Water Music (27 page)

She dabbed oil onto Clares hair.

These marks, said Clare, turning to the wall. Its Rosa, her music, her trying to stay alive.

She was fed, she had water, she had air, said Nancy. There was no reason for what she did.

Youd promised her a haven and she came, believing you would help her.

Rosa had been at the castle, said Nancy.

So your husband saw Rosa up there? Noah
participated in it all?

No, no, said Nancy. He was there because of the land dispute. Savić wouldnt speak to him.

But he saw Rosa there?

She wanted to cleanse herself, and my Noah offered her a place that would shield her from the world. A place where she could bury her sin.

This hole, you mean?

People dont always know whats good for them, said Nancy. Noah told her to take the path. He said
she must be sure that she was not seen, and that I would be waiting for her. That is what she did. That is what I did. I carried her cello up for her and brought her home. Like Esther, she was chosen.

How can you expect anyone to live here, hidden from the sun?

It is a sacrifice, said Nancy. You will get used to it.

Please, Nancy, begged Clare Let me go. Dont condemn another child to this living
hell.

Nancy gave Clare a quizzical look. Then she put the oil and the towel back into her basket.

Im pregnant, said Clare. Its not only my child, theres a father too. He will look for me.

No matter, said Nancy. Her eyes were cold. The child will be born. If its a boy it will see the light of day and I will be its mother.

And if its a girl?

She stays down here, with you, said Nancy. And when
she bleeds for the first time, Noah will bless her with children too.

Nancy picked up her basket and went up the stairs without another word.

Clare had played her last card, and she had lost.

Riedwaans family had his house in order by the time he got back from the graveyard. His aunts and cousins had cooked a meal for which he had no appetite but which he was obligated to share. The warren of rooms was redolent with the smell of cooking and furniture polish. The house had been cleaned almost to his mothers standards. If she had walked in that minute and run a finger over the surfaces,
it would have come away clean and shed have had to walk on and look for other faults.

He ducked out of the back to find that all his shirts had been laundered and were drying on hangers in the garage. Riedwaan tried Clares cellphone again, but there was nothing. Out of range or the phone off or the battery dead.

He tried her sisters, Constance first, then Julia, but neither of them had spoken
to her, neither knew where she was. Nothing strange about that, Clare wasnt one for telling people where shed be and when.

And yet he didnt believe it. He was about to try again but voices were calling and he joined his family at the table, with him at its head. The photograph of his parents forever frozen on their wedding day hung on the wall opposite. The two of them facing a future theyd had
no part in planning.

He ate what he could, smiling at shared stories about his mother, then slipped into silence as the conversation shifted to other things weddings, new babies, a scandal involving a neighbour. It took Riedwaan some doing to persuade his most tenacious aunts that hed be fine alone, that he needed to be alone. It was almost midnight when he saw off the last of them, saw them
out the door and into their cars.

His last resort was Ina Britz.

She picked up, groggy and clearly pissed off.

Wheres Clare? said Riedwaan. Shes hasnt answered her phone all day. Nobodys seen her.

Wide awake, Ina shushed her wife.

She was in this morning early and ever since then half the cops in the Cape have been looking for her.

Which half? asked Riedwaan.

Cweles half, said Ina. Something
happened between Clare and Cwele this morning. His version is that he informed her that her contract had been cancelled, and that she responded by assaulting him.

And her version?

I never got it. There was chaos Cwele and his people crawling over everything, looking in everything. She gave a hollow laugh. Can you believe it Im under investigation for misuse of state funds.

What the fuck?

There were two tanks of petrol for 28 vehicles and two missing slips, said Ina. But its got bugger-all to do with that, of course.

You dont need to tell me that, Ina. Did she say where she was going?

Only thing I know is shes not with Cwele, said Ina. Hes got a warrant out for her arrest. And if he had her, everyone would know about it. Her only value to him is as a scapegoat. But if anyone knows
how to find her, Faizal, its you.

Riedwaan took off his white funeral robe, pulled on his jeans and leather jacket. He found his gun and his keys and his helmet, pushed his motorbike out of the garage.

Rain needled his face as he headed at double the speed limit for Beach Road. The streets were empty, the restaurants closed, the bars closing. He pulled up outside Clares flat. Fritz sat in the
window, motionless except for a warning flick of the tail when she heard the bike stop. A light was on. She was home, she was ignoring him. That was fine. If she was alive he could be angry with her. If he was angry he could make up afterwards.

Riedwaan rang the doorbell.

No response.

He dialled her number. He could hear her landline ringing inside, then her voice on the answering machine,
telling him to leave a message and shed get back to him.

He stepped back from the doorway and looked up. Just Fritz staring down at him. He unlocked the door with the key she had never really given to him. She simply hadnt asked for it back the closest Clare had come to making a commitment, he suspected.

He knew as he stepped inside that she wasnt there, but he called her name anyway as he
went upstairs.

The only greeting silence.

The kitchen was untouched: her tea cup, his half-finished mug of coffee on the table. Fritzs food and water bowls empty. Riedwaan filled them, and the cat appeared. She only did that when she was really hungry.

He picked up his helmet again and ran down the stairs. Her scarf a deep blue, the colour of her eyes lay at the door. He picked it up, breathing
in the smell of perfume layered over the musky scent of her skin.

He stuffed the scarf into his pocket. He didnt like the thoughts that prompted him to do so, and headed back into the night to look for her.

Darkness, thirst and cold; Clare was suspended in an unbearable present.

Youre pleased to see me. Noah Sterns voice compelling her attention.

He smiled at the refusal he could see in her eyes and slipped the chain from the horizontal pole above the bed. Clare lunged at him, but he pulled the chain tight. It bit into her throat.

Please, she gasped.

He loosened it; the relief overwhelmed
her.

Thank you.

Stern smiled; there was little he did not know about capitulation.

He was very close, his breath on her face, his hands hard and cold on her breasts. He squeezed, saw the pain in her eyes. He kneaded, feeling the fullness. He was reading her body, simple as the alphabet, her quick tears revealing her hidden tenderness.

His other hand, quick and cold as a snake, was low on her
belly. Knowing, kneading, owning. He let her go. Satisfied.

Accept, endure, and we will be content together, you and I. If you dont, you will fight until you break. In the end, it is all the same.

I will fight. You will never own me, said Clare.

Fight as you wish. You wont be the first. But by delivering up this child to me you will have made up for what has been taken from me.

What have you
done with Rosa?

Rosa came to us, never forget that, he said, suspending the chain from the pole again.

He put two fingers over her mouth and trailed them down the soft skin under her chin. Then he turned around, switched off the light, and left her there.

Clare slowed her breath. Counted each inhalation, each exhalation.

Riedwaan stood in the emptiness of Clares Section 28 office. The coffee on her desk ice-cold. The croissant next to it untouched.

He checked the files she had made for little Esther, the notes about the woman found in the forest. He tried to make sense of it all, went over each detail again and again. Piet Moutons number on a pad next to the files. The pathologist was a man who divided the
world into two categories: idiots and non-idiots. Riedwaan Faizal hed classified on their first meeting as a non-idiot, and they had become friends if thats what you call a person you meet across a corpse rather than a restaurant table.

Riedwaan phoned Mouton. He was awake. Just. Hed soon be heading off in the dark for a couple of hours of peace in his office before the cutting started.

Piet,
did you see Clare, hear anything from her?

I saw her yesterday. She didnt tell you?

I havent spoken to her. Im looking for her, dont know where she is.

That dead woman she found, said Mouton. She made me do a check. DNA matched the kids, the one under Anwar Jacobss care. Its the girls mother.

When did she die?

A week ago, said Mouton. She was suffocated. Obvious from the veins in the eyes,
lesions on the inside of the mouth. Brain and lungs telling me lack of oxygen. Somebody murdered the woman before that child was left there.

Did Clare say anything else?

Just that she was searching for the killer, said Mouton.

She mention Rosa Wagner?

No, nothing about her, said Mouton. Youd better find Clare quickly.

Thats my plan, said Riedwaan.

Faizal, said Mouton. Watch out for Cwele.

Riedwaan froze. Tell me?

Hes got it in for her, said Mouton. Hes looking for her. Hes got a call out for her, asked our security to alert him if she comes back to the morgue. Told me I have to let him know if she makes contact.

Riedwaan fumbled for a cigarette.

Same goes for you, said Mouton. Id steer clear of any official building, if I were you.

No reason to go near one, said Riedwaan. Im
not a cop any more. You wont be mentioning this call, Piet?

Im not a cop either, said Mouton. Now go find her.

Riedwaan found a match, inhaled, the nicotine focusing his fury on Clares notes. They were posted alongside photographs, call logs, CCTV images and interviews. He walked over to the map of the valley. Three starred places. Mandla Njobes name at the first one, where the little girl had
been found. Next, the empty house with Rosas blood, and the last one where the dead womans corpse was dug up.

A lethal triangle.

It wasnt getting lighter, but the darkness was pierced by the lights of the days first vehicles on the road. Riedwaan took his mothers Nokia out of his pocket. None of his contacts in it but he was now an ex-cop, so they were useless anyway. Only one person he could
rely on, whod keep Cwele off his trail.

He dialled Mandla Njobe, got him as he was about to leave for his pre-dawn run.

Its Faizal, said Riedwaan. I cant find Clare.

Ina Britz told me yesterday that Cweles also looking for her, said Njobe. I spoke to Clare. She was up near the KwikShop.

Doing what?

Tracking Rosa Wagner, said Njobe. Its the last place she was seen.

She find anything?

She
said shed call me if she did. If not, shed go home, said Njobe. I didnt hear from her, so I didnt think about it again.

Shes not at home, said Riedwaan. Shes not at work. No ones seen her.

Theres a patrol up there, said Njobe. Ill get them to check it out. Meet me at McDonalds.

Mandla Njobe was sitting at a table when Riedwaan arrived. The place smelt of stale chip oil and cheap coffee.

Shes
not up there? asked Riedwaan.

They checked, said Njobe.

So where the fuck is she, Mandla?

Njobe held out a breakfast roll.

No, thanks, said Riedwaan. Just the coffee.

Eat it, ordered Njobe. They gave me your bacon, and you got my egg.

Its not that, said Riedwaan.

You dont eat, youre no good to her, Njobe insisted. He spread out a map of Hout Bay. We need the police, Faizal, he said. We
cant do this alone.

We have to, said Riedwaan. He ate his breakfast. It tasted of nothing, but Njobe was right. Hed been running on empty.

Cweles after you too? asked Njobe.

Me and hes nailed Ina Britz, said Riedwaan. He wants Clare too. She did something to him that hes not going to forgive.

Shes a good girl, said Njobe, dialling. My boys like her. They dont like your new boss. But theyll
help.

I appreciate that, said Riedwaan.

Njobe was holding up his hand and speaking rapidly in Xhosa. When he hung up he said, The other Mountain guys will do the suburbs. We take the dunes. She goes running up there sometimes. Ive told her before its not safe, but she says she needs to be alone to think.

Riedwaan looked outside at the windswept sand washed a pale orange by the early-morning
sun. Hed once before found human remains there, a woman taught a lesson she was too dead to remember by the time it was finished.

His gut twisted as they set out.

A trapdoor opened; blinding light. Clares eyes adjusted, focusing on the dark shape coming down the stairs.

Clare Hart. He lingered over the name: the clipped C, the sensuous drawn-out vowel, the unsounded R seeming to leave an opening, suggesting vulnerability. It is a beautiful name, but one you will learn to forget.

His hand hovered near her face. Clare recoiled, her horror bringing a
smile to his lips, but Noah Stern did not touch her.

The name carries with it your history, your memory your past and your future. None of which exist for you any more. For those who love you, who might search for you for a while, the name will be a burden. We will change it, lessen the heaviness within you. I saw this with the first one.