Hyena Dawn (27 page)

‘
What if he doesn’t believe me?’

‘
You owe me, Jerry. He will believe you, I’ve seen you in action. If any man can do it, you can. Just don’t mention to him that you know me. But I want you to note whatever he says about me. I want to know.’

‘
Piet, I just don’t know about this.’

‘
Those charges against you, I had them dropped. They can be brought up again, you could lose your job, your pension. Your son could be found in possession of Mandrax tablets, your daughter could be found to have communist literature. You’ve got no choice, Jerry. Ask for basement three, cell number sixteen. And if you mess up, forget you had a future.’

Dr Odendal made his way to the lift, thinking hard. Even though it might not be necessary, he would conduct an immediate autopsy. That way, he could destroy any incriminating evidence and no one would be able to figure out what had happened. If what Piet had said was right, he had nothing to lose.

The lift arrived at ground-floor level and he crossed the foyer to the lift that would take him down to the cells. As usual he was confronted by an armed police guard and he flashed his district surgeon’s pass at him peremptorily.

The moment he got into the lift he started to breathe deeply in order to relax himself for the coming ordeal. The lift arrived at the corridor leading onto the cells, and he found the stillness faintly disturbing. It was as if everyone had vanished. He wanted to be away from, this place and back in the warm comfort of his bed, snuggling up close to his wife. As he walked towards the cell he felt like a man moving towards his own execution. He was about to walk into basement three when an enormous man stepped out, towering over him.

‘
Are you the doctor?’

‘
Yes. You are Major-General de Wet?’

The man appeared to miss his question. ‘About bloody time too. It’s been half an hour since I called for you. Have you seen anyone here?’

‘
No. I came straight to the cells.’

‘
How did you know which cell to go to?’

‘
I asked the officer on guard.’

‘
Fine. Let’s get on with it, then.’

De Wet smiled grimly to himself. So, the bastard was lying. The officer on guard duty had no idea who was in which cell, the doctor must have spoken to General Muller. Perhaps he was one of Muller’s cronies - he would see soon enough. De Wet had carefully studied the techniques of medical examination many times - he never felt he could take anyone for granted, there were always slip-ups that cost lives and convictions. This evening, his diligence was to be rewarded.

‘
I’ll have to conduct an autopsy.’

De Wet did not reply. He watched the doctor studying the dead man’s skull. He could see that the doctor knew exactly what had happened to this prisoner.

The dead man was black, about five foot ten tall, well-built, with close-cropped black hair and a pencil-line moustache. Dr Odendal winced as he saw the line of cigarette burns down the man’s left arm; both wrists were bloody from where the manacles had been tightened. But the worst thing was the side of the man’s head which had been smashed in. Dr Odendal guessed that they had beaten the man up with a pickaxe handle, a favourite method of interrogation. Reluctantly he turned up to face the Major- General.

‘
Major-General de Wet, we’ll have to get a stretcher and take him to the state mortuary. Could you arrange that for me, please?’

Deon stood looking at the doctor, who clearly had no idea that his story hadn’t worked. Deon had already decided he was going to see this thing through to the end. One of his junior officers had told him he’d heard screams coming from the cells - Muller had been careless, leaving the door open while he and his cronies worked the prisoner over. When Deon arrived, the cell door had been locked and he’d had to get the key. Inside he’d found the dead body. And Muller had told him there had been an accident.

Deon listened sceptically as Dr Odendal pressed his point. ‘I’m sorry, Major-General de Wet, but he must be taken there very quickly. A body decomposes rapidly after death.’

De Wet sat down on the floor in the corner of the cell, his knees almost obscuring his face. He saw the puzzled reaction on the doctor’s face and waited.

‘
Are you all right, Major-General?’

‘
I’m perfectly well, doctor. Would you mind sitting down, I think we should talk.’

‘
This is no time for flippancy. I insist that the body is moved to the mortuary. I will talk with you later.’

‘
Doctor, which university did you study at for your doctor’s degree?’

‘
I cannot see that this is an appropriate time to question my ability. Pretoria, if you must know.’

‘
Yes. That is a fine university. I’m not questioning your ability, doctor, rather your judgement.’

‘
How dare you!’

‘
You must have taken the Hippocratic Oath. It is a very solemn oath, I wish we had something of similar standing in the police force. I ask you, is it the correct procedure to conduct an autopsy on this body?’

‘
Yes.’

‘
And you say there’s no evidence that this man has been physically assaulted?’

‘
No, he has not. I would imagine that there may be a tumour on his brain which may well have contributed to his death. That is the reason why I must conduct the autopsy. Now, if you please, Major-General de
Wet.
. .’

Deon noted that the doctor was still steady though there were beads of perspiration running down his forehead. He started when he heard the footsteps coming down the corridor, then Deon could see his shoulders relaxing; it was as if he were trying not to appear scared. The footsteps approached the door of the cell.

‘
Good evening, Dr Travis. It seems I called you out unnecessarily, Dr Odendal has beaten you to it.’

Dr Odendal was now crouched over the prisoner’s body and visibly shaking.

‘
Good evening, Dr Odendal. I’ll be on my way, then.’

Deon could see Dr Odendal was looking relieved as Dr Travis said this. ‘Well, Dr Travis,’ he said casually, ‘you might as well give us a second opinion, just for the record.’

‘
No, Major-General de Wet, professionally it’s not necessary for a case like this. Dr Odendal is far better qualified than I am.’ De Wet admired the young doctor’s tact, he wished he could have instilled a little more of it into his own junior officers. He said, ‘So you would agree with having an autopsy?’

‘
But it’s obvious what’s happened! Er, I mean, I’m not sure . . .’

‘
Well, Dr Travis, I suggest you drop your professional ethics and have a look for yourself.’

De Wet pulled Dr Odendal away from the body and saw the horrified look on Dr Travis’s face. He watched his face harden; Travis had only been doing this job for six months, out of interest, before taking up a lecturing post at the university medical school. Bending down over the body, in a few seconds his professionalism took over.

‘
So, Major-General, you want me to examine your handiwork?’

‘
Not mine, Dr Travis. Dr Odendal is of the opinion that this man fell off his chair and died.’

‘
That is ridiculous. You must know that. This man has been beaten to death. I’ve never seen someone so savagely beaten!’

‘
Thank you, doctor. You will now make your report, and you will deliver it to me and no one else. You will most probably have to contest Dr Odendal’s opinion in court. I have no doubt that you will tell the truth as I can see you are a man of conviction. Should anything happen to me within the next few weeks, I hope you will have the courage to pursue the matter on your own. This man died under interrogation, and I’m going to make sure that the men who killed him are brought to justice. Dr Travis, I want you to take this body to the morgue and make bloody sure no one tampers with it.’

Dr Travis looked at Major-General de Wet. He knew what courage it must take to do what this man was doing, and he would stand by him whatever the consequences. He turned to Dr Odendal who was crying, shaking with emotion. ‘He forced me to do it! Muller said he’d destroy me!’

‘
Dr Odendal. I will make sure you are struck off the roll.’

A few hours later the body was placed in a refrigerated box in the Johannesburg mortuary. It was to stay there for a long time, and the name of the dead man would appear in newspaper headlines across the world, above wildly conflicting reports of what had happened to him. His death would affect the lives of three people immeasurably.

Deon did not go home that evening. After phoning Teresa he wrote his report on the incident, working and reworking his account of how he had found the prisoner and what had happened afterwards. He knew what would happen when he submitted the report: the spotlight would fall upon him and everything would be done to try to discredit his statement. Driving home late the next day, he realized his career was in serious jeopardy.

The moment Deon got home he realised that something was wrong. Everything looked too tidy - the kids usually left things lying all over the place and Teresa only ever cleared up in the morning.

He noticed these things because of a lifetime’s career of searching for tiny clues that would lead to larger conclusions. He walked into the lounge and almost stepped backwards when he saw Teresa sitting on the rocking-chair, rocking backwards and forwards, staring at him.

‘
You lousy, cheating bastard! Is this what I get for being loyal, for having loved you, for caring for you? I’d like you to tell me it’s not true, except that there’s just too much evidence for you to argue against.’

He walked straight up to her and tried to take her in his arms. She slapped his face viciously and he felt the blood running down his nose.

‘
Where are the children, Teresa?’

‘
At my mother’s, where they’ll be staying while we arrange a divorce. You don’t deserve them, you’ve betrayed them. Thank God, at least I’ve got a few friends who’ll stand by me. Now it all makes sense. When you rang last night and told me what you were doing, I was so proud of you - then General Muller came round and had the decency to explain what you were really up to.’

‘
Muller?’

‘
He showed me those disgusting pictures you keep in your office, you pervert. You disgust me. General Muller told me the whole story; how he found out about your taste for whores, and he told you to behave yourself; how he threatened to tell me if you didn’t stop beating up black women - and then you tried to blackmail him with that trumped up story of police brutality. God, Deon, how low can you get?’

‘
That’s all a pack of lies, Teresa. How the hell can you believe him?’

‘
I can believe photographs, Deon. Photographs don’t lie. Muller says you’re just like your father, he told me all about him. He says he was corrupt too.’

Deon went white. How could she believe him capable of these things? How could she speak like that of his father, a man she had never known?

Teresa picked up a vase from the fireplace and threw it at him. He ducked, and it sailed past his head through the window. Her face was ugly with anger, he knew he could not reach her. Muller had played his ace, and how cleverly he had used it.

‘
Get out of this house, Deon. Your clothes are all packed - go and sleep with one of your sluts. And don’t come back. I don’t want to hear any more of your disgusting lies!’

‘
Teresa, it’s not true. I can’t believe this is happening to us.’ ‘Get out, you pig.’

Deon walked out of the room, picked up the two suitcases from their bedroom and took them out to the battered old Mercedes. As he was packing them into the boot Teresa came out of the front door. He turned; she must have seen sense at last, have realised that Muller had been lying. He began to smile.