Tandia (87 page)

'If you're going to arrest him he's entitled to a lawyer,' Tandia persisted.

'Then if he's arrested, I'll call you, you hear?' He turned to Klopper, 'You too, stay outside, calm these kaffirs down, get things going but don't let anybody in the mortuary while we're there, we got things to talk about.' He turned and walked towards the door, Peekay following him. Geldenhuis stopped before entering the building, brushing the dirt from the back of his pants. He turned again, looking back at Klopper. 'Nobody comes in, you hear? Not even you!'

The big Hoer nodded and, turning to Tandia and Johnny Tambourine, indicated with a dismissive sweep of his hands that they should return to the car. Then he did the same to the Africans who'd gathered around,
'Buyela emuva!
Go back!' he yelled. It was an expression he used a lot and it was one of no more than a dozen instructions he'd learned in Zulu in over thirty years of dealing with black people on a day-to-day basis.

Peekay followed Geldenhuis into a small office. 'Close the door, man,' Geldenhuis said. 'Sit down.' He indicated a bentwood kitchen chair, one of two beside a table. He removed his cap and placed it on top of a brown manila file lying on the table. He hadn't been quite quick enough and Peekay read the single word 'Mambo' scrawled quite large on the cover.

Peekay hadn't addressed Geldenhuis directly since he'd punched him. Now he said, 'That was a bloody stupid thing to do, Jannie, but I don't wish to apologize; understand, I'd do it again under the same circumstances.' He should have left it at that, but he was still angry. 'You bastards think you can say anything, do anything, but you can't. Miss Patel may just be another kaffir to you, but she's a colleague and a young advocate with a brilliant career ahead of her. You can hide behind your policeman's badge as much as you like, but she's the future and your bullets and your bullying and your
baasmanskap
isn't going to change that. When you pulled the trigger you put an end to hope for a reconciliation. You declared war!'

'Who said I pulled the trigger?' He spoke calmly enough, not giving anything away, but instantly Peekay knew that it was Geldenhuis who had fired the first shot and who had killed Juicey Fruit Mambo.

'It doesn't matter who pulled the trigger; Sharpeville was your operation.'

Geldenhuis grinned. 'Like you, man, I'd do it again under the same circumstances; my men were in danger!'

'Ja, that seems clear, three hundred men armed with Sten guns, two Saracen armoured weapon carriers with machinegun turrets, an eight-foot high riot fence between you and the crowd, which consisted of as many women and schoolchildren as it did men. The dangerous weapons they carried were sticks attached to protest banners. I imagine you were in mortal danger!'

Geldenhuis looked over at Peekay calmly. 'You talking shit! You wasn't there, man, I was. Save your questions for the inquiry, we going to charge all the wounded for inciting violence. I have no doubt you and that black whore will be in court for the defence.'

Peekay gritted his teeth, but this time "he didn't react to the policeman's taunt. 'We'll be there,' he said quietly.

Without thinking, Geldenhuis rubbed his chin; then he took his wallet from the pocket of his police tunic. He opened it and produced a small square of paper. He handed the square 'to Peekay, 'Here, read it, now let's see who's telling lies.'

Peekay opened the tiny square of paper carefully and slowly read the confession Geldenhuis had forced out of the frightened teenager at the Cato Manor police station all those years ago. Peekay folded the page again and without saying anything he returned it to Geldenhuis.

'Tandy and me go back a long time,' Geldenhuis said smugly, enjoying the effect of the innuendo as he replaced the paper into his wallet.

Peekay leaned on the table and brought his fingers up to his lips. He was silent for a while. 'Tell me, Geldenhuis, this confession. I see it's typed; was it part of a statement of arrest?'

'Ja, you could say that.'

'I see, but there is no record of Miss Patel having been arrested and charged with prostitution. Had there been, she could never have been admitted to the bar.'

'Ja, well, there were no charges.'

'Why not? Thirteen is the age of consent for Africans and coloured women. If that is a voluntary confession she should have been charged for prostitution.'

'Ag man, I forget now, there were other circumstances, she wasn't charged, just brought in for questioning.'

Peekay's forefinger touched his nose lightly 'Other circumstances? I take it there is a record somewhere, a transcription of these other circumstances? An adequate reason why a young girl prostitute is allowed to go free after signing an official admission of guilt?'

Geldenhuis Sighed impatiently. 'I'm not stupid, Peekay. You know the police make deals- all the time. That document is signed by a police officer and a black police constable witness. Maybe, because it's not official, in a court of law you can make mincemeat of it! Inadmissible evidence and all that.' He leaned back in his chair, fanning himself with his wallet. 'Who gives a fuck! It's got Tandia's signature on it and mine and a reliable witness and, published in a newspaper, people will draw their own conclusions! The first female black lawyer, she's big news, man! And I can destroy her credibility any time I like.'

'Why?' Peekay asked, his manner almost absent-minded.'

'Why what?' Geldenhuis returned.

'Why, all those years back, would you have gone to that much trouble?'

'Simple! I already told you. Young girls like that. She was pretty and not stupid. They go on the game, sooner or later they shack up with an important gang leader and suddenly you on the inside, you got a reliable informer.'

'So Miss Patel is your personal informer?' Geldenhuis realized too late that Peekay had him trapped. It was so quick, none of the niceties he'd expected, just one sharp, deadly verbal thrust.' So
Miss Patel is your personal informer?
If he lied and claimed that Tandia was his informer then Peekay would confront her and she'd be forced to clear herself by telling of the incident in the pink room at Bluey Jay. If he told the truth, that Tandia had never been in his service as an informer, Peekay would become equally curious as to why he would blackmail a schoolgirl who was making a few bob on the side as a prostitute. There was only one obvious reason and you didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure it out.

Jannie Geldenhuis felt as though he was going to choke; both ways he ended up being seen as a sexual pervert. It was the one thing he couldn't bear anyone to find out, least of all Peekay. He felt a sudden chill come over him, a bonemarrow coldness as a sudden vision of the childhood experience in the cold room of his father's butcher's shop etched itself sharply in his mind.

Peekay looked up, his face without expression, waiting for the policeman's reply… He was suddenly terribly confused; he couldn't believe that Tandia was a plant, a police informer, it simply didn't make sense. Yet he'd seen the note, and Geldenhuis was in a perfect position to blackmail her. 'Are you telling me Miss Patel is in your pay?' he asked again.

Jannie Geldenhuis smiled blandly at Peekay, concealing his emotions. He was in charge here, not Peekay. He was not here to be cross-questioned by the rooinek lawyer. 'No more questions. Save your questions for the courts, advocate. Let me ask
you
some questions now. 'This man, Juicey Fruit Mambo, why was he at Sharpeville; this person comes from Durban. He has a record as a terrorist; why does he suddenly show up at Sharpeville which is a small township, not even important and thirty-five miles from Johannesburg?'

'That's quite easy to answer. His employer, whom we both know as Mama Tequila, has a sister who lives near here. She was visiting her sister and no doubt he was curious and went along to the demonstration for a look.' Peekay paused, shrugging his shoulders. 'The rest you know.'

If Geldenhuis was surprised by this news he didn't show it. 'Have we not got a wider conspiracy here? Funny how the visit comes about just when there is a major demonstration planned isn't it? A demonstration in a township that is known for being peaceful, for not normally joining into this sort of thing?'

'Hang on! What are you trying to say? That Mama Tequila is a covert terrorist? Or that Juicey Fruit Mambo is an agent provocateur? Or that someone else is pulling the strings and made it convenient for him to be up here when the protest was planned? Which is it to be?'

'The law is the law, if people break the law they going to get into trouble.' Geldenhuis pointed his finger at Peekay, stabbing it in the air several times to make his point. 'You know what you are, Peekay? You're the lowest type there is, the kind of white man who wants to destroy all that we've built up, you want to tear down a decent God-fearing people. You want to hand back to the dirty, ugly, stupid and primitive black man what my ancestors fought three hundred years to win. I'm warning you, man, that kaffir with the gold teeth in there was number one. And if you're fucking Tandia Patel, you're number two!' He lifted his head, looking up at the ceiling, 'Jesus! Imagine the headlines!' He looked back at Peekay, 'Please, man, do it! Please give me the chance to string you up by your balls in front of the public. It would be the best day of my whole fucking life!'

'You know what your problem is, Jannie? You could never beat me in the ring. You simply weren't good enough.' Peekay pointed to the policeman's gun. 'And now, because you lack the skill with your head and your hands, you want to even the score with that!' He felt a little foolish taunting him, but he hoped it would work.

Geldenhuis jumped to his feet, kicking the chair away from behind him. 'Any time, you hear? Any place! You name it, I'll be there, with or without gloves!' His face, contorted with rage, was two inches from Peekay's.

'Christ, Geldenhuis, back there with Klopper you fell for the oldest trick in the book, a feint with the left hand followed by a right. Don't insult me! Go pick on some defenceless black man and gun him down at a peaceful protest!'

Peekay got ready to block the punch he felt sure was coming. Geldenhuis's face had gone white as chalk and his pale blue eyes made him look as though they were fitted into a procelain mask. It was not the first time Peekay had witnessed naked aggression; he'd faced hate and rage in the ring often enough, but this was different. Strangely he felt better for it. Now he knew what he was up against, he'd flushed the enemy out. He'd have to keep scoring off the Afrikaner, try to keep him off balance. That way the police themselves would watch him, tie his hands, afraid that if Geldenhuis came after any of them too openly the media would cry foul and Red would make a fool of them in court. As long as he could keep alive the policeman's determination to vindicate himself utterly in everyone's eyes, to show the world he was the better man by trying publicly to humiliate Peekay, they were all more or less safe. He had to keep needling him in public so as to keep the enemy in the open. Geldenhuis hunting them without the need to vindicate himself in public was much too dangerous.

But Geldenhuis had one more surprise for him. He pulled back, suddenly smiling, and Peekay could feel the tension leave the policeman. Peekay realized that the lightning ferocity and the incredible calm, all within moments, was what made the policeman such a remarkable and feared interrogator, this schizoid ability to be hot and cold, two people at once.

Geldenhuis quietly resumed his seat and, pushing his cap aside, he opened the manila folder. 'Do you have a good picture of the deceased?' he asked calmly.

'Not personally, but I'm sure we could find one easily enough,' Peekay replied.

'In that case I will release his body to you. We have a photographer coming from Pretoria to take the pictures of all the dead, that's why the relatives are having to wait outside. He's late, he was supposed to be here by eight o'clock.'

'You mean we're going to have to wait?'

'No I just said, get me a good picture. Even if we took a picture of this person,' he tapped the manila file, 'it wouldn't be any good, he's only got half of his head with him.' Geldenhuis said this sotto voce, not attempting to score a point; he was a police officer doing his job. He rose from the chair. 'C'mon, you'll have to officially identify him. I'll take his fingerprints at the same time.'

Predictably, the first thing that hit Peekay as they entered the mortuary was the smell. He had no idea that human bodies could develop such a stench in so short a period. The smell of putrefaction filled the room. He clutched at his stomach with one hand and covered his nose and mouth with the other as he turned to rush out again, but Geldenhuis grabbed him by the shoulder halting him.

'Dead kaffirs stink, hey? Just stand still for a moment and breath normally.' Peekay turned back again to face the room and, reaching for his handkerchief, he placed it over his nose. Geldenhuis showed no reaction to the stench.

The room was in semi-darkness, like being under a heavy canopy of trees. It wasn't large and if you looked carefully you could pick out most of the detail, though it contained no windows. Light entered from two skylights in the roof, both of which had been painted white in an attempt to insulate the heat coming in; two large extractor fans whirred on either side of the skylights.

The room seemed completely filled with the dead, laid out side by side on the polished cement floor, each corpse touching the other with a narrow corridor running down the centre and another, even narrower, along the wall leading to where they stood at the doorway. The corpses which were identified were covered with a green sheet from which two naked feet extended into the centre isle. On each left big toe was tied a manila label bearing the dead person's name. Those of the dead who had no identification, those who'd done as instructed and left their passes at home, were also covered, though this time their feet were covered and their faces exposed awaiting identification by their relatives. It was all very neat and tidy; Klopper obviously ran a tight ship.