‘That rules them out as a team, I suppose. Although stranger things have happened.’
‘I talked to the homeless kids while I was out there. The second boy, Nicanor Jones, his body was found there.’
‘Inside the dump?’ asked Riedwaan.
‘Propped up outside.’
‘Have you got a perpetrator profile yet?’
‘The basics,’ said Clare. ‘I’d say the killer must have a vehicle, something that doesn’t stand out too much. He probably lives alone; otherwise his absences would be noticed. But everyone works shifts here, so that isn’t a definite. One thing’s for sure: these bodies are kept inside somewhere for a couple of days and then displayed.’
‘Why inside?’ probed Riedwaan.
‘No predator marks. None of the boys was killed where he was found either. So they’re shot somewhere, then kept, then moved and displayed where they’ll be found.’
‘Homosexual predator?’
‘Hard to say. Could be. Homosexuality is illegal here, so I’d imagine that he’s either deeply closeted or is some kind of mission killer. There’s some evidence that Kaiser Apollis worked as a rent boy. I’d be surprised if the others didn’t.’
‘Sexual assault?’
‘Nothing overt, but whoever he is he’s organised. Arrogant, too, to risk displaying these kids.’
‘Sounds charming,’ said Riedwaan. ‘You’re going to have to bring your stuff down for the forensic tests. It can’t be couriered.’
‘Not before Friday,’ said Clare. ‘I’ll catch an early flight.’
‘I’ll organise things for you, then,’ said Riedwaan. ‘And I’ll pick you up from the airport.’
‘I don’t think that’s the best idea.’ Clare kept her tone businesslike.
‘I wanted to talk to you about what happened before you left, about what I didn’t say.’
‘I got your e-mail,’ said Clare.
Riedwaan must have got up to close his office door; the silence on the phone was absolute. He broke it. ‘Are you not going to talk about us?’
‘It’s a bit late.’
‘Okay, I should’ve told you. I’m sorry I didn’t. How many times must I say this? It’s my family, my daughter. How the fuck must I know how to handle this and them and you?’
‘Just deal with them and leave me out of it,’ Clare said. ‘It’s better that way.’
‘Clare, I have to see you.’ Riedwaan's voice was coaxing, as warm as a touch.
Clare inhaled and closed her eyes. ‘We are going to see each other… professionally.’
‘Fine,’ said Riedwaan. ‘I’ll see you professionally then.’
twenty-four
Riedwaan Faizal replaced the receiver, the click loud in the silence. He opened a window, letting in a rush of cool Cape Town air. He had meant to tell Clare. He had practised it in his car that morning: ‘Their trip was cancelled. The trip was cancelled.’
‘Their trip was cancelled.’ He said it aloud again. Nonchalant. That was the trick, or, ‘Shazia and Yasmin, they had to cancel, so…’
So what? Even he could see where that line of defence would go.
‘I’m not coming,’ his wife had said when she’d called the night before at home, when he was already two whiskies down. ‘I want a divorce. You want a divorce. I can’t afford to come back now, so I’ve changed the tickets. Yasmin will come to see you at the end of the year. If you can organise some leave. Oh, and I should tell you I’ve met someone.’ Shazia had paused then, and in that suspended transatlantic moment, the memory of her pliancy, her eagerness as a young bride, was so immediate, he smelled for a moment the subtle, cinnamon scent of her skin.
‘I’m getting married again,’ she had told him.
‘I’m pleased for you,’ Riedwaan had said through gritted teeth, and she’d cut the conversation.
Riedwaan had tried to phone Clare after he got Shazia’s call. It would have been easier if she had picked up then. It would have come out just as it was, unfiltered. But she hadn’t, he thought, as he watched Superintendent Phiri park. The man reversed back and forth until his double cab was so precisely aligned that you could work out a geometry theorem with it. As his boss stepped over the scattered debris and disappeared around the building, Riedwaan’s thoughts drifted back to his wife. His soon-to-be officially ex-wife. Some primitive part of his brain wanted to find the man who was sleeping with Shazia and brain him, even as he had felt the relief that came with resolution flood through him.
He poured himself a cup of coffee, his third, and put his hand into his pocket, looking for his cigarettes. His hand closed around the fax Yasmin had sent him:
Riedwaan lit a cigarette and pressed his hands to his eyes, recalling the horror of his daughter’s kidnapping. It was Yasmin’s abduction that had brought him to Clare. She had profiled the men who had snatched his daughter and together they had found her.
He and Clare. They made a good team. Professionally.
‘Why the long face?’ Rita Mkhize sauntered in, saving Riedwaan from his tangled thoughts.
‘Woman trouble.’
‘No such thing,’ said Rita. ‘Man trouble, yes. Woman trouble, no.’
‘Oh, really,’ said Riedwaan. ‘Then explain to me why Clare’s not speaking to me.’
‘Apart from the minor detail that you forgot to tell her that your wife was coming to stay?’
‘She’s cancelled her trip.’
‘So she cancels and you phone Clare to say that all the problems are solved because Shazia’s staying in Canada?’
‘Well…’ Riedwaan scrabbled about for a better light to cast himself in. There wasn’t one. ‘If you put it that way.’
‘And Clare’s still furious?’
‘Yes.’
‘You can’t think why?’
‘Because I didn’t tell her,’ he ventured.
‘Oh my God.’ Rita slapped her palm to her forehead. ‘A doctorate in the female psyche coming your way.’
‘So what do you suggest I do?’
‘Grovel,’ said Rita. ‘That’s always a good start. If you let me watch I’ll put in a good word for you.’
‘I know I’m not the brightest, but Clare clams up. She’s like an oyster. Bang! You get near her and she closes up on you.’
‘Well,’ said Rita. ‘Hang around. A piece of dirt like you, maybe she opens up again. My advice is to slip right in. With any luck she’ll turn you into a pearl.’
‘Why do women always side with each other?’ asked Riedwaan. ‘What did you come in here for anyway? Just to give me a hard time?’
‘Phiri’s looking for you. He asked me to tell you to join him for coffee.’
‘That’s all I need, his poison,’ Riedwaan muttered as he walked down the passage.
‘There you are, Faizal,’ said Phiri as Riedwaan entered his office. ‘There’s an envelope for you on the table.’
Riedwaan opened it and flicked through the contents. Phiri was a stickler for paperwork and he had a reputation for turning it to his advantage. The file was full of the countless forms an officer needed before he could move. He checked: every single requisite signature was in place.
