The Monster's Daughter (44 page)

Dominee
Joubert stepped up to the microphone, his voice hollow and metallic over the speaker system. “We need three more to fill the tug-of-war, Brothers and Sisters. The winning team gets free tickets to tonight's cabaret at Joyboys featuring André du Plessis.”

Alet wondered if
Dominee
Joubert had gone to the trouble of finding out who André really was yet. She waited until the feedback from the speaker died down.

“We need to talk to Boet, Jana.” Alet and Mathebe had been looking for Boet at the church bazaar and found Jana working the concessions stand, selling tickets for the
braai
.

“He was helping out with the sheep auction. Two farmers donated this year.”

Alet had heard about this charity sheep auction. There was an unspoken rule that whoever put in the highest bid was supposed to donate the sheep back to the church. The same sheep ended up being auctioned multiple times through the day.

“It's about your foreman—” Alet was interrupted by the man in the fake-fur Santa suit and white polyester beard. It took her a moment to realize that it was Boet. He made brief eye contact with her before laying his hand on Jana's shoulder.

“
Haai, Koeks
.” Jana turned her head, her kiss lingering uncomfortably long. “Are you ready for the little ones?” She patted his padded stomach. “Boet plays Santa every year. The kids love it.”

“So what's this about, Jakob? Does he need to be bailed out again?” Boet had a forced joviality about him. Probably a few too many bazaar
beers. Alet noticed sweat beading on his forehead. In this heat that suit had to be torture.

Mathebe stepped in. “Could we talk privately, Mr. Terblanche?”

“Why?” Jana snapped.

Alet caught Mathebe's eye. The way he looked at her made her uncomfortable. She turned her attention back to Boet. “Jakob's body was discovered this morning.”

Jana put a swollen hand on her chest. The other was stuck to her swollen stomach, as if it might fall off if she let go.

“What?” Boet frowned. “That can't be right.”

Mathebe clasped his hands in front of him, nodding confirmation. “Mr. Mens was struck by a vehicle late last night.”

“I just saw him yesterday.” Shock sobered Boet. “He asked for half day. Said he had business in town and took the smuggler's truck in.” He addressed Alet. “Do you know who it was?”

“Nobody has come forward. We're waiting for the autopsy.”

“I see.” Boet had the same look in his eye that he'd had the day of the murder, a surprised fear, as if he was barely keeping it together.

“One more thing. Do you either of you know anything about the Thokoloshe?”

Mathebe's neck stiffened.

“The what?” Jana's upper lip lifted in an incredulous sneer. She reached for Boet's hand, interlacing her fingers with his. “That's just kid nonsense and superstition.”

“It's the nickname for a man named Skosana.”

“Never heard of him,” Boet said mechanically.

“Skosana has been known to frequent Magda Kok's.”

“That woman,” Jana said with disgust. “Nothing but trouble. Beautiful little girl she has. Shame she has to grow up like that. The police really should do something.”

“Thanks for your help.” Alet walked away, leaving Mathebe a few paces behind. He caught up to her at the school gates.

“Constable, what are you doing?”

“Boet's lying. Did you see his reaction when I asked him about Skosana? He almost pissed himself. Boet Terblanche is eyeball-deep in this. I say we go after him and see what shakes out.”

“Are you sure you are the best person to judge Mr. Terblanche's involvement?”

“What?”

“I'm asking if what you see is not influenced by something else.”

“I don't know what you—”

“You had promised you would not lie to me again, Constable.”

Alet sighed. “That's personal.”

Mathebe held up his hand. “Mr. Terblanche is a suspect.”

“Look, it happened way back, hey. I was …” She struggled for the words, finding it difficult to explain. “I had lost a lot. Everything. It's not an excuse, but … When I came here, I was lonely, see? It was a mistake. But it is over. Long gone. Forgotten.”

“You are sure?”

“I can do my job.”

A group of teenage girls walked past the gate, chatting noisily. Mathebe motioned to the van and got in.

“Let me work Boet, find a crack,” Alet said as she closed the door. “He's ready to break, I can tell.”

“You have to stay away from Mr. Terblanche.”

“But—”

“This has to happen the right way, Constable.”

A call came in over the radio. Pileup on the N12. Mathebe responded to the dispatcher.

“We need to wait this out. Find evidence first.” Mathebe turned the siren on. “We cannot proceed with what we have at the moment.” He looked over at her. “Patience, Grasshopper.”

Alet did a double-take. Did Mathebe just make a joke?

Alet booked off shift at six and walked home. Between two accidents on the N12 and keeping the bazaar-goers from blocking the streets, she didn't really feel like going to a show to chitchat with a has-been TV celebrity amid a sea of sunburned drunks. Jakob's death bothered her. He had been a good
oke
, no matter his love for the bottle. She should have taken him in last night, let him sleep it off in a cell. Perhaps he'd still be alive.

Alet closed the groaning gate behind her. She thought about the
night she climbed over the fence and ruined her blouse. The same night that Boet followed her home. His clumsy goodbye as he left her flat. The light that went on in Trudie's living room as Alet slammed the door behind him.

“Fokker.”
Alet took her cell out of her backpack and dialed Mathebe with shaky hands.

“Constable?”

“When you went through Trudie's house, what did it look like?

“I do not understand.”

“Did you mess it up?”

“I always try to be respectful.”

“So it was in chaos when you got there?”

“There are photographs of the scene.”

“You took prints, right? You ran them against Trudie and Tilly. Anyone else's pop up?”

“Only a partial index finger print in the living room that did not match Mrs. Pienaar or her daughter. But we do not know how old it is.”

“Johannes, I think he was in the house.”

“It is possible. Most victims know their killers.”

“No. You don't understand. There was a light that went on in the house that Thursday night. Trudie was already dead. Boet saw it too.”

“Mr. Terblanche was at your house?”

“He wanted to talk about what happened on the mountain.” Alet sighed. “Look, I told you the truth. It's over.”

Mathebe was quiet for a moment.

“That print might be the killer's, Johannes. Can we run it?”

“There is not enough of it. We need a print to compare it to.”

Tilly sat on the
stoep
of Alet's flat, a mug of coffee at her feet. She had changed into clean clothes and her hair was wet.

“Johannes, I'll call you back.” Alet hung up the phone. She walked up to Tilly. “How do you feel?”

“Like someone left an ax in my skull.”

“That's why I stick to beer.”

Tilly cracked a smile.

“What happened last night?”

Tilly shook her head slowly. “I don't know.”

Alet sat down next to her. “Can we cut the bull? Or do I have to play bad cop and make stupid threats and lose a friend? Jeff is selling babies to foreigners, isn't he?”

Tilly hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

“How long?”

“Since he bought Zebra House.” Tilly looked pleadingly at Alet. “You have to understand, these kids, they aren't wanted. They're born with long-gone fathers and mothers with little education and low-paying jobs, if they have one at all. They have no chance.”

“You get to decide this?”

Tilly clutched her hands in her lap. “When you see those kids begging at the shops, when you know that most of them go hungry at night or eat grass just to have something in their stomachs, you think, I have the power to change this, to make a difference. They'll have access to schools, parents who love them, a future.”

“You don't know that.”

“The people who come here are willing to do anything for a child.”

“They are desperate for a reason, Tilly. Maybe they can't go through legal methods because they have red flags next to their names. Who even knows what happens to those babies once they're out of the country? What kind of person pays for a stolen baby?”

“They are wanted.”

“I'm sure it keeps Jeff in good Scotch too, and you …” Alet stopped herself. “Okay. So Jeff organizes the sale. He has a contact, presumably. Where do they get the babies?”

“There is someone the women know to go to if they are in trouble.”

“Or do they get pregnant on purpose to get money?”

“It's not like that.”

“What about the American couple from the other night? What happened to the baby?”

“There was an exchange.”

“Wait. They had a child with them when they left here?”

“
Ja
.”

“
Fok
.” Alet flipped her cell phone open and dialed the station. “April? Listen. Get hold of the captain. I don't care how, just get him. Let him know that the Americans had an infant with them. I'll explain later. Tell him to authorize an alert, right away.”

Alet hung up. “Why didn't you tell me this earlier?”

“Jeff said he'd take care of it.”

“And you believe anything that man says?”

“It was too late already. And then
Ma
 …” Tilly's face contracted. “I know this looks bad, but I swear, I just wanted to help.”

“How does Boet figure into all of this?” Alet spoke through a clenched jaw.

Tilly frowned. “Boet?”

“
Ja
. Is he your contact? Do women on the farm come to him if they want to sell their children?”

Tilly shook her head. “No. They go to Jana.”

“Absolutely not.” Mynhardt was wearing a checkered shirt and dress pants. He'd probably been on his way to Joyboys when he received the call.

Alet stared at Mynhardt in disbelief. “Captain?” She and Mathebe stood in front of Mynhardt's desk like chastised children.

“Nobody's dragging a pregnant woman out of the main social event of the year in handcuffs.”

“Tilly is willing to testify.”

“It's her word against Jana Terblanche's. Tomorrow we'll calmly ask Mrs. Terblanche to answer a few questions. And you, my girl, will stay as far away from her as possible.”

“It's my case.”

Mynhardt pointed a finger at her. “Sleeping with Boet Terblanche lost you that.”

“Captain, I—”

“Alet. I've been patient with you.” Mynhardt looked at Mathebe. “Both of you. This isn't the Wild West, my girl. There's a chain of command and I am at the top of it as far as you're concerned. You're going to tell me everything or I'll make sure neither of you ever works in the force again.”

Alet looked over at Mathebe. His stern mask had slipped and she saw a vulnerable man there, his impeccable posture melting at the shoulders, his tie askew. “It was my fault, Captain. I asked Sergeant Mathebe to hold off on reporting certain facts. You understand why.”

Mynhardt glared at her, his thick red eyebrows knitted together.

“And there were things we weren't sure of yet.”

“I'm listening.”

Mathebe cleared his throat. “I can take it from here, Constable Berg.” He didn't wait for Alet to object. “We believe that Mrs. Terblanche used her position as teacher at the farm school to find women in trouble. She promised them money for their infants and received a commission from Mr. Wexler.”

Mynhardt sat down in his chair, his arms crossed. “How does this tie in with Trudie Pienaar and the Terblanche foreman?”

“Mrs. Pienaar had known Mr. Jakob Mens. She is the one who got him the job on the Terblanche farm.”

Mynhardt had a look of incredulity, but he motioned for Mathebe to continue.

“We think that Mr. Mens found out about the trafficking and told Mrs. Pienaar. That she perhaps threatened to expose the operation. That one of the parties involved might have killed her to keep her quiet.”

“It doesn't make sense,” Alet broke in. “Tilly would have known about it if Trudie found out.”

“We cannot rule her involvement out,” Mynhardt said. “She could be trying to set the others up so she can get away with murder. You said yourself that there was someone in the house. Mathilda has keys, I presume?”

Alet had never doubted her instincts about people this much. Tilly had been devastated by Trudie's death. Was she just a gifted actress?

“It would also explain Mathilda's motive for killing the Terblanche foreman,” Mynhardt said. “To shut him up.”

“What?” Alet's head was spinning.

“Paint flecks on his body match Ms. Pienaar's vehicle, Constable.”

“That vehicle belongs to Zebra House. Anyone could have taken it.”

“What else is she going to say, Alet?” The corners of Mynhardt's mouth tightened in a sarcastic grimace. He turned to Mathebe. “Go on.”

Mathebe nodded. “Miss Pienaar has been cooperative. She has given us the names of couples that have come here for children in the past two years.”

“For all we know, these adoptions were perfectly legal.” Mynhardt
leaned back in his chair. “If the mothers consented and the paperwork was in order, there isn't much we can do.”

“Come on, Captain.” Alet balled her fists. “I don't think buying children can be considered legal, no matter how you look at it.”