‘It means packaged fish to the rest of us,’ said Tamar with a smile. She ordered rolls and coffee, which arrived promptly.
‘This is good,’ said Clare. She hadn’t realised how hungry she was. ‘What’s the meeting about then, if there’s nothing to report yet?’
‘The mayor established a community policing forum to deal with family violence. After this body was found in the playground, Calvin Goagab called me in to see how we were going to tackle it. I told him then that I’d approached your new cross-border unit for help and that you were coming. He said he wanted to meet you.’
‘Sounds fair enough,’ said Clare.
‘Goagab is a difficult man and he seems to have taken it as a personal insult that the dead boy made him late. It’s best just to let him say what he has to say. He’s not thrilled that our arrangement with the police was a fait accompli.’
Clare and Tamar walked the two blocks to the municipal building.
‘Somebody had delusions of grandeur,’ said Clare when she caught sight of the concrete bunker that reared up in an extravagant wilderness of lawn. The building dwarfed the few citizens scurrying up its steps, disputed bills clutched in fists.
‘Army money,’ said Tamar. ‘South Africa’s two fingers to the desert.’
Once inside, it took Clare a few seconds to adjust to the dim light of the cavernous entrance hall. Tamar pushed open the carved double doors to the executive wing, where their footsteps were absorbed by the pile of a garish carpet.
‘Hello, Anna,’ Tamar greeted an exquisite young woman who looked out of place behind the vast desk. ‘We’re here to see Mr Goagab.’
‘Do you have an appointment, Miss Damases?’ the girl asked, glossing her full lips.
‘It’s Captain Damases, my dear. And it was you who arranged the meeting.’ There was enough irony in Tamar’s voice to penetrate even Anna’s self-absorption. The girl scrolled a crimson fingernail down the desk diary, before uncrossing her legs and leading Clare and Tamar down the passage.
‘Damases and the doctor from Cape Town,’ she said, flinging open the door to the mayor’s conference room. Cigar smoke undulated on the overheated air. Gilt chairs with spindly legs and red cushions were arranged around a shimmering table. The velvet swagged across the windows was held in place with thick gold tassels, which would have been more at home in a bordello. The effect was both ludicrous and oddly sinister.
‘Ladies, you’re welcome.’ The man closest to them stood up, his charcoal suit tailored within an inch of its life. ‘I’m Calvin Goagab. CEO of cleansing. You are Dr Hart?’
‘I am.’ Clare held his gaze. ‘It’s good to meet you.’
‘This is His Worship, the Mayor, Mr D’Almeida.’ Clare thought Goagab was going to bow, or make her curtsey, but he managed to restrain himself.
‘Call me Fidel,’ said the mayor. ‘Calvin likes all this protocol, but I’m a simple man. Sit down, Tamar. In your condition, you must not strain yourself. Sit. Sit, Dr Hart. Anna, bring the ladies tea.’ The secretary closed the door a notch below a slam.
‘You’re a runner, no?’ D’Almeida was a compact man of about fifty, with iron-grey hair that set off his olive skin. He took Clare’s measure appreciatively.
‘I do run,’ she said.
‘Well, you must run by our lagoon then. You can watch the flamingos.’ He turned to Tamar. ‘She’s staying in the cottage? I hope you’ll be comfortable.’
Anna brought in a tray and set it down. She slopped tea into four cups before flouncing from the room. The mayor turned to Calvin Goagab. ‘You wanted to have this meeting, Calvin. Please go ahead with what you wanted to say.’
Tamar, Clare and D’Almeida all turned to Goagab expectantly. ‘I just wanted to welcome Dr Hart.’ Goagab put his fingers together. They were slender, manicured. His sleeve slipped back to reveal an ornate Rolex watch. ‘And to make sure that she understands that she is working for Captain Damases and the Namibian Police at all times.’
‘Calvin is sensitive about South African imperialism,’ D’Almeida explained. ‘Trying to make up for the time he spent in closer-than-intended proximity to the South African army. Independence rather took him by surprise.’
Goagab flushed. He did not like to be reminded of his two menial years shunting trains in the desert for the army.
‘I understand,’ said Clare. ‘I’ll be doing preliminary work here while Captain Riedwaan Faizal’s paperwork is sorted out. He’ll be joining me when that’s done. Then you’ll have a direct police counterpart here. My own expertise is more specialised.’
‘A profiler, yes.’ Goagab stared up at the ceiling. ‘I’m sure that it is a difficult skill to bring across cultures. I’m sure you’ll find that this… unpleasantness will have the usual explanation. We’ve many foreigners who come to our port who have’ – again he ferreted for a word – ‘needs. Unusual needs. We had a case before Captain Damases was posted here. A girl was found dead, but she’d been seen frequenting nightclubs where such services are for sale. I’d be careful of jumping to conclusions.’
‘I’m not that way inclined, Mr Goagab.’
Tamar concentrated on her tea. Goagab started to speak again: ‘Of course, I didn’t mean-’
‘Thank you, Calvin.’ D’Almeida silenced him. ‘I’m sure that Dr Hart will bear that in mind during her investigation.’ D’Almeida stood up and Clare took the cue and rose to her feet. The mayor walked the two women to the door. ‘I’m sorry we have so little time,’ he said. ‘But we’ve a land claim to deal with. Some of the rag-and- bone people from the Kuiseb.’
‘The Topnaars?’ asked Clare.
‘Ah, I see you know something about this place.’ D’Almeida’s grip on her arm was just short of painful. ‘Yes, them: pastoral nomads following an ancient way of life if you’re a romantic foreigner; poverty-stricken squatters who drink their pension money away and litter the desert, if you’re from Walvis Bay. The one man who knows everything about where their so-called ancestral lands are won’t speak’.
‘Spyt?’ asked Tamar.
D’Almeida nodded. ‘The problem pre-dates us, unfortunately. The South African military has more than just the war to answer for. This is some confused claim about sacred sites. Apparently the ghosts of the dead must walk the land because of what went on here in the past.’
‘Walvis Bay is a busy place for ghosts at the moment,’ said Clare.
‘These murders, yes.’ D’Almeida waved a dismissive hand. ‘People in the town are getting anxious. The rumours are getting increasingly exotic, as you can imagine. We must deal with them, of course.’
‘With tourism, image is everything,’ Goagab added. ‘And we depend on it now that the fish are gone.’
‘That, and of course the fact that we’ve a series of unpleasant crimes on our hands, Calvin. Not just a PR problem. I trust you won’t forget that.’ D’Almeida made sure that he had the last word. ‘Please, Dr Hart, let us know what you need to make your investigation work.’ He inclined his head towards her. ‘And I do hope to see you running.’
ten
‘I’ll get Elias and Van Wyk,’ said Tamar when she and Clare got back to the station. ‘Then we can get started on our display.’
Tamar, Clare and Karamata made their way to the special ops room. Evidently, Van Wyk had more important matters to attend to, declining Tamar’s invitation to join them without even looking up from his computer screen.
There was a roll of maps and a neat stack of autopsy photographs on the trestle table in the middle of the room. Stacked alongside were three murder dockets, sheets of coloured paper, scissors, blue tac, drawing pins and marker pens.
‘We’ll work backwards,’ said Tamar. ‘Let’s start with Kaiser Apollis.’ She wrote his name large in red.
‘Monday’s Child…’ Clare pinned up the photographs of the boy drifting on the swing.
