‘
‘So there
‘It’s Monday morning,’ said Riedwaan. ‘There’s always a body.’
five
‘Hello?’ Clare’s phone was ringing as she opened her front door, laden with shopping bags.
‘Dr Hart? Please hold for Superintendent Phiri.’
‘Okay, I’m holding.’ She put down her bags, wondering if she had heard wrong.
‘Dr Hart?’ She hadn’t. The clipped formality could belong to only one man. ‘This is Phiri here. How are you?’
‘I’m well.’ Clare buried her surprise in pleasantries. ‘How nice to hear from you. How are you?’
‘Very busy, but well.’ Phiri took his cue from her. ‘I hope I haven’t got you at a bad time?’
‘Not at all.’ Clare could no longer ignore the growing knot of anxiety. ‘Has something happened to Riedwaan?’ she asked.
Phiri laughed. The low, melodious sound didn’t fit with Clare’s picture of him: precise moustache, stiff and exact in his uniform. ‘He’s fine,’ Phiri said. ‘Looks as if someone’s been looking after him.’
Clare blushed. She was glad there was no one except Fritz to see.
‘I have a situation that needs… lateral thinking. And tact – something I couldn’t get from Faizal for love or money. He suggested that I speak to you.’
Clare was taken aback. Phiri had always been reluctant to use her services as a profiler. He had a policeman’s distrust of civilians and a man’s scepticism about giving a woman authority.
‘How can I help you?’
‘I’d like to discuss it with you in person. In an hour. My office at twelve.’
Clare put down the receiver, took her shopping to the kitchen and packed it away.
Two weeks ago, Riedwaan had stayed the whole night with her, slipping into domesticity as if it were a second skin. It was not so easy for Clare. Doubling her shopping seemed easier than talking about boundaries and space and her secret pleasure at being held in the morning, but Phiri’s call warranted a few questions.
Riedwaan picked up on the fourth ring.
‘I’m meant to be going on holiday,’ said Clare. ‘Do you want to tell me what’s going on?’
‘I’m coming to the meeting, too. I’ll meet you outside the nut house.’
At five to twelve, Riedwaan pulled up outside the newly built Psychological Crimes Unit. It had been dubbed the nut house before the first brick was laid, and the name had stuck, much to Phiri’s chagrin.
Clare wrinkled her nose. ‘You smell horrible.’
Riedwaan ground his cigarette under his heel. ‘That’s a nice way to greet someone who just got you a job,’ he said, reaching his hand under her thick hair. Clare arched her neck. ‘Are your hackles always raised?’ he asked.
‘Only when I’m suspicious,’ Clare laughed. ‘Explain. Phiri’s my new best friend?’
‘Let’s just say he sees you as a way out of a tricky political corner.’ Riedwaan followed her up the marble stairs of the unit.
‘Since when was I the answer to someone’s political problems? Or you for that matter?’
‘Captain Tamar Damases,’ said Riedwaan.
‘Who called this morning?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘I don’t trust you, Riedwaan. There’s something going on that you’re not telling me.’
‘She called. Out of the blue. She was looking for you, not me.’ Riedwaan knocked on Phiri’s door before Clare could interrogate him further.
The senior superintendent gave the impression of a man in uniform, despite his civilian clothes. Phiri was lean to the point of thinness. He moved with the agility of the champion athlete he had been as a young man, desperate to escape the legacy of grinding poverty that illegitimacy had bequeathed him.
‘Thank you for coming, Dr Hart, Faizal. Can I offer you some coffee?’
Clare declined. Phiri’s coffee was notoriously strong and he only ever served it as he drank it – with three sugars and powdered milk.
‘You’ll have some, Faizal.’ It was not a question. It had taken Riedwaan twenty years with the police to learn which battles were worth fighting. This was not one of them and he accepted the cup without demur.
Phiri opened the Manila folder in front of him. ‘I have an unusual request to make, Dr Hart,’ he said, steepling his fingers over the single page of spidery notes, the careful handwriting of a man who had started school at twelve.
‘You know about the policing cross-border cooperation agreement signed between the South African government and some of our neighbours?’
‘Yes,’ said Clare. ‘It was signed in April as I remember.’
‘Correct,’ said Phiri. ‘Extremely tricky negotiations, as you can imagine. Very often what South Africa offers regionally is seen as interference, domination even, rather than cooperation.’ Phiri looked pained at the thought.
‘The agreement focuses on terrorism and weapons of mass destruction and car hijacking syndicates, doesn’t it?’ asked Clare.
‘That and the upsurge of armed gangs. We know that increasing numbers of soldiers from our… how shall I put it… less affluent neighbours are moonlighting as hired guns in South Africa for cash-in-transit heists and armed bank robberies. So the South African Police Service is providing expert assistance to our neighbours’ developing police forces.’
Clare looked from Phiri to Riedwaan. Riedwaan had just ventured his first sip of coffee and had a stricken look on his face. He was not going to be of any help.
‘That’s not my field of expertise at all,’ she said. ‘I specialise in head cases: psychological crimes, sexual murders in particular.’
‘I know,’ said Phiri, impatient at having his presentation speeded up. ‘That’s why I’ve called on you. One of the subclauses – 6.6 of the agreement if you want to read it – deals with unusual violent crimes. The current terminology for predatory sex crimes, serial rape or murder and unusual crimes against children.’
‘It excludes the more usual murders or assaults of children,’ Riedwaan added, ‘committed by their very own loving parents, teachers, relatives and-’
Phiri cleared his throat. ‘Thank you, Faizal. It was the best that could be produced in a short period. At least we’ve something to work with.’
‘I do apologise, sir,’ said Riedwaan with just sufficient sincerity to pacify his boss.
‘As I was saying, Dr Hart,’ said Phiri, turning back to Clare, ‘section 6.6 deals with unusual violent crimes. As you know, few of our neighbours have either the manpower or the scientific expertise to investigate crimes such as these. We’ve had our first request for assistance of this nature. I’m very keen that we’re successful with this particular case. It’ll go some way in showing that the agreement’s worth something and that we can provide a service beyond our borders.’
‘So what happened where?’ asked Clare. ‘And why me?’
‘We’ve had a request from the Namibian police, from Captain Tamar Damases of their Sexual Violence and Murder Unit. Faizal said she was keen that we ask you.’
‘Ask me what exactly?’ asked Clare.
‘That you go up to assist with an investigation. She thinks they need a profiler.’ Phiri picked up his rose- speckled cup and sipped and put it back on its saucer. The clatter was loud in the silence. He was the only policeman Clare knew who drank from a cup and saucer. His mother had given the set to him when he had been made a senior superintendent. She did not think it fitting that her only son should drink from the chipped assortment of mugs the rest of the force used.
‘I’m flattered that you asked me,’ Clare said into the silence that stretched between them. ‘But surely it’d be easier if someone employed by the police went up. Captain Faizal, for example.’ She looked at Riedwaan. He
