The Monster's Daughter (28 page)

Strijdom shouted a distant reply.

“Tilly, I swear …” Alet whispered.

Tilly pressed her elbow harder into Alet's side. “We have Peri-Peri chicken on special this weekend. You and Sussie should stop by. I'll stick you for pudding.” Strijdom's muffled “Will do” had Tilly back in her seat and shifting gears again moments later.

Alet straightened out, venturing a glance through the rear window. Strijdom had his arm on the Hyundai's roof, his attention on the driver. “Bribe much?”

“You haven't answered my question, Alet.”

Alet sank back in the seat, crossing her arms. “Technically, I'm not supposed to be working.”

“Technically?”

“Okay.” Alet sighed. “I'm in deep shit if they catch me.”

“Then why am I driving you to Oudtshoorn?”

“Because I don't like being told what I can and can't do.”

Tilly sniggered. “Obsess much?”

Alet fought the urge to bite the hangnail on her thumb. “I'm not sitting at home.”

An
OUDTSHOORN
10
KM
sign flashed by. Billboards with advertisements for ostrich farms and tours of the Kango Caves proliferated as they neared the city limits. Alet slouched in her seat, her head leaning against the backrest, her long legs crunched against the dashboard. She closed her eyes for a moment.
What the hell are you doing, Berg?
She would lose everything if she was caught. There was a fluttering sensation in her stomach, butterflies some would call it.
The wings of a million black butterflies
.

“Where do you want me to drop you?” Tilly looked expectantly at Alet.

Alet hesitated for only a moment before the lights changed. “The police station.”

The officer behind the Oudtshoorn service desk didn't look up from the occurrence book when Alet cut to the front of the line. Her name badge read
CONST. DLAMINI
. Alet stared at the top of her blue porkpie hat for a full minute. “Excuse me?”

Constable Dlamini eyed Alet, boredom in her expression. “Yes?”

“I'm Constable Berg from Unie Police. Is Sergeant Maree in?”

Constable Dlamini pointed with her pen to a door on the opposite side of the charge office. “Through there, on the left.”

Maree's door was open. He sat at his desk, eating a sandwich, a half cup of tea at his elbow, a mustard stain on his tie. Alet had only dealt with him over the phone before, but he had always been friendly and helpful. She hoped that she could count on that today.

“We weren't expecting you,” he said when she introduced herself. “We're a little overwhelmed at the moment.”

“It's just that I couldn't find enough on the national database, and it's urgent. A murder,” she added for effect. “I need information on necklacings in the area. Possibly going back a few years.”

“How far?”

“I'm not sure. Ten, twenty years? Maybe more. We need to rule out the possibility of a repeat offender.” Alet smiled, hoping to put him at ease. “Look, point me to a computer. I can find what I need myself.”

“That won't work.” Maree's eyes lingered on his sandwich. “I barely keep up with the new cases coming in. There's just no time to digitize the old stuff, see?”

Alet had known it was going to be a long shot.

“I can show you the archives,” Maree said. “If you don't mind digging.”

Alet followed Maree through the station. He took a right at the other end of the charge office and went down a flight of stairs to a room, marked
ARGIEF
in gold letters. Filing cabinets lined the windowless office. A single bulb illuminated linoleum flooring that probably hadn't seen a mop since the eighties.

“The oldest ones are in this corner,” Maree pointed. “1928, I think, and they run from left to right, top to bottom by case number. Eighties should be around here.” He walked to a row of cabinets to the right side of the room, pulled one of the top drawers open, and ran his fingers along the faded brown folders. “
Ja
, here. See? 'Seventy-seven, so maybe a couple drawers down.”

“I'll manage,” Alet smiled. “
Dankie
.” Her smile faded as Maree left. No keywords, no quick searches. She opened drawers until she found files around the date of the first known necklacing. March 23, 1985. It happened somewhere near Uitenhage, less than an hour from PE. Nowhere near Oudtshoorn or Unie. But 672 people were necklaced in the country in a matter of two years. There had to have been local cases. The killer knew what he was doing. It definitely wasn't his first time.

It took Alet over an hour to work her way to 1987, carefully going through each necklacing case's pathology report to look for victims who had been strangled. Nothing in the files followed that pattern. This was probably a wild-goose chase. Or she was thinking about it wrong. It was easy for crimes to get misidentified, especially back then. The only reason they had found out that the woman on the mountain was strangled was because they had an expert like Koch. Her body had been burned to get rid of evidence. “Dammit.” Alet clenched her fists, irritated by the time she had wasted. She started over, pulling files that involved people killed by fire, or whose bodies were burned, a short stack building next to her. There were no discernible links between the victims or methods as far as she could tell.

1988, 1989. Nothing. She checked her watch. She was supposed to
meet Tilly in an hour at the shopping center across the street. She decided to work her way back from 1985, just in case. An unsolved case from 1976 caught her attention. Strangulation. A local schoolteacher's body was set on fire and abandoned in an isolated area. No suspects. Alet went back further. Another case in 1972. Strangulation and the partially burned body of a secretary in a cornfield. Alet paused. Both victims were female, both blond. If it was the same guy and he was, say, in his teens, during the '72 murder, he would be in his fifties now, maybe even older. She thought of Wexler. He could easily have carried a woman up that mountain.

Alet took the two files and made her way back to Maree's office. She found him hunched over his keyboard, a stack of SAP 5's next to him. She put the two files on his desk, her eyes briefly resting on his name tag, and smiled. “I know you're busy, Kallie, but I need your help.” She leaned on the desk. “I'd really appreciate it.”

Maree nodded. A light pink hue spread across his youthful cheeks. “What do you need?”

“Could you let me know if you happen to come across any cases that are similar to these?”

Maree studied the case files she placed in front of him, making flustered eye contact.

“I need to ask one more favor. I feel so stupid.” Alet peered at him from beneath her lashes. “Thing is, I'm also in town to follow up on a lead. You won't believe this, but I forgot the file and I need to go over something quickly. My captain will
kak
himself if I have to come back again.”

“
Ja
. Sure, hey.” Maree's blush extended all the way to his ears. “What's the name?”

“Joseph Ngwenya.” Alet smiled. “You're really helping me out, hey.”

Maree hunched over, his fingers pounding the keyboard. “Got it.”

The printer on his desk sputtered to life. Alet grabbed the warm pages as they dropped into the tray. “I owe you a drink, Kallie.”

Alet scanned the red tables of the Wimpy, finding only averted eyes or the undisguised stares of children between cardboard cutouts of burgers and milk shakes. She sat down at an open table near the door
and ordered a sandwich and coffee. Ngwenya's file only confirmed what Mynhardt had told her. Drug running, gang activity. Hijacking and murder would have been an escalation. She flipped the page stopping on the known-associates list. There were a few interesting names among Ngwenya's friends, one of them, a Gareth Skosana, with a rap sheet as long as her arm.

“Get what you came for?” Tilly sat down opposite her.

“Maybe.”

Tilly reached for Alet's coffee and poured milk in.

“That's mine and I like it black.”

“Order another one. I can barely keep my eyes open. My bags have bags.”

Alet put the file down, suddenly in a better mood. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Pile it on.”

“Can I borrow your pickup when we get back?”

Tilly stirred sweetener in the coffee. “Fine. I'm having an early night anyway. Fill up the tank when you're done.”

“Are you going to tell me what you're doing in the wee hours instead of sleeping, or do I have to beat it out of you?”

“Ooh. Police brutality.”

“What's one more charge? Talk.”

“What do you want to know, Officer?”

“You and Jeff. Last night. Out with it.” Tilly's shoulders rose and she opened her mouth to speak, but Alet cut her off. “Don't give me that
kak
of ‘I can't remember.' ”

Tilly put her coffee cup down suddenly. Liquid sloshed into the saucer. “It's private, Alet. Please, just leave it alone.”

“Sorry, I—”

“I don't pry into your business. I've never asked what you did to get stuck here even though everybody's—” Tilly stopped suddenly.

Alet eyed her for a moment. “So the whole town knows. Big
fokken
surprise. Who was it? Strijdom? You know what, doesn't matter.”

Tilly looked out the window. She rested her head on her hand. Alet's cell broke the uncomfortable silence, Unie Police Station's number on the screen. “Time to face the music,” Alet muttered before answering. “Hallo?”

“Alet?” Mynhardt sounded apologetic. “We are looking for Mathilda Pienaar. Is she with you?”

“
Ja
. Why?”

“That's good.”

Alet said nothing as Mynhardt spoke. Her eyes traced Tilly's short fingers on the red tabletop, the way her curls flattened against her other palm. She tried to remember the childlike petulance on Tilly's face, the dreamy way she looked out the window in an attempt to give Alet privacy. It would all change now, Alet thought. As soon as she put the phone down and started talking, Tilly would change forever.

“Thank you, Captain.” Alet hung up.

“Do they miss you?” The playfulness was back in Tilly's voice.

Alet attempted a smile, but it turned rancid right away. “When was the last time you spoke to your
ma
?”

“Did she start a fistfight at church, or is she drunk in the bar?” Tilly raised her hands in mock exasperation. “Can't take her anywhere.”

“No, I—”

“I knew it would eventually come to this.” Tilly shook her head, the curl of her lips threatening to explode her mock seriousness. “She needs bail money, doesn't she?”

“Don't. Please. I need you to listen to me.”

Confusion clouded Tilly's features. “Okay.”

The waitress slammed a plate down in front of Alet, fries falling off the edge. She put a slip of cash register paper next to it. “You pay with me.”

“Come back,” Alet said. The waitress clicked her tongue and walked away. Alet pushed the plate of food away.

Across the table, Tilly's frown deepened. “Why are you asking about my
ma
, Alet?”

Alet reached for Tilly's hand. “They found a match for the dental imprints of the victim, Tilly. They believe it's Trudie.”

“I'm not going to ask why you're still in uniform, Alet,” Mynhardt said. He looked over at where Mathebe escorted Tilly into the interrogation room. Tilly had stared into space the whole way back to Unie, her face void of emotion. Alet wished she knew what to say, but she
had always been bad at that sort of thing, delivering little more than ineffectual platitudes she had heard on TV. She sank into a chair in Mynhardt's office.

“When was the last time you saw Trudie Pienaar?”

“I was late with the rent … the third? She was in the garden most mornings, though.” Alet crouched over, resting her head in her hands. She tried to remember, but days flowed into monotonous unity. Trudie had died late Friday or early Thursday morning. Someone had dragged her up the mountain, strangled her and set her body on fire. Alet felt like she was having a vivid nightmare. “I honestly don't know, Captain.”

“She's been dead for five days! You live in her backyard, Alet. Are you telling me that you didn't notice she was gone? We found her car hidden behind some bushes on the farm. You didn't notice that was gone either?”

“Trudie parked in the garage. And there was this Ngwenya
kak
. I've been a little preoccupied.”

“And Mathilda?”

“This wasn't unusual. They're always at each other. Trudie was stubborn. She refused to answer the phone and—”

“You have no
kooking
clue about the shitstorm in this town when they find out it wasn't just some random black. That it was one of our own.”

“I want to help. There must be something I can do?”

“Stay away from the investigation.” Mynhardt frowned. “I mean it. Go home and look after your friend.”

Alet drove Tilly back to Zebra House after Mathebe had finished questioning her. Tilly placidly followed Alet's instructions, taking the sleeping pill Oosthuizen prescribed and going to bed. Alet gave Maria instructions to look in on her. She considered going home, but she knew Mathebe would be there, going through Trudie's house, looking for evidence. Alet took Tilly's car keys from the coffee table. If there was one thing she hated, it was waiting around.

Voetsek was locked up in his cage, baring his teeth, emitting a barrage of barks as Alet approached, his black snout pressed up against the
chicken wire. She marveled that it was strong enough to hold him. She knocked at the back door. After the third time without answer, she walked around to the back of the house to Magda and Nonnie's bedroom and banged on the window.