shoulders.
With the big ones, you must hit hard and hit fast. Not on the body, that’s just looking for trouble. In the face. You do as much damage as possible, preferably to the mouth and nose, get the blood spurting, lips splitting, and break the teeth and jaw. Give them something to think about, especially the bodybuilders, who, in any case, have a strong narcissistic streak. Make them worry about their looks. Then kick them in the balls as hard as you can.
But Emma jumped in first. I was ready, balanced on the balls of my feet, adrenalin flowing, and keen for it, when she bumped Phatudi ineffectually and said, ‘No, Inspector, I’m talking to you. And I’m telling you, you have only one chance before I talk to your boss.’
That single word made the difference. He was ready to tackle me, but he stood his ground. ‘Boss,’ he said slowly. ‘That’s a white word.’
Emma had calmed down, she had her temper under control. ‘The other day you talked about “your people” to me, Inspector. The whites. Remember? Don’t play the race card with me. You know what I mean. Your commander or your officer or whatever. Police ranks aren’t my strong point, but my rights as a citizen of this country are. And the rights of every other citizen, black or white or brown or whatever. Every one of us has the right to talk to the police, to be heard and to be served. And if you don’t agree with me, you’d better tell me now, so I know where I stand.’
Phatudi’s problem was his two colleagues. He couldn’t afford to lose face.
‘Mrs Le Roux,’ he said slowly, ‘everyone has the right to the services of the police. But nobody has the right to interfere with a murder investigation. Nobody has the right to make trouble and cause mischief. Obstructing the course of justice is a crime. Assaulting a police officer is a crime.’ He held his thumb and forefinger a centimetre apart. ‘I am this close to arresting you.’
She was not intimidated. ‘Wolhuter phoned me last night. He found something that proves that Cobie de Villiers is my brother …’
Her interpretation of the facts.
‘I came here to tell you that, because it’s directly related to your investigation. So please explain to me how that is obstructing the course of justice. And if they really wanted to protect us, these two clods could have stopped us and informed us they would be following us, which I don’t believe for a minute. I will not take responsibility for someone else’s lack of intelligence.’
The two clods inspected their feet.
‘What proof?’ Phatudi asked.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘What proof did Wolhuter have?’
‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m here.’
‘What did he say?’
She brought out her phone. ‘Listen to him yourself,’ she said, and worked the keyboard to replay the message. She passed the phone to Phatudi. He listened.
‘That is not what he says.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘He never said he had found something that proves that De Villiers is your brother.’
‘Of course he said that.’
Phatudi handed her back the cell phone. With that constant scowl, he looked permanently fed up, so it was hard to read him. He stood there looking at Emma and eventually said, ‘Let’s go and talk somewhere cool.’ He turned on his heel and headed for the auditorium.
‘What did Wolhuter say to you yesterday?’ he asked as we sat down.
‘How did Wolhuter die?’ she retorted.
It was going to be an interesting session.
Instead, a miracle took place on Phatudi’s face. Crease by crease the frown was demolished. Then he started constructing a smile from the ground up. It was a captivating metamorphosis, perhaps because it was so unthinkable that he could use the same face for both expressions. When the smile reached roof level, his massive bulk began to shake and his eyes screwed shut. It took me a while to register that Inspector Jack Phatudi was laughing. Soundlessly, as though someone had forgotten to turn the sound on.
‘You are something else,’ he said when the quake had subsided.
‘Oh?’ said Emma, with not quite so much aggression.
‘You are small, but you have venom.’
With that he joined the Gutsy Emma fan club, along with the late Wolhuter, the living Lemmer and the blinking Stef Moller. I wondered how calculating Emma was, how much manipulation was camouflaged by the fearless indignation. It was a new, a third Pavlovian trick that needed to be added to my Law of Small Women.
I studied her. If she was smug, she hid it well. ‘Inspector, let’s help each other. Please.’
‘OK,’ he said. ‘We can try.’ The improbable smile stayed strong until Emma told him what Wolhuter had said the previous day.
17
‘Why must they lie? I can’t understand it,’ Jack Phatudi said. The frown was back in force.
‘What are they lying about?’ Emma asked.
‘About everything. About me. About the Sibashwa. The land claims. There aren’t forty land claims on Kruger. Six years ago the Commission realised that the claims were from the same families, but none knew about the others. They consolidated them and now it’s just the Mahashi, The Ntimane, The Ndluli, the Sambo, the Nkuna and the Sibashwa. There were two other claims, from the Mhinga and the Mapindani, but they were turned down. That leaves eight claims. Very far from forty.’
‘But you have a claim.’
‘I? I am a policeman. I’m not claiming land.’
‘The Sibashwa have a claim. You are a Sibashwa.’
‘True, the Sibashwa have a claim. In 1889 we were driven out. My people lived there for a thousand years and then the whites came and said, “You have to go.” Tell me, madam, what would you do if the government came and said, “We’re taking your home, find another place.”’
‘If it was for conservation, I would go.’
‘Without a cent in compensation?’
‘No, there must be payment.’
‘Exactly. That’s all the Sibashwa want. In 1889 there was no such thing, just guns at our people’s heads, and they said move or we shoot you. Our ancestors are buried there, a thousand years of graves, but they just took the ground and said we must go. Now the people, the Mahashi and the Sibashwa, everyone, all they are saying is, “Let us make right the wrong.”’
‘What about the National Park?’
‘What about it? All the people, all the claims, they are not asking for land in Kruger. They say, give us land here beside the park, then we can also build lodges. Do you know the story of the Makuleke?’
‘No.’
‘The Makuleke had a land claim to the north of the park and they won, ten years ago. So what do you think happened? They built a lodge and they formed a committee with Kruger and everyone is happy. The Makuleke people get the profit and Kruger gets the conservation. So why can’t other people do that too? That’s all they want.’
‘But what about the development that Jacobus knew about?’
‘These people at Mogale, they take these things and make lies out of them. Many business people came from Johannesburg and they said to the people, let us build this and let us build that. The Makuleke put the management of their lodge out on concession; a white company runs it. It’s just business, everyone wants to do business. Some white men had plans for golf resorts, but that won’t happen. Cobie de Villiers heard stories and he went running to Kruger before the process had even begun, before the people could decide if it was good or bad.’
