African as it could be. Southern Cross was on the top storey of a five-storey block. The reception room was large and clinical.
In the middle of the room a black woman sat at a desk with a huge glass top. She had a silver laptop in front of her and a tiny telephone switchboard. She was wearing an earphone and microphone headset. It looked like something a fighter pilot would use.
Jeanette spoke to her. ‘We would like to see Mr Wernich.’
She looked Jeanette up and down. ‘Do you have an appointment?’
I stepped forward. ‘Yes, we do. Tell him Jacobus le Roux is here to see him.’
Fingers with long nails danced over the high-tech keyboard. She spoke barely above a whisper. ‘Louise, there is a Mr Le Roux for Mr Wernich.’
‘Jacobus le Roux,’ I said. ‘Please make sure you tell her that.’
The woman looked at me as if seeing me for the first time – and was unimpressed. She listened and then told us, ‘I’m sorry, it seems you don’t have an appointment.’
‘Come on, Lemmer,’ said Jeanette, and bypassed the glass princess. ‘I’ve been here before.’
‘Lady,’ the receptionist said in dismay. ‘Where are you going?’
Jeanette stopped and turned. ‘One thing I can tell you, my dear. I am no lady.’ Then she walked on, not intimidated when the woman said, ‘I’m calling Security.’
* * *
Glass desktops were a Southern Cross theme. Louise also presided behind one. She was white, with dark brown hair in a plait, subtle make-up and fashionable glasses. She was thirty-something and faultless. Her job description would be Personal Assistant, never Secretary. She was appointed for her efficiency, computer skills and appearance. In front of her she had only a black keyboard and a flat LCD screen. The rest of the computer was concealed elsewhere. She seemed ruffled when we strode in.
‘Where is Quintus hiding, sweetheart?’ Jeanette asked her, and strode past her to the door leading to her boss’s office.
Louise gasped and sprang up. The grey skirt clung to impressive curves. I winked at her, just because I could. Then we were inside Wernich’s office.
It was spacious, with a massive glass desktop bearing a slender laptop. A high-backed leather chair stood behind the desk, like a royal throne, and six lesser ones in the same style were arranged in front of it. On the walls, in expensive frames, hung perfectly realistic paintings of missiles and jet fighters. But the man himself stood looking out of the huge windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a view of a greenish-brown canal outside. His hands were clasped behind his back.
He looked around only when Louise hissed behind us, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Wernich, they just walked through.’
He stared at Jeanette for a long time and then at me and nodded slightly, apparently to himself. It was the same kindly face as the prospectus photograph, but older. He looked like a church elder, that pious yet friendly appearance of so many Afrikaner men in their late fifties. He was dignified in a dark tailored suit, a definite presence.
‘Never mind, Louise, I was expecting them,’ he said paternally. His voice was deep and modulated, like that of an announcer on a classical music radio station. ‘Please close the door behind you.’
She turned reluctantly and went out. The door closed silently. ‘Please, sit down,’ Wernich said.
We hadn’t expected this reaction. We remained standing.
‘Please,’ he said. ‘Let’s discuss this like adults,’ and he gestured gallantly in the direction of the chairs. ‘Make yourselves at home.’
We sat. He nodded in satisfaction, and turned slowly back to the big windows, keeping his back to us.
‘Tell me, Mr Lemmer, my men … Are they still alive?’ It was a conversational tone, as though we had known each other for years.
‘Kappies is alive. I don’t know about Eric’
‘And where are they?’
‘In police custody, by now.’
‘Hmm,’ he said, and clasped his hands behind his back. I saw the thumbs rotating in small circles; he seemed deep in thought. ‘You surprise me.’
I couldn’t think of a response.
‘What’s the amount you have in mind?’
‘What amount?’
‘How much money do you want, Mr Lemmer?’
I finally caught up with him. ‘Is that the way the weapons industry works, Quintus? If you can’t kill, you buy?’
‘A somewhat crude description. Why else would you come here?’
‘You’re finished, Quintus.’
‘Finished?’
‘That’s right.’
He turned around and held open his arms, an invitation. ‘Very well, Mr Lemmer. Here I am. Do what you must.’ Pleasant and reasonable, we might as well have been negotiating over a secondhand missile.
I just stared at him.
‘What now, Mr Lemmer? Are you just going to sit there?’
I was going to say that I was going to make him talk before I dragged him away, but he didn’t give me the chance.
‘You know, Mr Lemmer, the thing that astounded me most was your poor reading skills. I mean, the writing on the wall was so clear: Emma le Roux was in deadly danger, but the so-called bodyguard saw nothing, said nothing, heard nothing and did nothing. At a cost of how much per day? Such incredible incompetence. Only when it was too late did you wake up. Then you wanted to deal out retribution left and right. Actually, it does make sense. Aren’t you the big, strong man that beat an innocent young articled clerk to death with your bare hands? We investigated you, Mr Lemmer. Such a pathetic, pointless life. And it doesn’t improve. Now you are the jailbird who can do no better than to mislead his clients about his apparent abilities, the man in hiding in a small town so he won’t be found out. The one that takes his orders from a lesbian doing her best to live, look and talk like a man.’
By then I was beside him and my arm was drawn back for the blow, but Jeanette shouted ‘Lemmer!’ and Wernich smiled in satisfaction. ‘You’re an inherent coward, Mr Lemmer,’ he said. ‘Just like your father.’ And then I hit him.
He fell back against the glass and slid to the ground.
Jeanette got between us. She shoved me roughly back. ‘Leave him,’ she said.
‘I’m going to kill him.’
‘You’re going to leave him alone.’ She grabbed me by the collar.
Wernich wiped blood from his mouth and got up slowly. ‘Before you go on, I think it’s only fair to tell you that each of our offices is monitored by video. You might just want to deactivate the camera before you proceed. Otherwise it might look like cold-blooded murder.’
Jeanette kept a handful of my collar and said to Wernich, ‘Don’t be ridiculous. How many have you killed? Four, five, six? Let me see … Your partner? I see they call it a climbing accident. He didn’t like the Machel affair, so you got rid of him? And the Le Rouxs, the conservationist, the gate guard …’
‘You’re going to jail,’ I said to him.
‘Would that be before or after you beat me to death?’
‘You’re going to do time, I promise you.’
He looked at me with a frown. ‘Do you think so, Mr Lemmer? Do you really think so?’
‘Yes, I do think so.’
He took a snow-white handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his mouth. Then he walked slowly around to his throne and sat down slowly like a tired man. ‘There’s the minor problem of proof, Mr Lemmer.’
Jeanette shoved me into a chair opposite Wernich. ‘The proof is sitting in a police cell in Hoedspruit,’ I said.
He sighed. ‘I can understand your limited intellectual capacity, Mr Lemmer. That is, after all, genetic. But not
