The Monster's Daughter (35 page)

“What, then?” Tessa looked lost.

“You need to get out of the city.”

“I can't.”

Flippie took her face in his hands. “Like
Pa
taught us, remember?”

There was a flicker in Tessa's eyes, a memory they both shared. Andrew packing their bags when they were children, deciding what they could take with them. “Moving is like shedding your cocoon,” he'd say. “Nobody will remember the ugly worm you were, they'll only see the new butterfly.” Flippie wondered if it had become easier over the years for Tessa to shed her old self. From the pain in her eyes, he doubted it.

Flippie moved a cabinet behind Dean's desk away and unlocked the safe behind it. He took cash from inside and placed it on the desk. “Take this. I'll try to get you more.”

Tessa stared blankly at the money. “I forgot Rupert.”

“Tess?”

“I left him there, alone. Dean would never have left him.”

“Tessa, don't do this.”

Tessa grabbed his wrist. “You don't believe me about Ben, but you have to listen, Flippie. He's dangerous.”

Flippie gently took her hands. “I'll make sure he can't find you.”

Tessa looked up at him, a wry smile distorting her lips. “He said he'd always find me.”

Distracted men and the smell of cheap perfume filled the smoky bar. Benjamin glanced at his watch. Van Vuuren was late. He'd reassigned Benjamin to the new Bureau of State Security—BOSS—the moment he set foot back in the country. It seemed that news of his … efficiency had reached the higher echelons of the force, and they always needed a man who could get things done.

Benjamin finished his brandy, his limbs softening at last. He took
the newly bought notebook out of his briefcase and placed it on the table. Only one entry. A short one. It wasn't hard to find out what he needed to know this time. He started writing the date at the bottom of the page in a careful, almost childish script. A drink appeared on the table, and Van Vuuren sat down.

Benjamin tucked the notebook into his briefcase. “You didn't get me one?” Benjamin touched his hand to his chest. “I'm hurt, Boss.”

“Who authorized the hit?” The corners of Van Vuuren's mouth were set in a hyperbole of disgust.

“Sir?”

“Don't play dumb with me, De Beer. The lawyer today, Kritzinger.”

Benjamin leaned back. “You did, of course. Congratulations, sir. You took care of a Communist collaborator. Maybe we'll have another secret medal ceremony in the defense minister's office. What do you think?”

“Don't play games with me, boy.”

Benjamin smiled at being called “boy.” He got up and walked away from the table, chatting with the bartender as he languidly ordered another drink.

The old man's face had taken on a livid hue by the time he got back to the table. “You explain yourself, right now.”

“You should go home, Boss. You might miss an important call.”

“Look here, I will not let a snot like you dictate what happens in my unit, understand?”

Benjamin watched a stumbling drunk man at the bar. The man clung to a woman young enough to be his daughter. Benjamin found it curious that he felt nothing, no moral judgment, no disgust. He didn't get hard at the sight of the man running his hands over the woman's breasts, his thumbs lingering over her nipples.

The numbness hadn't happened all at once. It was like a spiral winding tighter and tighter as the days went on, crushing everything in his soul. War had changed the value of life for him. All the people around him became inconsequential puppets, obstacles to achieving his salvation. He went through the motions of being among them, following the rigid, ritualized code of behavior that made it so easy to blend in, but he knew that he could put a bullet in any of their brains and feel nothing. God had shown him his true place, a lion among the sheep.

“Are you listening?”

“The decision was not yours to make.” Benjamin turned a contemptuous gaze back to Van Vuuren. He once feared this legend, the man who made problems go away. Now he was that man, the ghost they whispered about in government hallways.

“Dammit.” Van Vuuren slammed his hand on the table. “I am in charge, which means you work for me, not the other way around. Kritzinger had close ties with certain leftist journalists. His death is going to put them on the defensive. And that is your
fokop
.”

“We control the media. Why is this a problem?”

Van Vuuren looked around the room before sliding a thick wad of paper across the table. “There's a leak. One of the
Broeders
talked.”

Benjamin unfolded the sheets. A list of names in alphabetical order, hometowns and occupations appeared on the pages. There must have been more than a thousand names.

“It was found during a raid on a newspaper office. All Bond members.” Van Vuuren glanced across the room. “There's rumors of a book in an English publisher's safe. If they had any doubts about going ahead with it, your little stunt just gave them incentive.”

Benjamin paged through the names until he got to his own. De Beer, B. – Pretoria. University lecturer. His other life, the cover for his real work. Or was it the other way around? He slid the sheets back to Van Vuuren. “I'll take care of it.”

“Didn't you hear me? Those journalists disappear and that book hits newsstands all over the world.”

“It will happen anyway. You were careless.” Benjamin looked at his watch again. He sidled out of the booth.

“We're not done here.”

“This is pointless. I have work to do.” Benjamin put his hat on and left.

Purple jacaranda blossoms, trampled and bruised, littered the streets of Pretoria after the early rainstorm. Benjamin breathed the damp air while he waited. A cream-colored Mercedes pulled up to the corner across the street a few minutes later. Right on time. A portly older man got out of the car and waved. A petite blond woman in a short skirt and high heels stepped out of a doorway, a coquettish smile on her full lips. The man opened the passenger-side door for her.

Benjamin crossed the street, slipping gracefully between two cars, stopping the girl from getting into the Mercedes. “I need some company,” he said.

“Beat it,” the man said indignantly. “The lady's spoken for.”

Benjamin focused on the girl. Eyes lighter than clouds looked up at him. She gave him the same smile she had lavished on her companion moments earlier. “Maybe later, okay, handsome?” Her eyes darted to the man. “Meet me back here in an hour,” she whispered.

Benjamin crouched down. “I've been waiting long enough for you, Carien,” he said. The girl looked at him in surprise.

“Get away.” The man grabbed Benjamin's arm.

Benjamin pushed him back with little effort. He surveyed the man's disappearing neck, the burst veins on his nose, the thick bags under his eyes. Poor bastard couldn't get a girl like this any other way than paying.

“I need someone for the whole evening.” Benjamin smiled at the girl, offering his arm.

She hesitated. “He's a regular.”

“I'll give you twice the going rate and a little extra if things go well.”

Carien looked at the other man. When he didn't counter the offer she shrugged. “Sorry, Koos. Maybe tomorrow, hey?”

Koos waved her away. “Plenty where you come from, girlie. You're nothing special. Just remember, you're losing a good customer here.” He plopped into the driver's seat, and tires screeched as he sped off.

“He's wrong, you know, Carien.” Benjamin put his hand behind her neck, caressing it gently. “You're quite special.”

“You're not going to cheat me, hey, mister?” She looked at him with sudden vulnerability and his pulse quickened, a promising pinprick under his skin, heat rising from his core. Dealing with Tessa's man, he had walked away from the house as hollow as when he entered it. But this, now, the girl's life pulsing beneath his fingertips … Every time he closed his hands around the neck of one of the others, he felt a connection to Tessa, a raw need, a spark igniting the quietly remembered feeling of purpose. Soon, nothing would keep them apart.

Knocking. A thin strip of light cracked the heavy hotel curtains. Alet rolled over on her back, her head thick. Details of the previous night slowly came into focus. Dinner. The waitress, and the wineglass. Mike kissing her. And then the hotel bar, where Mpho, the chatty bartender, had poured her a couple of stiff whiskeys while telling her about what he would do if he won the Lotto. Alet made a move to sit up and sank right back into the pillows.

“Housekeeping!”

Alet stumbled out of bed and felt around for her clothes. Another knock, more insistent this time. Leaving the security chain on, she cracked the door open. “
Ja?
”

A housekeeper in a stiff pink uniform stood outside the door. “Sorry, Madam. Checkout was at eleven. Are you staying another night?”

Alet looked back at the alarm clock on the nightstand. 11:40. Dammit. “No. Sorry, hey. I'll be out in a minute, okay?” She turned her T-shirt right-side-out and smelled the pits, a faint odor of sweat and deodorant on the cloth. It'd have to do. She made a halfhearted attempt to tidy herself up, tying her hair in a ponytail and splashing water on her face. Her cell rang.

“ 'Lo?” Alet pinched the phone between her ear and shoulder while kicking her shoes out from under the bed.

“Constable Berg?”

“Professor Koch?” Alet felt around in her bag for her toothbrush. “Can I call you back now-now? I'm in the middle of something here.”

“We have to talk.” It wasn't a request.

“You have something for me?”

“When can you be in Cape Town?”

Alet checked the clock again. “Ten minutes, okay?”

Alet's mind was still reeling from what Koch had told her as she pulled up to Mathebe's house later that evening. It was on the other side of Unie, a solid brick building half-hidden from the street by a fence and a couple of oak trees. A gravel path snaked through the small garden to the front door. She shifted the six-pack of Black Labels to her left hand and rang the doorbell. A light went on above her head, the ornate glass-and-metal lampshade casting spotted golden shadows over the stone inlay of the
stoep
.

A woman with short, stylish hair answered the door. “Good evening?”

Alet wondered if she had the right house. The fact that Mathebe didn't live alone had never crossed her mind. “Hallo. I'm looking for Sergeant Mathebe? I work with him.”

The woman smiled, the corners of her big brown eyes crinkling. “Johannes is in.” Alet was fascinated by the liquid brown sheen of her skin. Her face was open and welcoming, her cheeks round, almost plump, a theme repeated by the rest of her body, the bold floral print of her dress accentuating every curve. “I am Miriam Mathebe.” She looked at Alet with expectation.

“Oh, I'm sorry.” Alet realized that she was staring. “I'm Alet Berg. Constable Berg.” She lifted the six-pack. “I brought this.”

A brief crinkle crossed Miriam's brow. She took the beer from Alet. “Thank you. Please, come in.”

Alet followed Miriam through a small kitchen, the remnants of a recent dinner still lingering in chakalaka and samp pots. Miriam left the beer on the kitchen counter. The hallway was lined with family portraits, a wedding picture of a slender Miriam and a boyish-looking Mathebe, and a picture of Mathebe in uniform at his graduation ceremony, pride obvious in his smile. Alet had one that was almost identical.

In the living room, a young boy and a prepubescent girl were watching television.

“This is
Baba
's friend from work,” Miriam said. “Constable Berg, this is Celiwe and Little Johannes.”

The children greeted her politely. Little Johannes's eyes wandered back to the cartoons on the screen. He tugged at the bottom of his T-shirt revealing a bulging little-boy belly.

“Time to get ready for bed now.” Miriam patted Little Johannes on the back and turned the television off. “Celiwe, I'll be along to ask you about your history lesson in a moment.”

The girl sighed. Her eyes had the same droop as Mathebe's, her hair braided into neat cornrows. Miriam raised a warning eyebrow and Celiwe nodded, following Little Johannes out of the room.

Miriam pulled the heavy living-room curtains aside to reveal an open glass door. “Johannes is in the back, Constable Berg.”

Mathebe sat on a patio chair, coffee cup in hand. He looked up, a deep frown embedding itself when he saw Alet. She suddenly felt nervous.

“Constable Berg. This is not expected.”

“
Ja
. Sorry.” Alet had thought about calling, but there was the chance that he wouldn't give her the time of day. Better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission, she thought.

“Can I get you a refreshment before I put the children to bed, Constable Berg?”

“A beer would be great, Miriam,” Alet said. “And call me Alet.”

Mathebe gave his wife a questioning look.

“Alet was kind enough to bring refreshments.”

Alet smiled. “A peace offering.”

“Please sit,” Mathebe said. He handed Miriam his empty coffee cup. “I am not sure why you are here, Constable,” he said as soon as Miriam disappeared into the house.

“Well, I thought we could share a drink, maybe talk about the case.”

“I do not believe it concerns you anymore.”

“Look, Johannes, I know we don't see eye to eye, but I need you to hear me out. Have one beer with me.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but Alet held her hand up. “One. That's all I ask.”

Mathebe studied her face for a moment before he nodded. “I will give you that.”