they could not, it had not been a vast investment, no considerable loss-except to themselves, and there would be other times. The lasting qualities of film and tape were almost unlimited.
And it was no use being silly and committing suicide. They had their families to think of. Once the contracts were signed, the tapes, the films and the girl would be destroyed. It was well known that a tape or a film, being a copy, could be copied. A co-accused-or at the very least, State witness-could not. By destroying Miss Le Roux, it was proof positive that no copies of the records would remain, as it would be incriminatory evidence.
And, after all, gentlemen, she was only a Coloured. It was not quite the same thing as killing a white. Look how she deceived you, shamed you, humiliated you in the name of eroticism yet really because she hated you for something you could not help-being white.
Desperation gives an edge to men’s minds, a ring to their voices, a ruthlessness to their actions, which can be mistaken for conviction. The other members of the Bantu Affairs Committee were only too pleased to have some of the more petty decisions taken for them.
As promised, the girl died in a manner unspecified but sworn to be undetectable. Her funeral notice on Tuesday, the day of the signing, was premature but, as Jackson pointed out on the telephone that morning, an act of good faith made possible by the full council’s approval of the committee’s recommendations the Friday before.
Trenshaw had still not been able to believe it. He had borne the brunt of what had happened. The others had blamed him entirely, most unfairly. Especially after Jackson admitted that the orgy in that beachfront flat down in Durban had never taken place. They were infuriated to learn, too, that Trenshaw’s overwhelming anxiety to see the matter safely to its conclusion had compelled him to claim an acquaintance with some old fool of a captain who was cremated on Wednesday afternoon.
They had stopped talking.
16
C ONFESSION DID A lot for the soul but little for the prosecution. It could not proceed without evidence and there was none. Everything had been arranged too thoughtfully for that. All Kramer could offer the court so far was an earful of hearsay. There had to be a link.
“I want Jackson.”
Trenshaw smiled. In the short lull he had been thinking.
“I suppose you must do.”
“But you don’t?”
Trenshaw looked across at his companions. Ferguson had been apparently taken ill suddenly and the other two were adjusting his clothing in an attempt to lessen the lividity of his face. They were totally preoccupied.
“Speaking for myself this time, no.”
“Why’s that? You don’t want to be the only ones who get it.”
“Ah. Get what?”
So this was the obverse side to Trenshaw, this was the electronics manufacturer who had set the company geishas such a formidable task. All he ever needed was a chance to clear his head.
“You know.”
“Don’t you find, officer, that speaking to someone about your problems is often such a help? There they are, all bottled up inside you, and nothing seems to go right. So you spread them out-”
“What’s all this bull about, Trenshaw?”
“Perspective. That, together with the little law I know, tells me you’re on rather shaky ground. You see, all you’ve heard from us is something we could quite easily forget by tomorrow. And then again, we did take all those precautions-that wonderful little tape of the music lesson, for example.”
“Tape? There are other tapes, and the films.”
“But Jackson has them. While I could once see them reaching you in an anonymous parcel, I don’t think he would consider such a move prudent at this stage.”
“Who would tell him? How would he know about this?”
“Jackson is not alone in this world, officer. He made that quite clear.”
“Where is he?”
“I haven’t the faintest.”
“You’re not going to help me?”
“Sorry. It’s a bit much to ask.”
“Then you’re making one hell of a mistake, man, let me tell you that.”
Trenshaw raised a black caterpillar eyebrow. He was surprised by the way Kramer spoke, lightly and almost with regret.
“I can’t see it.”
“Well, the fact is we’ve got you and your mates already,” Kramer said softly. “Certain tapes and film material came into our possession this afternoon. Your face-your voice with Greensleeves playing in the background. What do you think gave me the idea of coming here in the first place?”
“Jesus Christ! But Jackson-”
“Is not alone in this world, as you said yourself only a moment ago.”
Down he went. Practically fracturing his spine in an uncontrolled descent on to the carved teak chair. The groan was a trifle theatrical.
And the best part of it all was that Kramer was more than certain that the audio and visual recordings had never existed. They simply had not been necessary-any more than a real orgy in Durban had been necessary. It just was not Jackson’s way of doing things. He always cut his risks to a minimum to achieve the desired result. Having the equipment in the Barnato Street cottage could have caused quite an embarrassment if there had been a blaze and gallant firemen had extracted it together with the reluctant couple-neighbours lived for the night they could dial Emergency. Film had to be processed and with movies this was not a job you could do in the bathroom. Besides which, such evidence could cut both ways and the girl would have taken rather a lot of persuasion. Jackson had been aware all along he would never need to use it. His secret was knowing his man-all down the line from the avaricious Shoe Shoe to the bumbling Dr Matthews. However, Jackson had deviated from his policy of caution in one respect: he had killed the girl. Now this had been most unnecessary-she could only jeopardise her own freedom by a rash act in the name of justice. Something must have gone seriously wrong somewhere. He meant to find out what.
“Look, Fergy’s in a desperate way-we must get a doctor!”
Da Silva was tugging at Kramer’s elbow. He shook him off.
“Come on, Trenshaw. We’ve got one of them, we’ve got you lot-where’s Jackson?”
“He-”
“Yes?”
“He was going to meet me.”
“Where?”
“Here, tonight. After the party.”
“Jesus-when?”
Trenshaw tried to focus on his watch. His whole arm was shaking.
“About ten minutes from now.”
“Description?”
“What?”
“Tall? Fat? Clothes?”
“A bow tie. He always wore a bow tie. With spots on.”
Da Silva was making for the Assembly Room doors. Kramer vaulted the table and shoved him back against the wall.
“You bloody brute! That man’s dying!”
Kramer parried the blow and hit him. Official cautions took time, so he hit him again.
