At the bathroom door she stopped and turned to me with a solemn expression on her face.
‘Lemmer, thanks. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’
I had nothing to say. I waited for her to leave.
‘How do you do it, Lemmer? Do you run?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘There’s not an ounce of fat on you.’
‘Oh.’ I was caught off guard. ‘Yes … I run. That… sort of thing …’
‘You must tell me about “that sort of thing”, some time,’ and she left with a little smile on her lips.
As I lay on my bed in the dark again and waited for elusive sleep, I pondered the way she viewed the alleged conspiracy with such calm assurance. To her it was completely real, an accomplished fact, an unfortunate reality that she had to live with. It didn’t make her hysterical, merely pragmatic. Someone wants to kill me 1 hire a bodyguard. Problem solved.
It was somehow flattering, her childish trust, her belief in my abilities. But I gained no satisfaction from it, coming as it did from the same woman who was entangled in imaginary plots. Whereas I had initially guessed she was lying, now I suspected her of fantasy, illusions born out of yearning.
I lay in the darkness for a long time listening to the noises of the bush, the nocturnal birds, a hyena. Once I imagined I heard a lion roar. Just as I began to descend into sleep there was another sound: the soft tread of Emma’s bare feet through the sitting room, past me to the other single bed beside mine. There was the rustle of linen and then all was quiet.
I heard Emma breathe out slowly, a sigh of comfort. Or relief.
9
Greg. Hospitality manager. He had thin blond hair and his red complexion did not respond well to the sun. His olive-and-khaki uniform was a little tight around the waist. ‘My most sincere apologies, this is totally unacceptable, we will move you, of course, and there will be no charge for your accommodation.’ He looked down at the lifeless snake.
It was very early and the veranda was packed. Beside the dead reptile stood Dick. Senior Game Ranger.
‘It’s a black mamba, awesome animal,’ Dick said to Emma, as if the snake belonged to him. He was her type and he knew it – a thirty-something Orlando Bloom clone, tanned, a big conversationalist. Once he realised that Emma had been alone in the double bed behind lock and key when the incident with the snake had occurred, he focused all his attention on her.
The black ranger (Sello. Game Ranger) and I looked at the dead animal. The morning was hot already. I hadn’t slept much. I didn’t like Dick.
‘You don’t have to move us,’ Emma said to Greg.
‘Most feared snake in Africa, neurotoxic venom, lung failure within eight hours if you don’t get the anti- venom. Very active, especially this time of year before the rains. Very aggressive when confronted, the best thing is to step back …’ motormouth Dick said to Emma.
The best thing is to step back. What did he think we’d done? Invite it to dance?
‘Then we will have the place sorted out. As good as new by lunchtime. I’m very sorry,’ said Greg.
For the first time Dick looked at me. ‘You should have called us, dude.’
I just looked at him.
‘I don’t think that was an option,’ said Emma.
Greg gave Dick a stern look. ‘Of course it wasn’t.’
Dick tried to regain lost ground. ‘Just a pity it had to be killed, such an awesome animal. They are very territorial, you know, and they usually avoid contact with humans, unless they’re cornered. Hunts by day, mostly. Far out, man, real far out, never happened before. How the hell did it get in? They’re so damn agile, can get through the smallest of holes or gaps or pipes, who knows? Sello, do you remember that one we found in the anthill last month? Huge female, maybe four metres, one minute she was there, the next she was gone, just slipped away somewhere.’
‘We’ll have to go for breakfast,’ said Emma.
‘And that will be on the house too,’ said Greg. ‘Please, if there’s anything …’
‘Mamba in the bedroom,’ said Dick, shaking his head. ‘It’s a first for us, but hey, it’s the bush, right. Africa is not for sissies … I suppose it had to happen some time or other. Radical. Just such a pity …’
Inspector Jack Phatudi was a block behind the desk, a bodybuilder who resisted the urge to boast, since his snow-white shirt fitted loosely. He had a permanent frown on his broad forehead, unfriendly grooves that broke the glossy sheen of his shaven head. His skin was the darkest shade of brown, just short of black, like exotic polished African wood. In the pressure cooker of an office he was the only one not perspiring.
He held the twenty-year-old photograph of Jacobus le Roux between his thick, strong fingers and said, ‘This is not him.’ He irritably pushed the photo back across the surface of the government-issue table.
‘Are you absolutely sure?’ asked Emma. We were sitting opposite Phatudi. She left the photo lying on the table.
‘You cannot ask me that. Who can say they are absolutely sure? I do not know what he looked like twenty years ago.’
‘Of course, Inspector, I …’
‘How will this help me?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The suspect has killed four people last week. Now he is gone. Nobody knows where he is. You bring me this photograph from twenty years ago. How will it help me find this man?’
She was momentarily halted, yielding to his onslaught. ‘Well, Inspector, I don’t know,’ she said pleasantly. ‘Perhaps it won’t help you. And I don’t want to waste your time. I have too much respect for the role of the police. I was just hoping that you might be able to help me.’
‘How?’
‘I saw the picture of the man on television for just a few seconds. Would it be at all possible to see it again, to put it next to this one …’
‘No. I cannot do that. It is a murder docket.’
‘I understand.’
‘That is good.’
‘May I ask you one or two questions?’
‘You can ask.’
‘The television news said the man, Jacobus de Villiers, worked at an animal hospital …’
‘The TV people, they don’t listen. It is not a hospital, it is a rehabilitation centre.’
‘May I ask what the name of the centre is?’
He was reluctant to name it. He adjusted his bright yellow tie, rolling the huge shoulders under the white shirt. ‘Mogale. Now you will go show your photograph there?’
‘If it’s OK with you.’
‘You will make trouble.’
‘Inspector, I assure you …’
‘You do not understand. You think I do not want to help you. You think this policeman is difficult …’
‘No, Inspector …’
He held up a hand. ‘I know you think that. But you do not know the problems. There are big problems here. Between your people and the black people.’
‘My people?’
‘Whites.’
‘But I don’t know anybody here.’
‘It does not matter. There are big problems. The people, they fight all the time. There is much tension. The
