's some clue in her past that can help.”

“Your colleague already ransacked this house. He came in here and … Do you know what it was like? Finding out what happened to her and then walking in here? Her whole life violated, thrown on the floor like it was garbage.”

Alet wondered why Mathebe had gone to such lengths, had been so un​characteristically messy. She supposed he was trying to be thorough.

“You people.” Tilly's voice was shrill, a subdued hysteria suddenly bursting to the surface. “You have prodded and invaded, worse than whoever did that to her.”

“Tilly—”

“She always kept to herself. Now the whole world has made it their business to lay her bare.”

Tilly hid her face in her hands, a low moan escaping from the pit of her stomach. Alet moved closer and put her arms around Tilly. Tilly shook her off.

“I'm sorry.” The words seemed meager. Alet sat quietly, waiting for Tilly's guttural moans to quiet down.

Tilly slumped into a fetal position on the couch, her head leaning on the armrest, her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms disappearing under her body. “Do you know how it happened?” she said at last. “Did she … suffer?”

“She was strangled before the fire. I honestly don't know if she suffered.”

Tilly pushed herself up. “I can't do this. I have to go to work. Please lock the door behind you.” She walked into the house, leaving Alet alone on the
stoep
. Moments later, Alet heard the front door close.

“Do you have any idea what time it is? I have a family.”

Alet switched the cell to her other ear and glanced at her watch. “I'm sorry, Professor Koch, but something came up.”

“Let me take this in the study.”

There was a click on the line. Alet imagined Koch assuring his wife that a call at midnight was nothing serious. She looked at the items spread out on her bed. She had taken a box of Trudie's personal
things from the house, hoping Tilly wouldn't miss them till morning. In the box she found an old biscuit tin with peeling green paint, filled to the brim with faded photographs. Alet had tried to arrange them in some sort of chronological order. As she trailed her eye from the beginning of the line to the end, a whole lifetime passed, pink-cheeked youth slowly disappearing, giving way to a gaunt adult face, the bloom of beauty progressively worn down by time. The early photographs were sepia, a blond little girl growing into adolescence. In the later ones Trudie always looked away from the camera, her hair color and style changing constantly. There was only one picture that had her facing the camera, taken in the seventies, judging by the bell-bottoms and long hair of the man in the picture with her. She must have been about the same age as Tilly was now. There was an expression of surprise on Trudie's face, as if she'd been caught off-guard. The flash made her pale eyes look like they were shining, as if she was something ethereal, staring out at Alet through time.

“This couldn't wait till morning?” Koch's mood had soured considerably between his bedroom and his study.

“I have something here, Professor. I need you to tell me if it is possible.”

“
Ja?
”

Where to begin? “I've found personal photographs of the victim.” Alet picked up the most recent one. “She was in her forties or so when she died, right?”

“It's hard to determine a precise age forensically after a person reaches adulthood, but I concur that it is possible.”

Alet thought of the last time she saw Trudie in the garden. Trudie always dressed dowdy, her clothes that of an old woman, her hair the same color as Tilly's, tied in an old-fashioned knot, always covered by some sort of hat, her eyes hidden behind dark glasses. “What if she was older?”

“Well, there's a range of about fifteen years.”

“No. I mean, what if she was a lot older?”

“I thought you identified the victim. Don't you have a birth certificate?”

“Professor, you said she was a different species. Have you found out anything more about how she might have been different from us?”

“The genotype wasn't compatible with that of modern humans, although the phenotype might have mimicked Homo sapiens closely. To determine the exact expression of the gene from the DNA is virtually impossible. I can only give you an approximation. I thought I explained that.”