Mpayipheli got up slowly. “Need some of your water first.” He shuffled to the jug and the glass on the table, poured the liquid into the glass, ice cubes falling, water splashing on the table.
“Ah,” he said. “Fortunately they’ll think you’re the messy one.” He emptied the glass in one gulp, refilled it, and walked back to the chair.
“Want some?”
Van Heerden nodded. Tiny held the glass for him, helped him drink.
“I hope you’re allowed to drink. Might leak out of a hole somewhere.”
He swallowed the ice-cold water. It tasted sweet, fresh, delicious.
“He hit me a few more times, swinging blows that you could see coming a mile off, but I was too tired to duck. I know now what a tree feels like when you hit it with an axe: it goes right through you, you feel it here.” He put a fingertip on his forehead.
“He fell eventually, forward, like a blind man who doesn’t know where the floor is. I can’t tell you how pleased I was because I was finished, completely finished. I collapsed on my knees. I wanted to come and help you, but nothing wanted to work, it was like swimming in treacle, head not thinking, so I rested.”
He took a sip of water.
“I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t just walk through that door and say,
Mpayipheli swallowed the last of the ice water, got up to fetch some more, and sat down again.
“And then you shot the lot. There was only one left for me and it was just as well because the first shots went completely wide.”
The door opened and the blond nurse came in.
“He must rest,” she said.
“And I must do all the talking,” said Tiny. “Nothing will ever change in this country.”
¦
Late afternoon. He was alone in the room. A thick brown envelope with his name on it lay next to the bed. Slowly he wriggled his left hand out from under the blankets. He saw that his forearm was red and swollen just below the puncture where the drip entered. He moved his right hand over slowly, touching the wounds in the chest and shoulder, a burning, sharp as fire, but he managed to reach the envelope. He lay back, let the pain subside slightly, and tore the envelope open with difficulty.
A note on top. “You owe me a honeymoon. And a huge favor for the document. Pleased that you’re recovering. Destroy when read. Please.”
Signed by Mat Joubert.
He looked at the document, typewritten A4 pages, stapled together in the top left-hand corner.
Transcription of interrogation of Michael Venter, also known as Gerhardus Basson.
Sunday, July 16, 11:45, Groote Schuur Hospital.
Present: Superintendent Mat Joubert, Superintendent Leon Petersen.
He turned over the first page.
Q: Superintendents Mat Joubert and Leon Petersen in interrogation of suspect Michael Venter, also known as Gerhardus Basson, in the investigation of the murders of Rupert de Jager, aka Johannes Jacobus Smit, and John Arthur Schlebusch, aka Bushy Schlebusch, aka…er…Jonathan Archer, and attempted murder of Colonel Bester Brits of the South African Defence Force. The interrogation is being taped and the suspect has been so informed. Official permission from Dr. Laetitia Schultz has been obtained. The doctor has already certified that the suspect is not under the influence of any medicine or drug that could affect his comprehension or consciousness.
Q: Could you please give your full name and surname for the record?
A: Fuck you.
Q: Are you Michael Venter, who is also in possession of a forged South African identity document in the name of Gerhardus Basson?
A: Fuck you.
Q: The charges against you have already been read to you. Do you understand them?
A: Fuck you. I’m not saying another word.
Q: Your rights as a suspect in this investigation have already been read to you. Do you understand them?
A: (No reply.)
Q: Let the record show that the suspect did not respond to the question. You have the right to have a legal representative present during this interrogation.
A: (No reply.)
Q: Let the record show that the suspect did not respond to the question. You are aware of the fact that this interrogation is being taped and that anything you might say during it may be used as evidence in a court of law.
A: (No reply.)
Q: Let the record show that the suspect did not respond to the question. Mr. Venter, can you recall where you were on the night of September thirtieth last year?
A: (No reply.)
Q: Let the record show that the suspect did not respond to the question. Were you in, or near, the home of one Rupert de Jager, also known as Johannes Jacobus Smit, on Moreletta Street, Durbanville?
A: (No reply.)
Q: Let the record show that the suspect did not respond to the question. Were you…
Q: We’re wasting our time, Mat.
Q: I know.
A: Fucking right, you’re wasting your time. Fucking cunts.
Q: Will you answer further questions?
A: (No reply.)
The transcript of the first interrogation ended.
Transcription of interrogation of James Vergottini, also known as Peter Miller.
Sunday, July 16, 14:30, Interrogation Room, Murder and Robbery, Bellville South.
Present: Superintendent Mat Joubert, Superintendent Leon Petersen.
Q: Superintendents Mat Joubert and Leon Petersen in interrogation of suspect James Vergottini, also known as Peter Miller, in the investigation of the murder of Rupert de Jager, aka Johannes Jacobus Smit, and John Arthur Schlebusch, aka Bushy Schlebusch, aka Jonathan Archer, and attempted murder of Colonel Bester Brits of the South African Defence Force. The interrogation is being taped and the suspect has already been advised of this as well as of his rights.
Q: Could you please state your full name and surname for the record.
A: James Vergottini.
Q: You are also in possession of a forged South African identity document in the name of Peter Miller?
A: Yes.
Q: The charges against you have already been read to you. Do you understand them?
A: Yes, but I had nothing to do –
Q: We’ll get to that in a moment, Mr. Vergottini. Your rights as a suspect in this investigation have already been read to you. Do you understand them?
A: Yes.
Q: You have the right to have a legal representative present during this interrogation, but you have already waived that right.
