When he put his hand on the car handle, someone, something, stood next to him in the dark.
His head jerked and he saw the pistol.
Oh God.
Drew Wilson hadnt read a newspaper during the past week. The long hours and the pressure at work simply hadnt left time for that. He didnt know about the death of James J. Wallace. But he saw the face behind the pistol.
The physiology of shock is predictable. The brain signals orders to prepare for action, for fast, urgent activity. Adrenaline pumps into the bloodstream, the heart rate increases, blood vessels expand, lungs pump.
He, however, could only remain seated behind the steering wheel because the muzzle of the strange gun was against his skull, just above his right eye. But his body was forced to react. So he trembled, his hands and his knees shook with fear.
I . . . he said and a tear rolled slowly down his cheek to the black mustache on his upper lip.
I . . .
Then the bullet penetrated his skull, the heartbeat ceased, the blood vessels narrowed, and the lungs collapsed the adrenaline wasted forever.
* * *
Radio control woke Mat Joubert at 4:52. His voice was hoarse, his mouth dry. He searched clumsily for pencil and paper when the woman began speaking. She gave the facts in a neutral voice the address, the sex, who had been notified.
Looks like more Chinese, Captain. One in the head, one in the chest, she added in a conversational tone and said good-bye. He mumbled and put back the receiver.
He had slept very little and the champagne and beer had turned his head into a mushy cement mixer. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He groaned and thought about Benny Griessel in the living room. He thought about Yvonne Stoffberg and groaned more loudly.
It hadnt been his fault.
How could he have foreseen that Griessel would arrive?
He had followed her down the passage but she had banged the bedroom door in his face and locked it.
Yvonne, I didnt know . . .
Her voice was shrill and hysterical. My names Bonnie.
I didnt know he was coming here.
Who opened the fucking door?
Good argument. There were noises behind the bedroom door a banging and shuffling.
Someone knocked. I had to.
The door had opened. Her face appeared. Anger and hate had changed her mouth, narrowed her eyes. By now she was wearing a pink tracksuit.
You couldve ignored it, you fucking stupid cop. Shed banged and locked the door again.
Hed sunk down on the floor next to the door. Now the drunkenness was a burden that prevented him from thinking of ways to convince her. But her final words had taken the starch out of him. He was still sitting there when she jerked the door open some time later. Her suitcase was in her hand. She stepped over him and stormed down the passage to the front door. There she hesitated for a moment, threw down the case, and walked back to him and said with the same thin mouth: Ill leave the key here tomorrow when I fetch my other stuff. Then she left with her suitcase. He saw the firm bottom in the tight pink tracksuit pants disappearing around the front door and briefly wondered if she was wearing underwear. Hed remained sitting there, his mind dulled, liquor a sour taste in his mouth, only a vague yearning left between his legs.
Sometime during the night hed climbed into bed and now he felt old and tired. And in Boston a second man was lying with a shattered head and a smashed heart. He got up with a groan. First of all he had to look after the man in the living room.
He wanted coffee but there was no time. He hastily brushed his teeth but it didnt remove the foul taste in his mouth. He washed his face, dressed, and walked down the passage. In the dining room the remains of their meal lay cold and unappetizing. In passing he saw the cigarette stub that had smoldered in the plate. The disappointment of the evenings fiasco swept over him again.
Griessel was snoring on the living room couch. Joubert found the packet of Winstons on the small table and lit one. Hed go back to Special Milds a bit later. His mouth tasted of stale liquor. He shook Griessels shoulder lightly. The snoring stopped.
Mat, Griessel said, surprised.
Come on, Benny, Ive got to go.
Slowly Benny sat up, his head in his hands.
Another Tokarev murder. In Boston. But youre not coming with me.
He pulled Griessel to his feet and marched him to the front door, then to the Sierra. They got in and drove off.
De Wit gave me an ultimatum, Mat.
Joubert said nothing.
I must leave the bottle or Im out.
And you gave him your answer.
They drove on in silence.
Where are you taking me?
To the cells at the Edgemead station, Benny.
Griessel looked at him like a wounded animal.
Youve got to stay dry now, Benny, until I can find help for you.
Griessel stared ahead of him. De Wit warned you, too.
Yes, Benny, he warned me as well.
* * *
Mrs. Shirley Venter was a tiny sparrow of a woman who constantly used her hands while she spoke very fast and in a high voice. Shame, what a way to go. In any case, I get up at four oclock every morning. I dont have the luxury of a maid. Bob goes to work early during the week and it gives me time to make his breakfast and to feed the dogs and put the washing in the machine. I dont believe in these automatic things. I have a twin-tub Defy, seventeen years old and not a thing wrong with it. In any case, I switched on the kettle for coffee because Bob likes percolator coffee and it takes a while and then I saw a car with its lights on in front of Drews garage but you can see its difficult to see clearly through that window because Bob hasnt trimmed the hedge for a long time.
She turned to her husband, a man in late middle age with heavy shoulders, thick lips, and a mouth slightly agape under an Adolf Hitler mustache.
Bob, youll have to trim the hedge, my darling. Bob gave a low grumble and Joubert didnt know whether it implied assent or not. They were standing in the kitchen among the unwashed dishes and the laundry surrounded by the smell of fried bacon. Joubert leaned against a kitchen cupboard, Basie Louw sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee.
In any case, then I saw the lights on the garage door but I went on making the coffee and put the percolator on the stove and put out the cups. Bob doesnt get up until hes had one cup in bed. And I put in the washing and then I looked out of the window again and the cars lights were still shining on the garage. Then I thought, no, somethings wrong. So I went to tell Bob and he said I must leave the neighbors alone but I said Bob, everythings not all right, a car doesnt stand in front of a closed garage for ten minutes. So Bob went to have a look. I still said he must take a stick or something because one never knows but he just walked out. He still played prop forward for Parow until he was forty-three, didnt you, darling?
Bob made a noise again.
And then he found him there and there was blood all over the place and Bob said he thinks the car was still idling until early this morning because that was why the lights were still so bright. And then he came to tell me and I let the Flying Squad know. One nought triple one. I keep the number next to the telephone since that
911
was on the TV. Shame, we were so shocked. What a way to go.
Her voice was a knife scraping Jouberts frayed nerves. He looked longingly at Basie Louws coffee. Basie had arrived before he did. When evidently there had been something left in the percolator.
You didnt hear the shots? Noises, voices, cars racing away? He looked at Bob Venter in the hope that he would reply.
There are always cars here backfiring, not like the old times when it was a quiet decent suburb. But now Bob and I keep ourselves to ourselves, mind our own business. And we sleep well. Only the rich have time to lie awake at night, the woman replied.
Joubert accepted it as a negative response to his question. Mr. Venter, did you notice nothing odd when you went out?
Bob Venter growled again and moved his head a few millimeters from side to side.
What do you know about the deceased?
It was as if Shirley Venter had been waiting for the question. Drew Wilson was a lovely boy. And so artistic. You must see the inside of that house, its nicer than mine. And quiet. You never heard a sound from there. He always greeted me and smiled and worked so hard, especially lately . . .
What did he do, Mrs. Venter?
He makes those little bits of jewelry, you know. In any case, when he moved in here I took a tray over and when I came back I said to Bob what a nice boy . . .
Do you know where he worked?
Benjamin Goldbergs in Adderley Street. Its a very fancy place and the stuff is so expensive. I went there once when I was in town just to go and say hello to him but it was just highbrows and credit cards. In any case, when he moved in I took a tray over and came and told Bob that he was such a nice boy and you know, first impressions are what usually count because it was true. Quiet and friendly.
Was he unmarried? Divorced?
Unmarried. I always said Drew doesnt need a wife. You just go and have a look inside. Its nicer than my house.
Bob Venter growled something unintelligible.
Bob, you cant say that, she said. Dont take any notice of Bob. Drew was only arty. In any case . . .
What did you say, Mr. Venter?
Bob, drop that story.
The man growled again. Joubert watched his lips. He deciphered the words. He was a queer, said Bob.
Bob thinks anybody who hasnt played rugby for thirty years is queer. He was just arty. He was given other talents. Dont take any notice of Bob.
He was a queer, Bob said with finality and folded his thick arms across his chest.
He was just arty, Shirley said and fished a tissue from inside the neckline of her dress.
* * *
He went to fetch Griessel at the Edgemead police station. The constable who unlocked the door looked uncomfortable and turned his gaze away. Griessel walked out to the car in silence.
Joubert drove. How do I get you into the sanatorium that helped you before, Benny?
Drop me at the front door.
Will you go?
Griessel rubbed a dirty hand over the stubble on his face. His voice sounded tired. Will it help, Mat? When I come out Im dry, but they can do nothing about the . . . about the work.
Joubert said nothing. Griessel interpreted it incorrectly. God, Mat, I dream in the night. I dream that its my children lying dead. And my wife. And me. With blood against the walls and AK shots through the head or guts spilling out onto the floor. They cant take it away, Mat. I dream even when Im sober. Even if I dont drink a drop.
De Wit forced me to see a psychologist.
Griessel sighed as if the burden had become too heavy.
Perhaps she can help you too, Benny. Take away the dreams.
Perhaps.
But we have to let you dry out first.
They drove in silence on the M5 to Muizenberg, where the sanatorium was situated. Joubert took out the Winstons, offered one to Griessel, and pressed in the Sierras lighter. They smoked in silence for a while.
A Tokarev again?
Yes. Two shots. Two empty cartridges. But the thing has changed. Victim was possibly homosexual.
Griessel audibly expelled smoke. Could make it easier.
If its the same murderer. Ive got a feeling about this thing, Benny.
Copycat?
Perhaps. And perhaps its the start of bigger things.
A serial?
Ive got that feeling.
Maybe, said Benny Griessel. Maybe.
* * *
Joubert explained about Griessels dreams. He said that his colleague was also willing to undergo psychological treatment.
But hell dry out first?
Joubert nodded. De Wit rubbed the mole and stared at the ceiling. Then he agreed.
Joubert thanked him and reported the second Tokarev murder. De Wit listened without interrupting. Joubert told him about Drew Wilsons neighbors, who suspected that he was homosexual. Wilsons employer and colleagues had verified this.
They had all sat or stood among the worktables of the goldsmiths Benjamin Goldberg, three other men, and a woman. They were sincerely shocked. The woman cried. They couldnt think who wouldve done a thing like that to Drew Wilson. Yes, he was gay, but he hadnt had a relationship with another man for the past five or six years. He really tried, occasionally even taking out a woman. Why? Because Drew Wilsons mother had threatened suicide.
