Devil's Peak

newspaper.?

?Oh?? she said and took the dish.

?Someone takes it when they are going out. They take it with them. In the morning.?

?My goodness . . .?

?I have to run. I will look into it when I get back.?

?Thank you, Inspector.?

?No, madam, thank you. That . . .? and for a moment he couldn?t think what the English word was. He wanted to say ?sheep?s meat? although he knew it was incorrect. ?. . . Lamb, that lamb was wonderful.? He jogged back to the front entrance and thought he had better hurry, because now he

was

late.

* * *

When the second brandy and Coke flooded through him like a heavenly heat wave, he leaned back in the seat of the plane and sighed deeply in pleasure. He was a fuck-up, a drunk, but that was that?he was born to drink, made for drink. That was what he did best, that was when he felt whole and right and one with the universe. Then the rhyme came back to him.

There was a young man from Australia

Who painted his arse like a dahlia.

The colors were bright,

And the look was all right

But the smell was a hell of a failure.

He grinned and wondered how many others he could remember, now that his brain was working again. He could rattle them off in his jokester days.

There was a young man from Brazil, who swallowed a dynamite pill

 . . . Perhaps he should compose one about himself.

A detective inspector who drank.

 . . .

He took another swallow from the bloody small plastic airline cup with its two blocks of ice and thought, no,

There was a dumb cop from the Cape,

Who let a black spearman escape.

The stewardess approached from the front and he held his glass up and tapped an index finger on it. She nodded, but didn?t seem extremely friendly. Probably afraid he would get paralytically drunk on her plane. She with her hair combed back and little red mouth, she could relax; he might be a wife-beating, whore-fucking fuck-up of a policeman, but he could hold his drink, daddio. That was one thing he could do with great, well-oiled skill.

He thought he was white,

And that?s not all right.

But what the fuck rhymed with ?Cape? and ?Escape?? All he could think of was ?rape.? Maybe he should start over; here came the stewardess with his next drink.

On his back?s not a snake, but an ape.

?Sir, are you all right?? asked the woman at Budget Rent-a-Car with a slight frown and he said: ?As right as rain,? and he signed flamboyantly next to every fucking cross she made on the document. She gave him the keys and he walked out into the windy evening in Port Elizabeth. He thought he ought to turn on his bloody cell phone, but, first, find the car. Then again, why turn on the phone? He was relieved of his responsibilities, wasn?t he?

They had given him a Nissan Almera, that?s what it said on the tag on the keys. He couldn?t find the fucking car. Suitcase in hand he walked down the rows of cars. The whole lot were white, almost. He couldn?t recall what an Almera looked like. He used to have a Sentra, a demonstration model he had bought at Schus in Bellville for a helluva bargain, never had any shit with that car. Jissis, it was a lifetime ago. Here was the fucking Almera, right here under his nose. He pressed the button on the key and the car said ?beep? and the lights flashed. He unlocked the boot and put his suitcase away. Maybe turn on the phone, they might have caught the guy by now.

He had to lean against the car. He had to admit he was a bit tipsy.

YOU HAVE THREE MESSAGES. PLEASE CALL 121.

He pressed the tabs. A woman?s voice. ?You have three new voice messages. First message . . .?

?Benny, it?s Anna. Where are you? Carla isn?t home yet. We don?t know where she is. If you are sober, phone me.?

What time had Anna phoned? It was sometime in the afternoon that he had switched the phone off. Why did she sound so panicky?

?This is Tim Ngubane. The time is now twenty forty-nine. Just wanted to let you know Christine van Rooyen is missing, Benny. Witness Protection called me. She walked out on them, apparently. They kept her in a house in Boston, and she?s just gone. Will keep you posted. Bye.?

She walked out on them?

Now why would she do that? He pressed seven to delete the message.

?Benny, it?s Anna. I talked to Matt Joubert. He says you have gone to PE. Call me, please. Carla is still not home. We have phoned everyone. I am very worried. Call me when you get this message. Please!?

There was despair in Anna?s voice that penetrated through his alcoholic haze, that made him realize this was trouble. He pressed nine and cut the connection. He leaned against the Almera. He couldn?t phone her, because he was drunk.