“It’s him,” she said. And walked away to choke back the vomit rising in her throat.
? Dead at Daybreak ?
DAY 2
TUESDAY, JULY 11
? Dead at Daybreak ?
35
He stood in the doorway, the bathroom light falling across the bed through the steam of the shower, and stared at Kara-An’s sleeping shape: the dark hair spread over the pillow, the pale skin of her shoulder and upper arm, the curve of her breast, the beautiful mouth half-open and without lipstick, the narrow white edge of her teeth visible, small, rhythmic sounds of a deep sleep in her throat. So much beauty, even now, so much beauty, the body of an angel, the face of a goddess, but the damaged gray matter lay in the skull. God, it had been wild last night. She was like an animal, a leopard trapped in her head, scratching and hissing and biting and crazy, swearing and panting – how much did she hate herself?
He stood naked in the doorway, feeling more pain than the scratch marks and bruises on his body warranted. He had to get dressed, go to work, but the contrast between the quiet figure on the bed and the demon of last night held him captive.
He had learned about himself last night.
He had reached the edge and halted.
“Hurt me,” she had said, begging, reproaching, hitting out at his face. Again and again through grinding teeth, “Hurt me,” and he could not. In the frenetic moments he had searched for the ability to do so and it wasn’t there.
He didn’t want to hurt her; he wanted to comfort her. Despite all the aggression in him, despite all the hate and reproaches and pain.
He had tried to draw it from his own rage, but there was…something else. He wanted to comfort her, give her sympathy. He felt sorry for her, so infinitely sorry. What he felt was not lust but heartbreak.
Eventually he had thrust into her and brought the act to a climax, holding and sweating while she swore at him about his impotence, his cowardice, his betrayal, until he lay on top of her, empty and tired, and the silence between them became as cold and dark as the night outside. And then he had rolled off and lain next to her, staring at the ceiling until he felt her hands soft on his chest and she had shifted her warm body close to his and fallen asleep. He thought about nothing, closing the doors of his mind.
¦
Hope Beneke walked to the airport building in the icy, dry cold of an early Bloemfontein morning and was amazed by the bleached grass and the bright light of the pale sun. When her eyes searched the people in the arrivals hall, she knew the tall, slender, gray-haired woman with the deeply lined face was Rupert de Jager’s mother. She walked up to her, extended her hand, and was embraced by the bony arms that hugged her against Carolina de Jager’s body.
“I’m so pleased that you’ve come.”
“We’re pleased that we could trace you.”
The woman dropped her arms. “I won’t cry. You don’t have to worry.”
“You can cry as much as you like, Mrs. de Jager.”
“Call me Carolina. I’ve finished crying.”
“Is there somewhere here that we can wait? Perhaps have a cup of coffee?”
“Let’s go to town. We have lots of time. I’ll show you the waterfront.”
“Bloemfontein has a waterfront?”
“What do you mean? A beautiful place.”
They walked out of the airport building, back into the cold. Carolina de Jager looked at her again. “You’re so small. For an attorney. I thought you would be a big woman.”
¦
He played back the answering machine’s tape, listened to the messages of the lonely, the disturbed, with the old, familiar astonishment at the damage that people carry with them. Where did Kara-An’s damage originate? Perhaps she could point a finger at others, but his was due to the dagger of his own actions, a blade that cut widely, made others bleed.
Focus. He arranged his notes, read the newspaper reports, clever reheating of the investigative leftovers, quotes from Superintendent Bart de Wit: “Murder and Robbery have always been part of the investigation and we gladly shared our information with the private team. Murder and Robbery will remain part of it and are following up new leads.”
The telephone seldom rang now, nothing usable. He had to wait for Hope and Carolina de Jager and the parcel she was bringing, the next big step.
Marie at the door. “There’s a policeman to see you, sir.”
“Send him in.”
Captain Mat Joubert. “Morning, Van Heerden.”
“Mat.”
“You still believe the devil is in the detail.” Joubert looked at the notes, sat down, his voice soft for such a big man. “How are you, Van Heerden?”
“That’s not why you’re here.”
“No.”
“Bart de Wit changed his point of view?”
“No. The super doesn’t know I’m here. I’ve come to warn you. The commissioner phoned this morning. Military Intelligence is taking over the investigation. It comes from on high. Ministerial level. Nougat is preparing the dossier for the handover.”
“And he’s mad as a snake.”
Joubert rolled his big shoulder. “You’re their next port of call, Van Heerden. They’re coming with a court order. Law on Internal Security.”
He had no reaction.
“You opened up something that makes them very nervous.”
“They can’t stop it now.”
“They can. You know that.”
“Mat, this thing goes back to ’seventy-six. Bush war. It’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission material. The ANC would welcome it.”
“How many spooks did you see appearing in front of the TRC? I’m not talking about the butchers and semispooks like the Vlakplaas men and Basson. I’m talking about the main men. The obscure units inside National Intelligence and MI of which we’ve only heard rumors. There was nothing on them or about them. There was nothing from Namibia. Do you think it was a coincidence?”
He had never thought about it in that way. “I didn’t follow the TRC with great attention. I was… distracted.”
“In the final TRC report they mention masses of records that were destroyed in ’ninety-three. And there are rumors all over the place. Do you know how much paper was burned in Iscor’s furnaces? Forty-four tons. And Military Intelligence destroyed hundreds of files in Simon’s Town in ’ninety-four. With the knowledge of the ANC. Nothing could stop them then. Nothing is going to stop them now. And with reason.”
“What reason?”
Joubert took a deep breath. “I don’t know. But if I were you I’d make copies of everything. Because they’re
