Let the Dead Lie (20 page)

A
pain that could not be cured by morphine or any other drug pressed against
Emmanuel's skull. The sergeant major's voice would come soon, spitting and
swearing. Expect pain. Accept pain. Peace comes after the fight, not before. He
decided to surrender.

'When
you're ready,' he said, 'I'll listen.'

The
voice remained silent.

A
light shone from the front window of Sister Anne's flat. Her father had been
wheeled in for the night. The plan of attack was simple. He would enter the
bedroom via the back window and catch Anne and Joe by surprise. If the window
was locked he'd kick down the front door and try his luck. Emmanuel threw the
Walther PPK into the Buick's glove box. Introduce a gun and a simple plan split
into a dozen new scenarios that mostly involved blood and a free ride in the
back of a caged police van.

The
wind had picked up and brought with it the smell of diesel and salt. Jolly's
little sister emerged from the building and sat on the top stair with her baby
doll wrapped in a rag quilt. The night settled around her and strands of hair
lifted from her shoulders in the wind. Emmanuel locked the Buick, climbed the
stairs and sat down next to the girl. The aroma of fried onion drifted from the
hallway.

'It's
late,' he said. 'What are you doing out here?'

'Baby
can't sleep. It's too quiet inside and she likes to watch the lighthouse
blinking.'

The
intermittent flash of yellow from the Bluff lighthouse danced across the
harbour but didn't reach the shore.

'Do
you remember who I am?'

'You're
a policeman.' She rocked the baby doll back and forth in the cradle of her
arms.

'That's
right. I talked to you the other day. Do you know the girl Anne who lives above
you?'

'Ja.
Anne has kittens.'

'Have
you seen her tonight?'

'She
took her pa inside. He was coughing.'

'Is
she at home, do you think?'

Susannah
lifted the doll to her shoulder and stroked its spine with a tenderness that
forced Emmanuel to look away. Old memories resurfaced. A fresh grave marked by
a baby's rattle instead of a cross. Women crouched in the rubble with their
children held close even though their own bodies were no protection against
bombs or bullets. He'd seen prams ushered through decimated towns by
hollow-eyed women dressed in tatters. In war, women protected life as though it
were a tiny flame in the wind.

'She's
fixing a stew for Joe,' Susannah said. 'He's got a big head, like Punch and
Judy.'

'Joe?
Are you sure?'

She
reached into the folds of the rag quilt and withdrew a coin. 'Joe gave me a
penny when he came through the backyard. He said I must buy sweets with it.'

'Was
Anne waiting for him?'

'Ja.
She let him into her window and
then she asked my ma for some onions.' Susannah pulled a second coin from the
dirty bundle. 'Anne gave me this one. If any of the police come I must run and
tell her quick.'

'I'm
a policeman. Why didn't you run and tell her?'

'Baby
will wake up if I move. When baby's asleep I'll go tell.'

Running
Joe down would not be easy. He was big and fast and he knew the neighbourhood.
Catching him by surprise was the trick.

A commander uses
the weapons at hand, soldier,
the Scottish sergeant major said.
The girl is old
enough to do the job. Send her into the field
.

Susannah
hummed a lullaby and Emmanuel rubbed the back of his neck where the neat razor
cut of his hair met the skin. He still took orders from a voice in his head
eight years after being demobbed from the army. Tonight, that seemed to make a
kind of sense.

'How
high can you count to, Susannah?'

'One
hundred and forty-three. Jolly taught me.'

That
would give him enough time to make it into the backyard via the gate that led
to the back lane. It might work.

'Will
baby be asleep by the time you count to one hundred and forty-three, do you
think?'

'Maybe,'
Susannah said. 'She has bad dreams that come in through the windows. Maybe
she'll drop off at one hundred and ten. That's her favourite number.'

'When
baby's asleep will you knock on Anne's door and tell her the police are out the
front?'

'Ja.
'

'Good,'
Emmanuel said. 'Remember the police are out the front. Not the back or the
side. At the front.'

That
should push Flowers through the fire-escape window and into the yard. The
yellow door he'd seen from Anne's and her father's bedroom led to a disused
back lane. Joe would likely exit through there.

'Shh
. . .' Susannah whispered. 'Her eyes are closing.'

'Tell
Anne and go back inside,' he said. The port at night was no playground. 'Okay?'

The
girl nodded and Emmanuel sprinted to the corner. He checked over his shoulder.
Susannah was on her feet, gently rocking the sleeping doll in her arms like a
tiny Madonna. Shoulder-wide alleys that ran between the buildings offered the
quickest way to the back. Emmanuel squeezed into the first one and worked
around crumbling drainpipes and piles of rusty cans thrown out from kitchen
windows on the upper floors. He prayed Susannah was slow up the stairs or he
was going to miss Joe Flowers altogether.

The
narrow back lane ran parallel to the road with the rear of the blocks of flats
on either side of it. A yellow square marked the gate that led into the yard of
Jolly Marks's former home. Emmanuel moved in. Footsteps clanged on the fire
escape. He and Joe were going to arrive at the gate at roughly the same time.

Attack is the
best form of defence, soldier,
the sergeant major growled.
Lay him flat
.

The
yellow gate creaked open and Emmanuel crashed into it with his shoulder. The
wood swung inwards and met Joe coming out. The prison escapee fell back,
winded, and

Emmanuel
held him down on the dirty concrete slab under the washing lines. A window
opened and a man in a grubby undershirt leaned out, a hand-rolled cigarette
pinched into the corner of his mouth.

'What
the hell is going on? I'll get the police onto the two of you. Now piss off.'

'I
am the police,' Emmanuel said and the man withdrew and shut the window behind
him. The metal scrape of curtains closing sounded across the yard as the
inhabitants of the slum dwelling shut the trouble out of their lives.

'Got
any weapons on you?' Emmanuel patted Joe down. 'A knife or maybe a gun.'

'Nothing,'
Joe gasped.

Emmanuel
checked his suit pockets and dug out a packet of loose tobacco, rolling papers
and a stub for admission to
A Woman's Face,
an MGM movie on continuous show
at the Oxford Cinema from 9 a.m. to 10 p.m. The cinema tearooms were the
perfect hiding place for criminals and recalcitrant schoolboys. And the ticket
included a cup of hot tea and a biscuit at intermission.

'Tell
me about Jolly Marks,' Emmanuel said.

'Don't
know him.'

Emmanuel
knocked Joe's box head against the concrete. It thumped like a watermelon
tumbling off a fruit cart.

'Jolly
was a member of the Zion Church. He lived across the hall from one of your
special sisters. You knew him. Don't lie to me.'

'Oh...
him.'

'Ja.
Him.'

'Haven't
seen him. Honest.'

Emmanuel
thumped Joe's head again. 'When was the last time you saw him?'

'Back
then.' Joe groaned. 'Before I went to Durban Central.'

'You
sure about that?'

'Ja
. Why are you asking me about
that kid? He wasn't right in the head that one. Him and his sister both.'

'Stay
away from his sister.' Emmanuel pressed Joe's muscular body into the concrete
till air wheezed from his lungs. 'Stay away from the girl or I will hunt you
down. Do you understand?'

'Can't
breathe ...' Joe gasped and Emmanuel eased off. With the sergeant major riding
shotgun, inflicting harm would be easy, even enjoyable. That was what he had to
guard against: the deliberate step into darkness.

'You
get off my Joe.' The fire-escape stairs rattled and Anne leaned her bony elbows
onto the railing. 'He came out of Durban Central to take care of his ma. She's
sick.'

'You
don't look like his mother,' Emmanuel said.

'And
you look like you enjoy having Joe under you like that. I knowed you was funny
when I seen that fancy suit.'

'Shut
up and go back inside, Anne.'

'He's
my man,' she said. 'I stay with him.'

Such
bravado in defence of a thieving pimp. The gift of the perfume had done its
job.

'Suit
yourself,' Emmanuel said. 'If you come down here you'll be interfering with
police business and then you and Joe can cosy up in the back of a van - all the
way to the cells.'

Anne
remained silent. For a moment, she was the tough heroine of an imaginary film
but without the benefit of good lighting and make-up.

Emmanuel
returned to Joe. 'Where have you been since leaving Durban Central? Hanging
around the docks at night?'

'No
ways,' Joe said. 'There's police everywhere. I've been with my ma.'

'Don't
forget shopping. That's nice stuff you got for her. A gas stove, sugar, apples.
Where did those things come from?'

'I
found them.'

Bullshit,
the sergeant major spat.
Put the pain on and this fucker will talk. Open him up
.

'You
found them?' Emmanuel worked his knee into the small of Joe's back. 'Tell me
where.'

'Okay.
Okay. I got a friend; he works on the port railway. He got them for me. Off the
back of a freight car.'

'For
free? That's a good friend.'

'I
exchange things.'

'What
things?'

'Things.
Things my friend wants.'

'Like
what?'

Joe
motioned in Anne's direction and Emmanuel decreased the pressure. The bony girl
was too young to understand the difference between being used and being loved.
Maybe her whole life would follow that pattern: poor, underfed and uneducated,
always in search of a man to fill the empty spaces inside her.

The
smell of burnt onions and meat drifted out of an open window.

'You
better take care of that stew,' Emmanuel said. 'Unless you want to burn the
place down.'

Anne
jumped up and climbed back through the window. A woman should stand by her man
but life kept happening.

Dirty
dishes had to be washed, the laundry folded and the cats fed. The window
closed.

Emmanuel
lifted Joe, settled him against the fence and looked into his broad face. 'Was
Jolly Marks part of your exchange scheme?'

'No.
No ways. Never.'

'I
told you not to lie.'

'I
ain't lying. That kid was strange. The whole family is strange. Not my cup of
tea.'

'Where
were you on Thursday night? That was your first night out.'

'With
my ma. I went to see her, first thing.' Joe's throat muscles constricted and a
tear rolled from the corner of his eye. 'The clinic hasn't got medicine and
she's not doing so good
—
'

'Stop,'
Emmanuel said. 'Stop.' There was no space in his head for a sentimental
criminal who exchanged his girlfriend's body for apples and sugar and boxes of
candles. 'It was your first night out,' he said. 'Shut in prison for months.
You expect me to believe that you didn't come straight down to the harbour to
look for some fun?'

'I
would have,' Joe admitted. 'But I didn't have money.'

'You
don't need money. Your sisters earn it for you.'

'Jâ,
but all the good earners are
gone. All that's left is her upstairs and she has to look after her pa most of
the time.'

'Did
you see Jolly Marks that night?'

'Why
do you keep asking me about him?'

'Jolly
Marks was murdered the night you escaped from Durban Central. His body was
dumped in the freight yard. What do you know about that?'

Joe
tried to scramble to the gate but Emmanuel pushed him down. The light leaking
from the windows of the flats was sufficient to illuminate Joe's jug face.
Unadulterated fear and disbelief glittered in his hazel eyes.