Pale Horses (23 page)

‘There’s a process to be followed but it’ll take time. The police will follow up on the calls that were made and received on the men’s cellphones, and also look at the deposits into their bank accounts. That way, hopefully, they’ll find out who did the hiring and why.’

None of which I can do, Jade thought, frustrated. If only she’d managed to get her hands on Lance’s cellphone before he’d misjudged the bend and sent his car skidding over the cliff.

‘And how much time will that take?’

Jade supposed that any wait at all would seem an eternity to a man who was used to making split-second decisions involving millions of other people’s dollars. ‘Probably a few months, but it could be longer.’ she said.

‘Even a month is too damn long,’ Theron grumbled, as she had expected he would.

‘Another significant fact is that the Siyabonga community who moved onto the farm has now disappeared.’

‘How do you mean? They’ve left? All of them?’

‘Nobody knows. I think Sonet’s sister Zelda may have been trying to find out what happened to them. Whether they were driven off the land or forced to leave.’

‘If they’ve all disappeared that won’t be easy to prove.’

‘There is apparently a Mrs Khumalo who is still contactable, although she moved away after her husband died. I’m doing my best to locate her to see whether she knows what really happened.’

‘I hope you find her. I just can’t let this drag on, Jade. And I can’t afford to be under suspicion. My clients trust me implicitly … I’ve never let them down … but the last thing I want is having my name made public at a trial, whether it’s under suspicion of murder or manslaughter or whatever.’

‘I understand, Victor,’ Jade said. ‘I’ll do my best for you.’

‘Thanks,’ Theron said. He took a deep breath and Jade saw him make a conscious effort to relax. ‘I’m sorry I’m so stressed out today. Tomorrow night, futures close-out will be over and the markets will be quieter. I’d really like to take you to dinner, as a thank-you for your efforts so far. Can we call it a date?’

He sounded as if he meant it, and when he showed Jade to the door he gave her another cheque, which represented the second instalment of her fee, for any unforeseen expenses.

It was a sizeable chunk of money.

Given the fact her vehicle had been tampered with and she’d twice been pursued by hitmen, in addition to surviving two shooting incidents, Jade felt she deserved it.

She wished she knew, though, why something about her recent conversation with Victor Theron was nagging at her mind.

Jade was relieved to get back to her cottage. It was peaceful and quiet. The alarm on the electric fence had not been triggered in her absence and the lock on the front door was intact.

And Bonnie was waiting outside the kitchen door, tail a-quiver.

‘You’re the only one who routinely manages to breach my security,’ Jade admonished her. ‘Home! I don’t have time to go out for a run now. And no, I’m not giving you a biscuit. You can’t have a treat every time you come here, or you’ll get fat.’

She unlocked the door and Bonnie pushed through her legs to trot confidently into the quiet, cool kitchen and sit down beside the cupboard where the dog biscuits were kept. The dog was practically smiling at Jade.

‘All right, then. Just one.’

While the Jack Russell crunched up her biscuit, Jade made herself some coffee before sitting down at the kitchen table and turning her attention back to Zelda’s notebooks.

As she read them, making a mental note of Zelda’s occasional personal and anecdotal jottings, Jade slowly built up a picture of Zelda Meintjies. A frightened, hungry child growing up in a household where food was not always available and when it was, was often restricted as a means of control. Cowering from her father’s mental and physical abuse. Seeking solace in the love and support of her siblings and the companionship of the skinny horses that lived on their remote smallholding.

A child who, from an early age, had begun to understand the true value of land, of food. And had started to question the use and abuse of power.

From the angle of the pieces she wrote, Zelda’s stance towards farming and land ownership appeared to be both libertarian and naturalist. Surprisingly, Jade found her opposed to large-scale commercial farming. She had thought that, with her background, Zelda would be supportive of efficient production methods, but she wasn’t, apparently preferring the lower productivity and greater diversity offered by smaller enterprises. Less surprisingly, she was vehemently opposed to environmentally
unfriendly farming practices and the use of pesticides and fertilisers that contaminated the food chain.

It emerged that she had also written several pieces exposing the methods followed by North American bio-tech corporations who patented their genetically modified hybrid seeds, forcing farmers to rebuy from them every season and using bullying tactics such as lawsuits to crush any opposition.

By doing this Zelda explained that they had, in effect, robbed farmers of their most fundamental and long-standing right – the right to save and replant seeds from year to year.

In a series of articles with the working title ‘Prostituting and Poisoning South Africa’s Farmland’ Zelda had attacked the US-based corporation whose name was now familiar to Jade: Global Seeds. She had come up with information and facts that were so detailed Jade couldn’t help wondering whether she had a source within the company itself.

‘Now this is interesting,’ Jade told Bonnie, paging through the most recent notebook, whose entire content seemed to be devoted to this topic. ‘Zelda quotes somebody called Danie Smit here. I don’t know who he is – a researcher, perhaps? Anyway, Smit says that Argentina introduced a pesticide-resistant soya product developed by Global Seeds. By subsidising the pesticide and encouraging widespread planting of this crop, ninety-five per cent of the soya market in that country became GM. Of course, this type of planting was most beneficial to commercial farms, who were better geared up to apply massive doses of blanket pesticide to the growing crops, so at the same time they were getting rich, thousands of independent smallholder farmers were forced off their land and bankrupted.

‘So, it seems from what Smit tells Zelda here, that pesticide-resistant plants aren’t by any means a success story. The development of superweeds, which can also withstand the toxic pesticides, often follows. Giant pigweed plants can grow so rapidly they take over fields and choke water supplies. They reach such a height and breadth they can actually stop a combine harvester in its tracks. Of course, this has led to farmers needing to use increasingly toxic weedkillers in ever-larger doses.’

She scratched the dog’s head absently as she turned the page.

‘And here, Bonnie, Zelda warns that these herbicides may not be as safe as they were originally considered to be. Smit’s warning is backed
up by the higher incidences of cancers in children exposed to these herbicides, and also in the illnesses suffered by the workers who apply them and the families who live close to the fields that are sprayed. This is especially prevalent in third world countries where proper safety equipment is not always used.’

Bonnie cocked an ear in Jade’s direction. She had such an intelligent look in her eye that Jade was half expecting her to offer a constructive comment in response. ‘Zelda’s done some really thorough research here. Did you know that, according to statistics supplied by a source at Global Seeds, South Africa is the major grower of genetically modified crops in Africa? And that our patent laws do more to protect the interests of the likes of Global Seeds than they do those of the farmers?

‘Farmers here have already been signing technology agreements with Global Seeds that strip away their rights to save seed. Even illiterate smallholders have been signing these, most probably without knowing what they’ve actually agreed to.’

Bonnie trotted over, her claws clicking on the tiled floor, and sat beside Jade’s chair.

Jade took a sip of coffee, realising to her surprise that it was already cold.

‘She concludes by stating that the decision to use GM, patented seeds will pose a serious threat to the smaller and poorer farmers in this country if it is continued. Well, I can understand that.’

She was almost at the end of the notebook, and had decided that she supported Zelda’s stance on this. The policies implemented by Global Seeds sounded both destructive and dangerous. As the journalist had emphasised again and again, it was not about feeding the world, but all about power and control. The people who control the food supply have the greatest power.

Jade read on in silence. Turning to the last page of the feint-lined notebook, she raised her eyebrows in surprise.

Written at the top of the page was the name she’d become familiar with. Danie Smit. And below it, no notes at all. Just a detailed drawing of an Arabian horse, in full gallop, nostrils flaring and tail streaming behind it like a banner.

The horse’s ears were flat back, though, and its eyes were wide and white-rimmed.

It looked to Jade, from the drawing, as if it was scything its way through a field of ripening corn.

Turning to her laptop, she Googled the name Danie Smit. She hadn’t expected to have much luck with such a common name and she didn’t. There were hundreds of Danie Smits in Johannesburg, thousands in South Africa, and a fair sprinkling in other parts of the world.

What was interesting, though, was to read a short, recently uploaded newspaper report stating that, a week ago, the body of a man identified as Mr Danie Smit had been found in his Mercedes Benz C-class, which had been parked in the underground garage of the Fourways Mall, with a hose running from the exhaust pipe into the car’s interior. Police were treating this death, caused by carbon monoxide poisoning, as a suicide even though the man had left no note.

David had said he’d tell her when he next went to the gym. But he hadn’t sounded like he meant it. Jade doubted that he had. Whether he’d admit it or not, she knew he didn’t want to put her in any danger.

She phoned David’s right-hand man, Captain Thembi, who was in the office that afternoon, and asked if he’d do her a favour and let her know when David left for the gym.

‘I can phone you when he leaves,’ Thembi agreed. ‘But how do I know whether he’ll be going to the gym or going home?’

‘Call me anyway,’ Jade said. ‘And watch his face. If he’s going to the gym he’ll probably be looking miserable.’

Thembi laughed. ‘These days the superintendent looks miserable when he’s going home, too.’

Does he now? Jade couldn’t help the small surge of delight she felt at hearing these words. Unfounded, of course, since no matter how unhappy David was, he wasn’t about to make any changes to his marital situation. Not with a new baby imminent.

She took Bonnie back home and then made herself some toast, which she thickly layered with a blend of mashed avocado, lemon juice and
Tabasco sauce. The lemon and Tabasco were in roughly fifty–fifty quantities. A pinch of salt completed her culinary masterpiece.

She was about to bite into this delicious lunch when her phone rang. Thinking it would be Thembi, she snatched it up.

It wasn’t. At first she could barely make out the husky voice of the man she was speaking to, and had to glance at the number ID to confirm the identity of her caller.

‘Harris,’ she said. ‘How are you feeling? Have they fixed your fingers yet?’

‘My hand is sore but they’ve strapped it up now. They can’t do anything for the rib apart from painkillers, they said. I just have to wait till it heals.’ He really did sound hoarse thanks to his damaged windpipe. ‘Jade, I wanted to thank you for saving my life.’

‘Er … that’s
OK
. No worries.’

‘I thought you should know …’ He paused and cleared his throat with some difficulty. ‘I wanted you to know … just over a week ago, Zelda asked me to post a package for her. Speed Services.’

‘Is that so?’ Suddenly all thoughts of food were forgotten. ‘Where did she want it posted?’

‘A postbox address in Tankwa Town. For collection at the post office there.’

‘She sent something to her brother?’

‘Yes. The package was addressed to Koenraad Meintjies.’

‘Was it large? Small? Did it state what the contents were?’

‘It didn’t, but it was a small parcel.’

‘How small? Compared to, say, a paperback.’

‘Smaller than a book. About the size of a cellphone, I think.’

‘Did she give a contact number for the brother? If you still have the waybill …’

‘There was no contact number. The only one she put on … was her own number. I’ve been trying it every so often. It’s always been turned off.’

‘Thank you for telling me this.’

‘I’m sorry I didn’t discuss it before now. She … Jade, she was working on a sensitive story. She was working on it with somebody else helping her. I know that, but I don’t know who.’

‘Did she ever mention the name Danie Smit?’

‘No. She never mentioned any names. She asked me to post the parcel for her after our AA meeting. I sent it off the next day. She seemed … upset.’ Harris’s rasping voice faltered. ‘Said she wasn’t sure who she could trust any more and she needed this to be somewhere safe. And then I didn’t hear from her again and she missed the next meeting.’

Perhaps, Jade thought, Zelda had sounded upset because she’d just heard about Danie Smit’s death.

She thanked Harris again and wished him a speedy recovery.

Then she ate her toast, even though the flavour seemed to have evaporated during the conversation she’d just had, and she was too distracted to enjoy the distinctive burn of the Tabasco.

Her meal finished, she drove all the way into the city centre, parking in Newtown. She’d wait for Captain Thembi’s call here, closer to Johannesburg Central police station. If she waited in Kyalami then by the time she’d managed to struggle through the traffic-clogged main roads, David would have finished his workout and gone home.

Thembi phoned as it was getting dark and told her that David was on his way out.