Jacaranda
Hightor Road
Cape Town
South Africa
February 23, 1999
Dear Mrs. Ranelagh,
You're the one who should take credit for my handwriting. I remember you teaching us italics in class and telling us that if we wrote well we'd always get a job. It didn't work out like that for me, but only because I couldn't see the point of slaving for peanuts when a hit on a shop or a post office could give a better return for a few minutes' sweat. But I've always liked nice writing, so you scored on that at least. Also-sure!-I've still got the gift of the gab! You should take credit for that, too. It was you who said a good vocabulary means you'll always make a good impression.
One day I'll tell you about me and Bridget-she's the reason I'm in here. Trust me to marry the only girl in the world who'd rather shop her husband and visit him in prison than wait till he murdered someone! You might remember her. She lived across the street from us in Graham Road and had blond hair down to her ass till she cut it off and posted it through your letterbox as a sacrifice. She's still as pretty as a picture and refuses to give me up even though I keep telling her she's young enough to find someone else and have kids. The good news is, I could be out next year if I keep behaving myself.
Okay, to business. The answers to your questions are as follows:
1. I don't know the name of the woman Annie called a 'dirty tart' but I think her man was one of Mum's clients, though I never hung around long enough to get much of a look at him. They were all shits as far as I was concerned.
2. Everyone stole from Annie. I'd say Alan and his sisters were the worst, but the rest of us did, too. It was the girls who kept egging us on. There were stacks of little trinkets in drawers and cupboards, which they really liked. She used to leave her back door open for her cats, and it was a doddle for one of us to keep her occupied at the front while the other nipped in through the back. It wasn't so easy after she had the cat flap put in and started bolting her door, but the catch on her toilet window was broken and little Danny Slater was skinny enough to slither through the gap. He was a bright little kid, no more than four years old, but he'd creep through to the kitchen and climb on a chair to pull back the bolts. Alan even taught him to shove 'em home again afterward, then use the bog seat to climb out the window. I've never been too sure if Annie noticed her stuff was going-we always rearranged things so it didn't look too obvious-but Alan said she got some bloke in to make a list of everything in her house so I guess she must have done. We gave the whole caper up after she went for Alan with the cleaver. It didn't seem sensible once she'd sussed us. If I remember right, that was a month or two before she died.
3. Why did we do it? For kicks, I guess. To be honest, I'm not sure any of us ever asked ourselves that kind of question. All I know is it was a hell of an adrenaline buzz to creep around a crazy woman's house, especially one that had so much in it. We didn't do it for money because we reckoned most of what she had was nibbish-like the wooden statue-though I remember Alan's mum taking a ring off Bridget one time because she thought it looked valuable. She got rid of it to buy vodka, so I guess it might have been.
4. All I remember about the night of the accident is coming home around midnight and Mum telling me I'd missed all the fun. The mad cow next door got run over by a truck, she said. I haven't a clue what I was doing. The same as usual, I expect. Playing the machines in the arcade.
5. All I remember about the next day is Mum and me being staggered by the number of cats that came out because we didn't know Annie had that many.
None of this sounds good when you read it back and I hope you aren't too shocked. The trouble is the truth is always worse when you tell it bald. It kind of ignores the fact that there are two sides to everything. I mean, we were dead scared of her because she was mad, and Alan's mum kept saying she practiced voodoo with chickens. I know that sounds pretty off the wall now, but at the time-hell, we thought we were heroes just going in there. Alan reckoned she could turn us into frogs or something just by looking at us!
Hoping this helps,
Your friend,
*13*
I don't know if it's enough to say I wanted revenge on Drury because I hated him. One should have reasons for hatred, not just a visceral antipathy that causes a red mist before the eyes at the mere mention of a name. Dr. Elias had asked me several times why I bothered to invest so much emotion in a man I had known for only a matter of weeks, but I could never bring myself to answer for fear of sounding paranoid.
He had changed very little in twenty years except that his hair was grayer and his eyes darker and more impenetrable. He was the same age as Sam, but he'd always been tougher, stronger and more attractive. He was a type that women invariably fell for and invariably wished they hadn't when the hard-man image-a thin disguise for misogyny-proved to be an immutable reality.
He studied us with amusement as we approached. 'Mrs. Ranelagh.' He gave an ironic nod in Danny's direction. 'You're scraping the bottom of the barrel with this one, aren't you? What is he? Toy boy or minder?'
I had to run my tongue around my mouth to stimulate some saliva. 'Moral support,' I replied.
His smile broadened. 'Why would you need it?'
'Because you won't like these,' I said, taking some photographs from my pocket and laying them on the bar.
He reached out a hand to pick them up but Danny was there before him. 'Is this the black lady you were talking about?' he asked.
'Yes.'
'She looks as if she's been hit with a baseball bat.' he said, laying them back on the counter.
'She does, doesn't she?' I put my finger on the lop picture and pushed it aside to fan out the five others underneath. None of them was pleasant. Each showed Annie in death, bruised and battered about the face, and with a discolored right arm where blood had seeped under the skin to form an extended hematoma from shoulder to wrist. 'Mr. Drury decided all these injuries came from a single glancing blow from a truck, which resulted in death
