?I told you, Cloete, it wasn?t me.?
Cloete was quiet for a moment, then asked, ?What?s new??
?Since yesterday??
?Yes.?
?Nothing.?
?Benny, you have to give me something. The dailies want blood.?
?One thing, Cloete, but you have to clear it with Matt Joubert.?
Cloete said nothing.
?Do you hear??
?I hear.?
?We were with the commissioner last night. The plan is to put together a task team tomorrow. We?re bringing people in from the stations.?
?To do what??
?I?m not telling the press that.?
?That?s fuck-all, Benny. A task team. So what??
?Talk to Joubert.?
?I prefer to talk to the source close to veteran Detective Inspector Benny Griessel,? said Cloete, and put the phone down in his ear.
?What was that all about?? asked Fritz from the back.
?The media,? said Benny and sighed.
?They?re like a bunch of hyenas,? said Fritz.
?Vultures,? said Griessel.
?Yup,? said Fritz. ?When there?s a carcass they start circling.?
He dropped them off at his wife?s at three minutes to six. Fritz said: ?Hang on just a minute,? and jumped out of the car.
?It was a lovely day, Dad,? said Carla and hugged him.
?It was,? he said.
?Bye, Dad. See you next week.?
?Bye, my child.?
She got out and went into the house. Fritz came out of the door with an object in his hand. He came up to Griessel?s window and held it out.
Griessel took it. It was a CD case. Anton & Vrinne & Die Bushrockband. Anton & Friends & the Bushrockband.
?Enjoy,? said Fritz.
His flat was silent. Suddenly empty. He sat down on the couch where Carla had sat. He turned the CD case over and over in his fingers. He had fuck-all to play it on.
He needed to do something. He couldn?t just sit here and listen to the silence. There was too much trouble in his head.
Where had Anna been today? Why was she all dolled up? What for?
Why did Fritz think they were getting divorced? Had she said something? Made some remark? ?Your father won?t stop drinking anyway.? Is that what his wife believed?
Of course she fucking believed that. What else, with his record? So, if she knew how it would end, what stopped her from filling the vacuum in the meantime? Why not allow some or other young, handsome and sober shit to take her out. And what else did she allow him? What else? How hungry was she? Anna, who always said, ?I like to be touched.? Who was doing the fucking touching now? God knows it wasn?t veteran Detective Inspector Benny fucking Griessel.
He got up from the couch, his hands searching for something.
What a day. His children. His wonderful children. That he barely knew. His son with his bass guitar genes and accusing words. Carla, who tried so desperately to pretend everything was normal, everything would work out right. As if her sheer willpower would keep him sober, if only she believed strongly enough.
Shit. The damage he had done. It burned him inside, the extent of it, all the multiple implications. It gnawed at him and he looked up and realized he was searching for a bottle, his hands itching to pour, his soul needing medication for this pain. Just one drink to make it better, to make it manageable, and that was when he realized he didn?t stand a chance. Here he was with all the shit of his life suffocating him, the shit his boozing had created?and he wanted a drink. He knew with absolute certainty that if there had been a bottle in the flat he would have opened it. He had already ticked off the possibilities in his mind?where he could go to get a drink, what places would still be open on a Sunday evening.
He made a noise in the back of his throat and kicked one of his new secondhand armchairs. What the fuck was it about him that had made him such an absolute shit? What?
