She asked him whether he had the time for a heart attack. She asked whether he realized what his cholesterol count meant. She asked how much time it would take to stop at a vegetable market, to put some fruit in his attaché case every morning.
Detectives dont carry attaché cases, he wanted to say but didnt. He admitted that it wouldnt be difficult.
And sandwiches? she asked. How much time did it take to wrap a whole wheat sandwich in foil for the following day? And to swallow a plate of bran with skim milk in the morning? And to buy artificial sweeteners for all the tea and coffee in the office? How much time could it take?
Not much, he admitted.
Well then, she said, we can start working. She took out a form that read THE DIET OF . . .
Her pen poised above the open space, she was the epitome of efficiency. First name?
Joubert sighed. Mat.
What?
* * *
The entrance hall of the Bellville South Murder and Robbery Squad had an area where visitors could wait. The walls were bare, the floor was covered with cold gray tiles, and the chairs were civil-service issue, made to last and not necessarily for comfort.
Those who waited there were the family, friends, and relatives of murder or robbery suspects. So why offer such people comfort and amusement in a waiting area? After all, they were probably blood relatives of suspected criminals. This might well have been the thinking of the architects and administrators when the plans were being discussed.
But Mrs. Mavis Petersen didnt agree. The entrance hall was part of her kingdom, adjacent to the reception desk where she held sway. She was a Malay woman, slender and attractive and a beautiful shade of light brown. And she knew the pain of a criminals nearest and dearest. Thats why there were flowers on the reception desk of the Murder and Robbery building every day of the week. And a smile on her face.
But not now.
Sergeant Griessel is missing, she said when Joubert came in and walked to the steel gate that gave access to the rest of the building.
Missing?
He didnt come in this morning, Captain. We phoned but there was no reply. I sent two constables from the station in the van, but his house is locked.
His wife?
She says she hasnt seen him for weeks. And if we find him we might as well ask him where the alimony checks are.
Joubert thought it over, his fingers drumming on the desk.
Maviss voice was suddenly low, disapproving. The Colonel says we dont have to look for him. He says its Adjutant Griesselss way of answering him.
Joubert said nothing.
Hes very different to Colonel Theal, hey, Captain? Her words were an invitation to form an alliance.
Very different, Mavis. Are there any messages for me?
Nothing, Captain.
Im going to try the Outspan. Thats where we found him the previous time. And then Im going home. Tell radio I want to know immediately if they hear anything about Benny.
Very well, Captain.
Joubert walked out.
Such authority, Mavis said with raised eyebrows to the empty entrance hall.
The Outspan Hotel was on Voortrekker Road between Bellville and Stikland, a hotel that had acquired its one star under another management.
Joubert showed his plastic identity card and asked for the register. Only two rooms were occupied, neither by a Griessel. He walked to the bar, a dark room with a low ceiling and somberly paneled in wood.
The first early evening clients were already leaning against the long bar counter, singly, uncomfortable, uncamouflaged by the anonymity conferred by numbers.
The smell rose in Jouberts nostrils. Liquor and tobacco, wood and people, cleaning materials and furniture polish decades of it. It reached a tentacle deep into his memory and brought forgotten images to the surface: He, aged nine, ten, eleven, was sent to call his father. Ten oclock at night. The bar was filled with people and smoke and heat and voices. His father sat in a corner surrounded by faces. His father was arm wrestling against a big man with a red face. His pa was playing with the guy.
Ahhh, my sons here. Sorry, Henry, I cant look bad in front of him. And his father pushed the mans arm down flat on the wooden table. The faces laughed amiably, full of admiration for the strong man, the keeper of law and order in Goodwood.
Come on, Mat, let me teach you. He sat down opposite his father, shy and proud.
Their hands clasped. His father acted, pretended that his son could easily beat him.
Again the onlookers laughed loudly.
One day hell really beat you, Joop.
Not if he jacks off too much.
Joubert sat down at the Outspans bar counter and remembered how hed blushed, how embarrassment had overcome him. Did he have to tell Dr. Hanna Nortier about that as well? Would it help?
Reluctantly the barman got up.
Castle, please.
The man served him with the smooth expertise acquired over years of experience.
Three rand.
Im looking for Benny Griessel.
The barman took his money.
Whore you?
Colleague.
Wheres your paper?
Joubert showed the card again.
He was here last night. Couldnt go home. I put him in the tank. I went to have a look after lunch and hed gone.
Where does he usually go from here?
How should I know?
Joubert poured his beer into the glass. The barman interpreted this as a signal and returned to his chair in the corner.
The beer tasted good, round and full. He wondered whether it had something to do with the surroundings. He lit a Special Mild. Would he ever get used to the mildness?
He knew he was hiding.
He smiled into the glass in his hand at the admission: he was looking for Benny in the bar and he was looking for courage in the beer. Because there was a young body at home and he no longer knew whether he was capable.
He lifted the glass and emptied it. He put it down hard on the counter to attract the barmans attention.
Another one? Without enthusiasm.
Just one. Then I have to go.
12.
H
e used his elbow to push open the door because he was carrying two large shopping bags apples, pears, peaches, apricots, All-Bran, oatmeal, skinless chicken, fat-free beef, skim milk, hake fillets, lowfat yogurt, tins of tuna, dried fruit.
He could smell that she was there.
His house was filled with the heavy odor of roasting lamb. And other smells. Green beans? Garlic? And a baked pudding?
He heard the music.
Hello?
Her voice came from the kitchen. Here.
He walked down the passage. She came out of the kitchen. She had a spoon in her hand. He saw the miniskirt, the lithe, beautiful legs, the high-heeled shoes. The other hand was on her hip, the hip angled. Her breasts were barely covered. Her stomach was bare and firm, pale flesh in the light of the late afternoon. Her hair had been brushed until it shone, her face was heavily made up.
Femme fatale of the kitchen. He recognized it in a flash as the theatrical flight of fancy of an eighteen-year-old. His embarrassment mingled with the knowledge that it was all for him. He could feel the beat of his heart.
Hi, she said, the voice of a hundred Hollywood heroines.
I didnt . . . know that you . . . cook . . . He lifted the bags in his hands.
There are lots of things about me that you dont know, Mat.
He simply stood there, a stranger in his own home.
Come. She disappeared into the kitchen. He followed her. The taste of the night was in his mouth.
Her portable radio and cassette player stood on the windowsill. It was tuned to a local music station. She stood at the kitchen table. Youre in the newspaper.
He put the bags down on the table and looked at the
Argus
lying there.
Youre famous.
He couldnt look at her. He picked up the newspaper. Lower down on the front page there was a headline DON CHAMELEON STRIKES AGAIN. He read:
As a blond, middle-aged playboy, he escaped with R7,000 from Premier Banks Bellville branch less than a week ago. Yesterday he was a little old man walking away with R15,000 from their offices in the Heerengracht.
But police have little doubt that it was the same man, because of curious similarities the Chameleon was the epitome of charm, calling the tellers sweetheart and asking them what perfume they wore.
According to police spokesman Lieut. John Cloete, one of the only clues they have so far is video footage of the second robbery, taken by a hidden bank camera.
But it is obvious that the perpetrator is heavily disguised. There is little chance that anyone will be able to identify him from the video.
Lieut. Cloete said one of the Peninsulas top detectives, Murder and Robbery Squad captain Matt Joubert, had personally taken charge of the case.
Joubert stopped reading, replaced the paper on the table, and sighed. He would have to phone Cloete.
One of the Peninsulas top detectives . . .
How would they know? Couldnt even spell his name correctly. And de Wit wouldnt like it at all.
Yvonne had poured him a Castle while he was reading. She handed it to him, her slender hands and scarlet nails etched against the amber fluid.
Youre one behind.
Thanks. He still avoided looking at her. He took the beer.
Im going to spoil you. Suddenly she was next to him, against him. Her hands slid under his jacket, pulled him closer. She raised her face, offered her mouth.
Say thank you, she said. He kissed her. His one hand held the beer, the other touched the bare part of her back, and he tightened his hold. She flowed against him like quicksilver. Her mouth tasted of beer and spices and he was astonished by the heat of her tongue. Her hands were behind his back, pulling up his shirt and sliding under the material to stroke his skin. Joubert was desperate to feel his hardness against her. He pushed the lower part of his body forward. She felt it and rubbed her stomach against him. His mind was in a whirl, his heart an elevator on its way up. But down there, where it mattered, was nothing.
The food, she said and fluttered her tongue over his lips. Itll burn. She dug her pelvis hard into him, a serious promise. Her hands tucked his shirt in again, her body flowed away. She was slightly breathless.
He remained at the table, deserted and uncomfortable.
Im going to surprise you. But its all a big secret. You must wait in the living room. Thats why I brought the newspaper. Her voice had lost some of the theatrical intonation, held a measure of uncertainty now. She stretched out an arm to the windowsill and he saw her picking up a packet of cigarettes. She opened it and offered him one. Winstons. He hesitated for a moment, then took one. She extracted another one with her long red nails and put it in her mouth. Her lipstick was smudged.
He dug into his pocket, found the lighter, lit her cigarette and then his own. She deftly took a deep drag, blew a thin jet of smoke toward the ceiling, came to him, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
Into the living room with you. Her voice had deepened again and the self-confidence had returned.
He smiled awkwardly, took the newspaper and the beer, and walked to the living room. He opened the newspaper, swallowed a mouthful of beer, and dragged strongly on the Winston. It filled him with a deep satisfaction.
He hadnt known that she smoked. For some reason or another it made her even more exciting.
He stared at the newspaper. He felt her skin under his hand. Dear God, that youthfulness. Firm, firm, firm. He could feel the long muscles move when her hands were busy behind his back. And her pelvis rubbing against him.
He forced himself to read. He heard her pottering about. She sang along with a rock number. Later she brought him another beer. You mustnt fall behind. He assumed she was also drinking in the kitchen. Ive almost done. When I call you must come.
More activity in the kitchen, then a long stretch of quiet.
Mat.
Yes.
Switch off the light. Then come here.
He swallowed the last of his beer, folded the newspaper. He switched off the living room light. There was a soft glow in the dining room. He walked down the passage and entered the room.
