The Lazarus Effect (20 page)

The Mercedes-Benz E class rolled to a halt behind a cluster of bushes. The driver tapped the accelerator and the engine replied with an alarmingly throaty rumble. The driver’s foot slipped off the pedals and skittered to regain hold. The driver put the car in park with a trembling hand and muttered a prayer for courage.

Minutes ticked past.

After eleven of them, a woman rounded the far corner at a jog. She wore a chocolate jogging suit with acid pink trim and paid no attention to the car, if she saw it at all. The driver started the engine and crawled forward, trying to follow without being spotted.

The driver of the Merc was in luck. The woman hadn’t heard the engine, nor did she notice the pursuit. She was in her own world.

Vee pumped her legs at top speed. She closed her eyes every now and again and imagined the top of her head gone and the wind whipping over her exposed brain, cooling and clearing it of every care and grief. The days of running for fitness were over. Now she was in it solely for peace of mind and the sense of freedom.

After an unbroken fifteen-minute spurt, her legs gave out. She thundered to a stop and slumped onto the asphalt, heaving. No
morning breeze was strong enough to blow all her troubles away. She drew her knees up to meet her forehead as she caught her breath, powerless to stop her thoughts from eating away at her.

She had failed. The one-month anniversary of the day she was handed the Paulsen case had passed her by, smirking, and had nothing to say for itself. She’d had to face Portia with the truth – the Fourie frontier had gone from quiet to a barren wasteland, and she and Chlöe had nothing to run in an issue. Both doctors had gone from making excuses to making threats, and finally to avoiding her altogether. Portia dumped her back on features, shunting her onto the most boring assignment available.

‘If you give me more time, like two more weeks, even one, I know we’re about to break something. I’ve been talking to Rosie …’ Vee angled.

‘
Rosie
? The spastic one?’ Portia’s expression said she couldn’t even summon the energy to be disgusted. ‘Come on. Don’t be this person.’

‘She might not be as entrenched in all of it as the others, but she’s my in. If I can massage her into getting me solid information that’ll break her father’s alibi, like a copy of his schedule from two years ago or solid proof that he, or his wife, weren’t at the hospital the night Jacqui disappeared, we’ve got enough for an opportunity.’

‘So basically you’re harassing a child, the least common denominator, because you think she’ll snitch on her father.’ Portia sighed. ‘When you said this case was frozen solid, what you
should’ve
said was it couldn’t be defrosted at all,’ she said,
the pity in her tone cutting deeper than any reprimand. ‘Forget it, Voinjama. No more sand in the hourglass.’

Too embarrassed and confused at her failure to argue any further, Vee dutifully pressed her nose to the grindstone.

The one highlight of October was her twenty-ninth birthday. Connie threw her a party that turned into a raucous affair. It was fun, but Joshua didn’t make it thanks to work. He called sounding tired and faraway, boxed in by walls of documents overrun with ones and zeroes. Other people’s millions.

‘This is so unfair.’ She hated wheedling in a quiet corner at her own party. Worst of all, she detested the thrill she got in feeling like a woman entitled to pry and make demands. It stank of high school. Vee cringed. The older she got, the deeper she regressed in her dating habits.

Joshua had promised to make it up by picking her up in the evening for a surprise outing, at seven-thirty.

By 7:45 p.m., her glow had vinegared. Dressed to dazzle, she sat in a darkened lounge, worried and pissed off in equal proportions. It was not like Joshua to be late and not call.

She moved to the window and looked out. Two figures loitered on the sidewalk outside her driveway. She let the curtains drop, a rattle of unease in her chest. For several days now, the sensation of being followed nagged at her, an invisible hand trailing down her spine. Maybe it was residual paranoia from the Lucas Fourie–Ashwin Venter tag team event. Shadows loomed everywhere.

Vee peeped again and her throat clenched. The figures took shape in the half-light. She stepped away from the window and
thought long and hard. She took her heels off, opened the front door and pattered down the front walk.

‘What the hell’s going on?’

She looked from Titus to Joshua. So different and so alike. Titus was more ripped than she remembered, the cut of his biceps defined under his sweater. Had he been bodybuilding in his spare time instead of pining over her? Had he got wind of her adventures and gone on an ironman regimen to beat down any rivals he caught on his turf? She wasn’t his turf any more.

‘Yor better not start nuttin. There will be no ghetto shit in front of my house, so my white neighbours can judge me,’ she warned.

They tossed an amused look between them and her face warmed. Ah. They intended to play this civilised. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or undervalued.

‘Can we talk?’ Titus asked.

She had an ear for his nuances and picked up the faintest quiver in his voice. Titus waited. Vee turned to Joshua and he looked away, eyes at half mast as his force field of inscrutability went up. She cursed him silently.

‘Yeah. Go in and make yourself comfortable. I need a minute.’ She waited for Titus to flinch or flare up at her tone, demand a ‘please’. He was screwing up her evening and she wanted blood. He tipped a nod, no more. He shared an exchange with Joshua before walking away: a locking of eyes, the fractal arrangement of bodies at cryptic angles, a barely perceptible nod. Male language.

Vee breathed when he was gone. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Ahh. The best laid plans …’ Joshua said.

They couldn’t go anywhere now. If he asked her, she’d run back inside and toss Titus out on his ass. They could turn this thing around. If only he asked …

‘He had his reasons.’ The wind flapped his overcoat at the lapels and threatened to upend her dress. ‘For what it’s worth.’

So he wasn’t going to ask. Instead, one more shithead had jumped on the bandwagon hurtling towards certain death. ‘You fuckin’ jokin’ me? You making his excuses now?’

‘No. It’s the truth.’ He lifted and dropped his shoulders. ‘You two need to work this out …’

Vee climbed out of her head and brought herself back to the street. The wind stung her face, whistling down the street of whichever neighbourhood she had stopped in to catch her breath. Her muscles had dumped all the lactic acid and settled into a dull throb.

She touched the lapis lazuli necklace round her neck, the birthday present Joshua had given her that night. The night he had left her alone to do her own adulting, forced her to face Titus on the very day she had been least prepared for it. Laying low was the strategy Serious Joshua had adopted, fighting by not fighting. What she was meant to do or decide in the meantime, she still had no idea. It was funny in an achingly unfunny way. Never had she had two men she cared for this fiercely in her life at the same time, and yet, at her own choosing, her arms were empty. She didn’t enjoy being alone. Her appetites left little room for singleton heroics, and she was a master at messing with
her own head, whether or not she had romantic company. On the other hand, the solution for one man was seldom a second one. The situation needed to breathe. Or there would be no pieces to pick up afterwards.

Her watch read 4:46 a.m. Sunrise was about an hour away and she needed to get a move on. Vee wobbled to her feet, using the rubbish bin outside someone’s gate to steady herself. She looked down the closed lane, surprised how far she’d come. Her legs hurt too much to even dream of running home. She started the stroll to the top of the road.

She heard the crunch of loose tarmac under car tyres behind her and veered out of the way of whoever was driving by. She frowned. No lights. Who would be driving before day broke without their headlights on? She glanced over her shoulder. The Mercedes on her tail echoed a shade of grey deeper than the street in twilight, an obese beast of a vehicle. Its glossy body came equipped with the trendy layering of lights that looked like cat’s eyes stacked on top of each other. None were on.

Vee clicked up her speed. The engine pumped and the crackle of tyres grew louder. Her heart started to hammer. Okay, she was being followed. And not by someone on foot, where she stood a chance. She stopped and turned, slowly. The Merc rolled to a halt. The rasp of her breathing versus the gentle hum of German technology was all she could hear. She could just about make out the outline of the person behind the wheel, nothing more. The driver had dressed for the occasion and kept it dark.

Vee ran.

The engine rumbled and in seconds the sheer weight of all that metal was at her back, eating up the road. She burst onto the top of the road and rounded the corner, buying a few more seconds. The car lurched to the top of the road, made a wide, clumsy swing and rolled back, before turning the corner. It steered to the right, the headlights popped on and it squealed towards her.

Vee couldn’t find the air to scream. At 5 a.m. on a deserted street, screaming would probably be useless. Crime had desensitised the nation; the neighbours would fasten their locks and send her a prayer.

The car ate up her thundering footfalls and Vee faked a right, yelping as the bonnet grazed her hip. She leapt behind a tree on the sidewalk, and the Merc swerved and smashed into the Durawall of someone’s house. At last she found her breath, her scream mingling with the crunch of metal and glass into concrete. The headlights on one side were completely smashed. The Merc reversed down the verge of the pavement, its headlights obliterated on one side. The tyres wrenched around as it turned to get back on the road.

Who the fuck is this maniac?!
Vee shot from behind the tree.

She thundered down the tree-lined avenue until she spotted a single lit driveway. Hope flared in her heart. In the millisecond it took to zoom past the house with its security lights ablaze, time slowed down. Out of the corner of her eye, Vee saw a woman with dreadlocks wearing an impeccable wool coat and idling next to an open car door, cell phone pressed to her ear. The woman jerked her head up and caught sight of Vee ducking
and weaving with a swerving vehicle in pursuit. The woman’s frown morphed into horror as the car made contact.

Vee heard and felt every second of the impact like she was having an out-of-body experience: the whump as the bonnet glanced off her glutes, the nip of air on her skin as her body flew, thumped onto the ground and rolled. She heard and felt muscles and bones shift in ways they shouldn’t. Lava coursed up and down her side.

Cradling her arm, she hoisted herself up and tried to crawl away. The Merc zipped down the street and overshot the next corner, reversed, did a seven-point turn and roared off. Vee slumped onto the ground for the third time in seven weeks. Someone else finally started to scream.

Chlöe knew she was playing with fire, stopping to grab coffee and muffins in Rondebosch instead of hitting the road, and the risk wasn’t paying off. If she … if they didn’t get going in about ten minutes, she’d be late. She’d vowed that Voinjama would never enter the building and find her assistant had yet to show up.

So far she’d kept her word. So far she’d kept her word about a lot of things, at least until last night … when once again she’d been sucked in, chewed up and spat out like old, flavourless gum.

In a bakery on the other side of the street, Chlöe watched her ex-girlfriend fritter around the confectionery display, picking out the choicest bits. The sight made Chlöe’s throat clench a little. She’d been handpicked like that, plucked from an array of supple beauties, set aside for carnal delights until her usefulness expired.
Am I really such a gullible hedonist?
she thought. Was she that much of a blind slave to her baser passions that she couldn’t let go, or
be
let go, gracefully?

‘Hey, I know you.’

Chlöe turned around, the devious itch that came on every time she heard a pretty voice tickling the back of her neck. The stone-grey eyes smiling into hers were needled with amber
and framed with batwings of shoulder-length hair. Her pulse skipped. She’d wanted to be disappointed.

‘Um, sorry, I don’t think so.’ She huddled deeper into her coat.

‘Yeah, I do know you. Well, I’ve seen you, at least. We weren’t formally introduced.’ Three dark moles on the girl’s neck did a fetching dance as she spoke. It was all Chlöe could do to keep her eyes off the inviting slope down the V-front of the girl’s sweater.

‘Remember, a couple of weeks ago? You came to UCT campus to hustle Serena away for a scary chat. You were with a tall black girl, the one with the lips and all that neck.’

Transfixed, Chlöe watched the girl’s mouth move. Now this was a lovely pout, natural, and none of that sticky gloss rubbish. It matched her aura of home-grown, farm freshness. Free State, probably; Chlöe had hard evidence that the girls were hot out there. The wind whipped the girl’s cascade of onyx hair into a frenzy, and she casually twisted it into a ponytail at the nape of her neck and swept the lot over one shoulder.

Chlöe gulped.
Pay attention and stop perving.
Of course, she remembered now. This was one of Serena Fourie’s friends. A member of the flock she was with the day they came to campus.

‘How’s your investigation going?’ the Farm Beauty said.

Chlöe’s eyes narrowed.

The girl gave a short laugh. ‘Sorry, am I not meant to ask? Is it a big secret? Serena plays it quite close to the chest when it comes to her family. Thinks they lower her prestige or something. Whose family doesn’t?’ Farm Beauty sighed. ‘But she’s not very
good at hiding her emotions. She was really shaken up after you guys left.’

‘Did she have reason to be?’

Farm Beauty smiled scornfully. ‘Well, no offence, but you guys did ambush her in the middle of her day. You could’ve been more graceful and considerate about it. Serena’s really sensitive.’ She softened. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I’ve known Serena since we started first-year Law together. It was really tough when her sister went missing. I get a bit overprotective when I see how much it still affects her.’

Chlöe felt a wrench of jealousy and longing. At most, she could count on two fingers the female friends invested in her life. Whether Vee liked it or not, she was now number three. It had been two years since Chlöe herself had prowled UCT grounds, and since then her social circle had become no less shallow. She wasn’t good with women friends, and they tended to not be cool about her sexual preferences.

‘What were you guys questioning her about?’ the girl said.

Chlöe crossed her arms. For real? Did this chick think she could pump her for information?
Even
you
are not that hot, my love.

‘I only ask because,’ Farm Beauty plunged on, ‘I was there around the time when Jacqueline went missing. I … I think I was somehow involved.’

‘What? Involved how?’ Chlöe perked up.

It was FB’s turn to swallow and look uncomfortable. She shivered and drew her trench coat tighter around her waist. ‘Like I said, me and Serena have been friends since first year. We were roommates in Tugwell. The night her sister disappeared was so
strange. It took me a while to remember this.’ FB scratched her forehead. ‘Serena got a call. It wasn’t late; we’d just had supper, round seven-ish. She took the call in the bathroom for privacy ’cause those rooms were like prison cells. She got so weird after she answered, and then she went in the loo and locked the door. Didn’t come out for, like, fifteen minutes.’

‘Did you hear what the conversation was about?’

‘You mean, did I eavesdrop? No. I don’t do stuff like that.’ FB looked offended. ‘Anyway, afterwards she left the room for a while and when she came back her face was like …’ She shook her head and pursed her lips. ‘Serena goes calm and freaky when there’s trouble. She gets this aura like she’s thinking really hard. She told me, in a very quiet way, that she had an urgent errand to run and asked if she could borrow my car.’

‘To go where? Did you ask?’

The black waterfall shook from side to side. ‘Couldn’t. I wanted to, but the look on her face was like, tjo, don’t dare. I asked if she wanted me to come along but she said no. So I gave her the keys. I was really worried about her, but also about my car. It was a new, blue Toyota Corolla I got from my parents for doing so well in matric. The new-look ones, not the old granny type. But it cost too much to run it, you know how student life is. You have a car and all your friends turn into bloody mooches and expect you to drive them everywhere, then they never chip in for petrol. I needed hard cash a lot more than I did a car so I decided to sell. I’d advertised it and had a buyer who was gonna pick it up in two days, so I really didn’t want anything
happening to it to bring the price down. But I trusted Serena. I had to, she begged me.’ FB took a deep breath and stopped.

‘Then what happened?’ Chlöe prompted.

‘Nothing.’ FB shrugged. ‘That was kinda it. She took the keys and left, was gone for hours. I tried to wait up for her, but I kinda had other commitments …’ A blush livened her cheeks. She dropped her gaze demurely. ‘I was meeting this girl, and we … hung out until pretty late.’

She ‘hangs out’ with girls! She likes girls!
Chlöe bit down on a grin of triumph.

‘I got back to the room after midnight. Serena was already in bed and the car was fine. Next day, I tried to ask what had happened, but she insisted everything was cool and stonewalled me, so I dropped it.’

‘Do you remember what day this was? It was ages ago, but–’

‘Twenty-second of September,’ FB replied immediately. ‘A Saturday. I remember because I was really freaked out, seeing as I’d never sold something as big as a car before. Afterwards I felt like a baller; I kept counting all that money and looking at the receipt. I have it somewhere, the receipt. The guy, the buyer, was a car dealer. He was supposed to pick it up on Monday and pay in cash, but he couldn’t make the full amount by then so we pushed it to Tuesday.’ FB rubbed her hands together to warm them. ‘By Monday, rumours were already circulating about Jacqueline Paulsen and by the end of the week it was in the paper. They said she had last been seen on Saturday. I couldn’t help wondering …’

Chlöe did the maths: by Monday the twenty-fourth, Jacqui was officially a missing person. Last seen at about 5 p.m. on Saturday. The very evening her half-sister got a mysterious call and then sped off all cloak and dagger.

‘It had to have crossed your mind that Serena took your car for something dodgy. You suspected it or you wouldn’t have brought any of this up. Why didn’t you go to the cops?’

The girl bristled. Chlöe couldn’t help but lust over how the amber splinters of her irises glowed when her blood went up. ‘I said I thought I was
involved
, not that I was an
accessory
! And I only remembered the incident long after it happened and didn’t think it was significant. Even now it sounds so thin. I want to help. When I saw you across the street and remembered who you were …’ Colour spread across her cheeks again and Chlöe felt gratified that it wasn’t the only reason she’d felt compelled to strike up a conversation.

FB collected herself. ‘Look, not for one minute did I think Serena did anything … criminal. It’s just not her way. She always said her sister Jacqui was, like, low-class and a loose cannon, she needed to get her life together. I figured she helped her to leave. Start over somewhere, like in the movies.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s mad, but that’s all I could come up with.’

Chlöe considered. It did indeed sound like madness; another loose end jangling around. And it went quite a way to letting Ashwin Venter off the hook, which she really didn’t like. Venter was guilty – proof was all they needed.

‘I have to go.’ FB wrote on a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it over with a bashful smile. ‘In case you wanna ask me more questions. Or y’know, hang out.’

‘Isabella’ was scribbled above a cell number. Definitely looks like an Isabella, thought Chlöe, watching her walk away. Moves like an Isabella, too. Her phone’s ringtone snapped her out of it. Chlöe quaked when she saw the caller identity.

‘Where are you?’ Portia Kruger demanded. Her voice sounded strained to breaking point.

‘Uh, Ms Kruger, I just–’

‘Get to Kingsbury Hospital right now. Voinjama’s been run over.’

‘
What?
Oh my God!’

‘I think it was deliberate. Whatever you two have got mixed up in …’ There was a shaky intake of breath and muttered curses. ‘Kingsbury. Know where it is? Take Main into Claremont, turn into Wilderness Road–’

‘Y-y-yes, I know it, I know it!’ Chlöe jumped behind the wheel and gunned the engine. She sped past two traffic lights before remembering she’d left behind breakfast, a bewildered ex-girlfriend, and quite likely the ashes of a toxic relationship. Chlöe realised she didn’t have the stomach for any of it. By the time she reached Claremont, her encounter with the gorgeous third-year Law student had faded to a nagging red blip flashing in the basement of her memory.