Water Music (13 page)

Theres a girl thats gone missing now, said Riedwaan.

Clares little girl?

Ones in hospital, he said. But theres another girl, a music student, whos gone missing. Thats why Clare was here. Some gangster was around when she disappeared near to the spot where the other child was found.

And youre telling me theres a connection to the Gang Unit?

Cwele wants Clare off it, said Riedwaan.

Why?

Thats what I want to know, said Riedwaan.

Youve got forty-eight hours, Faizal. You report to me, OK? You dont make a mess and nobody dies this time.

No, sir.

Phiri watched as some starlings settled on the cables overhead.

Id keep an eye on Dr Hart, he said. If I were you.

Yes, sir.

You should marry her, Faizal, said Phiri I had a woman I loved and I didnt marry her. Ive regretted it
all my life.

She marry someone else, sir?

She was killed in Mozambique, said Phiri. Letter bomb. Blew her head off.

Im sorry, said Riedwaan.

So am I, Faizal. So am I.

Phiri walked past the tarnished sign that said
Gang Unit
and disappeared into the recesses of the building.

You look pleased, said Ina, as Clare walked into the 28s office. Well, maybe not pleased just less miserable. You get anything more on that little girl this morning?

Nothing yet, said Clare. But I did ask the Gang Unit about Chadley Wewers it was his girlfriends clinic card that we found at Sylvan Estate.

The Gang Unit. Ina followed Clare into her office. Everyone in the Gang Units been
seconded, except for Colonel Phiri and Captain Faizal.

So? said Clare.

So you mean you asked Riedwaan Faizal.

I needed specialist help.

Help. Exactly. You need help, Clare. Not trouble.

He knows how to find people, said Clare.

Ina stared, raising an eyebrow.

He knows Cape Town like the back of his hand, Clare said.

Hes got how many disciplinary actions hanging over his head?

One, said
Clare. Three charges were dropped.

Excellent, said Ina, leaning back in her chair. Only one.

The deceased was a gangster, said Clare.

Now youre talking like a cop, said Ina, which is the one thing you were hired not to be.

Riedwaan knows all about girls who go missing, said Clare. It happened to his own daughter, you know. Thats how I met him. He came to me for help.

He was the main suspect,
for fucks sake, said Ina.

Custody war with his ex-wife.

So you slept with him, said Ina Britz.

Turned out I was right about him then, said Clare. All he ever did was protect that little girl. What happened to Yasmin was not his fault.

Spare me, said Ina. Straight women have no sense in their heads. If Faizals involved, your best hope is that Jakes Cwele cant decide which of you two he hates
most.

At least thatll keep his mind occupied, said Clare. I got the tapes from the KwikShop. He was there.

Clare pulled out the CCTV grabs and spread them on the desk. Ina looked at the photos. Wewers in his hoodie, buying cigarettes, bending over the sweet shelf. On the forecourt, a handful of people, a woman in a nurses uniform filling her car.

Whats his story?

He was at home, DesRay had
a craving for chocolate. He went to get some for her.

Whos he with?

He told me he was alone, said Clare.

There was a knock on the door.

When Ina came back, she was grinning.

So the cat got the cream? said Clare. What is it?

Fax from Shorty de Lange, said Ina. You hit the fucking Lotto, girl. Wewerss prints are all over the stuff in the cottage.

The marina was sheltered, but still the yachts pitched and rolled, the swell muscling in. A sprinkling of luxury cars was moored outside the Yacht Club. Further along, a group of women were gutting fish. As Riedwaan walked by, a woman stared at him, her knife hovering over the fish she was filleting. She plunged the knife into its belly, flicking the entrails towards gulls squabbling over bloody
innards.

Stopping at a run-down warehouse, Riedwaan pushed open the door. A woman of indeterminate age, short and squat and ugly as sin, was sitting at the front desk. Her eyes narrowed as he walked into the airless office. She could spot a cop at a hundred paces.

Names Faizal, Mrs September, Riedwaan addressed the woman, holding up his ID. She didnt even glance at it. Your son. Is he in?

What do you want with him? she asked.

Couple of questions, thats all, said Riedwaan. For now.

Ill see if he can make the time.

No need. We know each other, said Riedwaan. Itll be like old times when I used to work for the Vice Squad. Me, your son and some fourteen-year-old hed underpaid for services rendered.

Hes a married man, my son, said Mrs September. A father, a businessman. Why dont you
go and look for the proper criminals these foreigners selling drugs on every corner.

Ill speak to him first. For old times sake, said Riedwaan, opening the door opposite her desk. The office was a shambles boat parts, papers, pieces of wood. At the far end was a desk. The man looked up. Small, shrewd eyes set deep in their sockets, his skin pitted by acne and a life lived rough.

Stavros the
Greek, said Riedwaan.

Look what the cat brought in, said Stavros September. I still need a deck hand. You come for that job at last?

And taking in paroled Sexy Boys gangsters is also part of the business plan? said Riedwaan. How much do you make for that?

You heard of human rights? demanded Stavros.

Ive heard of them, said Riedwaan. Havent seen them much. Listen, Chadley Wewers got his parole
because you said youd give him a job and keep an eye on him.

The laaities like my son, said Stavros. And his father, he fished for me when I started out with crayfish. Like family, mos. He drowned when one of my boats went down. He leaned forward. You cops wouldnt get this, but I feel responsible for the boy.

You still baiting the traps with the people you dont like?

Fuck you, Faizal. The veins
in his neck bulged.

Where is he?

Stavros the Greek hesitated.

You fuck with me, said Riedwaan. I get everything searched, every bit of paperwork checked. You want that?

He works that side. Stavros jerked his thumb to where fishing trawlers were moored. But right now youll find him in bed. Hes one of my best divers, he only works nights.

Riedwaan sauntered towards the door. Send my regards
to your wife, he said.

Fuck you, Faizal, he said again.

Mrs September was standing in the doorway. Riedwaan stepped aside so that she could enter.

Sies, Stavros, said his mother.
Moenie so vloek ie.

A vehicle was parked next to Riedwaans bike. A man leaning against it, texting. He looked up when Riedwaan approached.

Faizal.

Cwele, said Riedwaan. What you doing here?

Its a free country,
said Cwele.

No thanks to you, said Riedwaan. What does it cost to get you to run around for him? Fifty bucks, a hundred?

Cwele, weight-lifters shoulders, beer-drinkers gut, moved in on Faizal.

Sorry, I forgot. Youd do it for a bottle of Johnny Walker Black make you feel like the politician you want to be.

Youre on borrowed time, Faizal, said Cwele. Youre out of your area. Phiri warned you.
I know he did. I told him to. Youve got maybe forty-eight hours, and Clare Hart, that skinny little bitch of yours, shes had her nose where it shouldnt be. Shes got even less time.

Youve spoken to her?

I advised her of these facts.

She loves advice, said Riedwaan. How did she take it? Say Yes, sir, like a good woman should?

Eish, Faizal, said Cwele. You want advice from me? Id keep an eye
on that woman. She spends a lot of time with Ina Britz. Unnatural bitch.

Riedwaan thought how much Cweles face would be improved if he broke his nose. Instead he said: You learned nothing on your hate crimes orientation course?

What the fuck do you mean?

Sexual orientation, womens rights. Equality.

Bullshit, said Cwele.

I suppose, said Riedwaan. To learn anything, you have to have a brain
to start with.

You should get a job doing stand-up comedy, said Cwele, opening the door to his car.

Already got one, said Riedwaan. Shows called
The Police Force
.

Riedwaans phone rang as Cwele sped off. Clare

She cut his greeting short.

Shorty de Lange just called me. He got a couple of prints off a vodka bottle they found in the cottage its in the garden of the house where Rosa Wagner
phoned from.

Chadley Wewers, said Riedwaan.

The same, said Clare. He ran the other prints too. Doesnt have a match yet, but weve got Wewers; hell lead us to Rosa.

The house on Vulcan Street was locked, but the eyes behind the curtains were as vigilant as the last time. Clare and Riedwaan went around the back to the Wendy house.

The door opened before Riedwaan knocked.

Hello, you going somewhere, DesRay? said Clare.

The girl made a move to shut the door.

Chadley Wewers here? Riedwaan pushed the door open.

She knew when not to resist, but this didnt
make her cooperative. Who are you? she said.

Dr Hart youve already met, said Riedwaan. Im Captain Faizal. Gang Unit.

Her arms still folded, DesRay stepped out of Riedwaans way.

Blue, green, purple. Butterfly skin, thats what he gives you with the pizza? The bed was unmade. The smell of a man in the air, mingled with a stale garlic smell, the smell of tik.

Two takeaway boxes on the table.

Debonairs. Riedwaan opened a box. My favourites the Margarita.

DesRay looked at him. Then she looked at Clare. The eyes of an old woman in her fifteen-year-old face.

Where did he go, DesRay? Riedwaans hand as near as on his gun. She pulled her cardigan close around her bulging belly.

Tell us, said Clare. Itll be better. For the baby.

Tears spilled down the girls cheeks. For her boyfriend, perhaps.
For what might happen to him, for what might happen to her. For what he would do to her whatever she said, or didnt say. Her eyes fixed on a door at the back. She didnt need to say anything.

Riedwaan kicked it open. Chadley Wewers in his underpants in the musty bathroom. He was wired, the familiar amphetamine twitch in his limbs, eyes shifting to where hed run.

Riedwaans gun out; on him.

Get dressed.

You cant arrest me,
jou vokken naai
.

Rosa Wagner has disappeared, said Clare. Fingerprints put you right near the place where she last was.

I dont know nothing about no Rosa, said Wewers.

There were bloodstains, Rosas blood in the house. Some food was taken, said Clare. We found the wrappings outside in the cottage. And people were smoking tik. There were some nasty pictures there
too.

Hey, lady, Wewers flung his arms wide, taut muscles rippling across his tattooed chest. Do I look like a fucking garden boy?

Riedwaan moved the safety off. You can come kaalgat like that or you can put on your clothes.

The click seemed to focus Wewerss mind and he pulled on jeans, a hoodie.

You always do what your white madam tells you?

Riedwaan had his hoodie twisted up and around his
neck before Wewers could move. Then Riedwaan spun him around, cuffed him.

You can tell me where she is, said Riedwaan. Beautiful girl missing for three weeks, then phones from a house where we found your fingerprints.

Thats got fuck-all to do with me.

Lets talk about it at the station, said Clare.

Riedwaan had him by the neck, pushed him out the door.

Youll fucking pay, DesRay, he hissed.

No, please, Chadley, I didnt say nothing.

Youll pay anyway, you poes.

Riedwaan walked Wewers ahead of him, across the littered yard to the car.

The station was still fairly orderly when they arrived. The end of a long Saturday afternoon, the calm before the storm of assaults and car accidents. The desk constables listening to Rihanna, the volume so low that the music was nothing more than irritating
static.

I want my phone back, said Wewers. I want a lawyer.

The warrant officer wrinkled her nose. Doesnt make you look good, a lawyer, she said, pushing the paperwork over to Clare.

You just go with Captain Faizal and Dr Hart and talk nicely with the captain. Maybe youll still get to church on Sunday morning.

I didnt eat my pizza yet, said Wewers. Im hungry.

No room service, said Riedwaan.
Sorry for that.

Clare signed the paperwork, and the warrant officer tossed it into an overflowing tray.

All the rooms are free, said the officer. Take your pick, Captain.

Clare watched through the one-way glass of the interrogation room. Wewers didnt have any cigarettes, but he was calmer now. Waiting. He had worked out a story, made a plan. Thats what the body language was telling her. It would make her job harder. She opened the door, took the chair opposite Wewers. Two coffees burning her hands. She put them on the table.

A couple in a café.

He took her
offering.

Wewers snapped the lid off the takeaway cup, drank it black and unsweetened the same way she did.

Between them, the scuffed Formica table where confessions were laid out like cards at a certain point in the conversation. Riedwaan stood by the door. Both present, and not present. It unsettled Wewers, his eyes shifting from Clare to the police captain and back.

Chadley Wewers, said
Clare. She sat opposite him. She had seen enough Chadleys in her life to know that here, alone, separated from his feral pack, he was no threat.

You cant fuck with me, he said.

I wouldnt dream of it, said Clare. I ask you a few questions. You give me the right answers. Then you get to go home. You want a cigarette? asked Clare.