The Water Man's Daughter (32 page)

Nomsulwa turns away from the body; she turns away from her cousin, forcing herself into the black night. She leaves Mira alone in the sandy yard.

T
WO HOURS LATER SHE IS SITTING ON HER FRONT
step. It is getting light out, and it is certainly getting cold. She is shivering, rocking back and forth, her thin clothes doing little to protect her. Mira walks towards her, a black reed swaying in the milky light. His face, when he gets close enough, is streaked with sand and drawn tight. He comes and sits beside Nomsulwa without a word.

Nomsulwa watches the sun rise. She holds her hands in the growing brightness around her, willing the warm rays to burn them clean. They get hotter, they grow dryer and less pliable, less strong and unwieldy. They become her hands again and that is, in some ways, the worst part.

T
HE NEXT MORNING, THE MAID CLEANS THE MEN’S
washroom first. There is a pool of dirty water on the far side of the floor, under the row of sinks, that didn’t make its way to the large drain in the middle of the room. She takes out the mop, soaks up the liquid, and empties it into her bucket.

Just outside the door of the farthest stall is a dried stain, pink-brown like vomit. She sprays the tile with ammonia
and wipes it clean.
Another rich man who can’t hold his liquor
,
she thinks as she works
.

By the time the early breakfast is served, the bathroom sparkles like new.

Z
EMBE MEETS
S
IPHO IN HIS OFFICE
. S
HE IS WEARING
her good suit. She carries the file and fiddles with the thick pile of papers.

The secretary, smug the last time Zembe waited next to her desk, is now very officious, seems almost intimidated. After only a few minutes, Zembe is ushered inside.

Sipho is not alone in the room. One of the white senior officials from the meeting over three weeks earlier has beaten her here. She nods a greeting to both men and then places the file on the desk.

“We’ve solved the Matthews case.”

“I’m listening,” Sipho says, unable to keep the smile out of his eyes. Excitement emanates from the white man, too, as he reaches for the file.

“It’s not as sound as I’d like. We found evidence that Matthews was lured from the hotel. He was then definitely transported into the township where he was killed and dumped.”

Zembe pauses, not sure she is ready for this. But then she thinks about the girl at the hotel and in the car, hair tied back, face contorted with anger. She thinks about that same face
leading marches through the government compound downtown, peering over trenches filled with company steel, ferrying fresh water to Zembe’s neighbours when their water allotment has run out. She thinks about her tending to her sick mother, and to Claire Matthews. She has chosen to protect Nomsulwa, no matter the cost. She takes a deep breath.

“There were prostitutes at the bar that Matthews was at before he was killed. One in particular that Matthews took a liking to. That prostitute has ties to the 28s, to Kholizwe.”

The white man slams down his hand in triumph.

Sipho is more measured in his response. He looks intently at Zembe. “I thought there was no way Kholizwe was responsible for this. Isn’t that what you told me?”

“I was wrong. I jumped to conclusions too early.”

“And the man from the water movement, the
PCF
? He was our chief suspect …” Sipho presses further.

“He was, but he has been cleared. There is no way he was anywhere near the hotel that night. The blood evidence was all on the route from Tiger’s shebeen, where Kholizwe is based, to the dump site.”

“No other eyewitnesses? Have you found the car? A prostitute left with a white man from a fancy hotel and no one saw?”

“Like I said, it’s not perfect.”

The white man clears his throat and looks pointedly at Sipho. “I think we can make it work.”

Sipho looks skeptical, but doesn’t object. He knows, as Zembe knows, that the department’s desperation encourages
a resolution. There’s enough power behind the water company that even a thin case will almost certainly find its way successfully through the court system. The strings that no one would pull when Zembe arrested Kholizwe four years ago are at their disposal now that they have the backing of the water company.

Zembe tries to focus on this. She tries to think of the gratitude she now feels for the chance to arrest Kholizwe. She tries to forget about how she destroyed the note from the taxi company; how Nomsulwa had come to her office after the Matthews girl had left and had offered herself, told the truth. She had told Nomsulwa she was upset, to go home. They would discuss the matter in a few days, when things were more clear. But she made no record of their meeting and left all mention of Nomsulwa out of the file.

She added a page to the file instead. An affidavit from Councillor Phadi describing the woman he saw disappear with Matthews: one paragraph detailing how Matthews was seen with a well-known prostitute brought by Mandla, but who was owned by the 28s.

Zembe had sent Tosh to Phadi’s house with the understanding that the entire case rested on linking a certain woman with Matthews at the hotel. She explained how close they were to getting this monster off the street. He returned with a neatly written statement confirming exactly what Zembe needed. He was eager and ready to please, his face full of success. Zembe didn’t ask him how he did it. She is better off not knowing.

“Then let’s arrest him.” Sipho gives in and pushes his chair back. “You have a location, I presume?” he asks Zembe.

“The shebeen, Tiger’s. He is at his base now.”

Sipho picks up the phone and mumbles directions to his secretary. He waits a moment on hold and then begins to dictate orders into the phone.

Zembe waits. Sipho hangs up and lifts his eyes to hers.

“We’ll meet four national cars on the corner two blocks from the shebeen in an hour. Legal is drawing up the warrant now. They’ll need you to fax over the affidavit right away. Call one of your buggies to come as backup and make sure they know what they’re up against.”

Zembe nods and turns to leave. Sipho stops her.

“Wait. Leave the file here. I’ll need to look through it.”

Zembe does as she’s told. “I assume
you’ll
fax the affidavit, then?”

“Yes. Go get your men ready.”

Z
EMBE GROWS NERVOUS AS SHE DRIVES BACK TO THE
township. She has an urge to take a detour, to enter the wide atrium of her church and prepare herself. She doesn’t know what to expect and half hopes that Sipho will find an anomaly in the file and call the whole thing off. She needs a moment to collect herself, find the certainty she is used to feeling.

But she drives directly to the station. The main room is full of officers on their lunch break, laughing with one another, most seated around the main table. The older men shout, slapping each other on the back with each joke. Zembe
approaches Tosh and two friends quietly eating sandwiches of French fries and ketchup in hamburger buns.

“You expect to do police work on a meal like that?”

Tosh defends his lunch. “It’s good. And I haven’t had any problems keeping up with my shift. None of us have.”

“Then prove it. Meet me outside with a buggy.”

“Where are we going?” another asks, mouth still full and outlined in a ring of red.

“Arresting Kholizwe.”

All three boys stop chewing. They put their sandwiches down, wipe their hands and mouths on thin napkins.

“National gave us the go-ahead based on the affidavit?” Tosh asks, beaming with pride.

Zembe nods her head. Her officers spring into action. They bustle about the main station room collecting their holsters, badges, straightening shirts and ties. Tosh stoops to retie his boots.

Zembe watches them for a moment before closing the door to her small office. She puts her second gun in its holster and changes into the black-crested jacket of her
SAPS
uniform. She reties her hair away from her face and takes off her watch and jewellery. Her motions are methodical; she wills herself not to feel anxiety or doubt. She prays for the strength to remain confident and composed. Then she prays for the safety of her officers.

When they arrive at the meeting place, the national cars are already there. Zembe steps out of the buggy and meets Sipho on the dusty street corner.

“We’re bringing attention to ourselves stopping this close to his location,” Zembe says, before Sipho has a chance to speak.

“We’re moving out now. Coming in from all directions. I want you to follow me and approach from the front.”

Zembe gets back in the car and starts the engine up. They round the corner and drive down a small street, keeping the front door of Tiger’s shebeen in their sights. The building looks deserted. Nothing moves, even when all five cars pull up and Sipho gets out from behind his door. He’s begun to motion the left flank of national’s men to move in when a single shot is launched from a window of the shebeen and hits the tire of his car. The rubber wheel lets out a slow, wheezing sound. No one moves. Zembe is the first to act.

“Tosh, go get the others and make your way around the perimeter. We need to secure the back. Sipho, keep them busy up front. Shoot high, keep them distracted, not dead.”

She crouches behind her three officers and they use the cover of the police cars to break the direct line from them to the front door. The national team is positioned behind the bodies of the buggies, using the tires and the lengths of the car frames as protection. They are already returning fire. Zembe keeps low, counting on the distance between her team and the walls of Tiger’s to avoid being hit while moving. The noise of gunfire is more rapid now. The sound is accented only by breaking glass and a few shouts from both the men outside of Tiger’s and the men scrambling inside the shebeen.

Zembe gets to the side wall of the shebeen and looks back to see two national officers following her team. They have their guns drawn, their bodies protected by helmets and vests. Seeing their signal to fall back, Zembe motions for her own men to move aside and let them pass. Tosh and the others crouch low in the surrounding grass, ready to cover them on their entrance. She trains her gun on the lone window in the back. The national men move forward. A face appears and Zembe shoots, missing the small target but pushing the gunman back out of sight. The two lead officers push through the door, guns constantly firing.

She hears a shout from her left and sees Tosh topple, clutching his neck. She drops her gun, forgetting about the men inside. The gouge in his collarbone is small, a clean shot through the skin, but the amount of blood tells Zembe that something is seriously wrong. Tosh grips his body. He tries to sit up. He whacks Zembe’s hand away as she attempts to stop the bleeding. But soon his arms become slack. Her men keep firing. Sounds of yelling and the smell of smoke surround her.

Zembe can see nothing but the boy lying there. Then she realizes that the gunfire has stopped. She screams for help and immediately four men lift Tosh and bring him out in front to the bullet-ridden police buggies. She doesn’t wait to watch them load him into the back seat and drive off. She goes directly to the door of Tiger’s and looks in. There are three men on the floor and at least five national officers moving debris around. Zembe doesn’t recognize two of
the fallen men. They look to be in their early twenties. Both have gunshot wounds in multiple places. One of them whimpers a little. An officer bends down and takes his pulse. He calls outside.

Zembe moves towards the third body, farthest from either door. Kholizwe has only one wound, a single hole between the eyes. Shot from close range.

T
HE
A
MANZI OFFICE SENDS A LETTER OF COMMENDATION
to Zembe. They will, no doubt, call the Matthews girl and inform her that her father’s murderer was killed while resisting arrest. Zembe hopes this gives her some peace.

Sipho does not seem as thrilled with Zembe’s work as the water company. Three days after the botched arrest, he shows up at Zembe’s office. His black suit looks as though it weighs him down. She closes the door behind him. Sipho lays the file down in front of her.

“The case was shit.”

“I didn’t tell you to kill him. I was ready to play this one out in court.”

“It’s a good thing they had different orders. We would have lost.”

“I’m burying an officer today. Did you really come all this way to berate me about a file that’s closed?”

“No. I came for the funeral. And to give you this.” He deposits the morning’s paper on her desk.

“I have that. I picked it up on my way to work. I’ve seen the article about Tosh.”

“That’s not what I want you to look at.” Sipho flips through and stops on a small story next to a black-and-white photo in the front section. Zembe leans in and begins to read.