Whitethorn (93 page)

When I'd suggested staying with her mother and the good doctor, Marie protested, feigning outrage. ‘Tom, you must be mad to think we going to share you that easy, hey? Jannie and me, we've been looking forward to this day for years!' With child-bearing Marie had grown fairly stout and, while still pretty, had turned into a typical-looking Afrikaner country woman: square-shaped, competent in all things domestic, outspoken, a strict, no-nonsense mother who did a fair bit of yelling at her rowdy offspring. Saxby, the daughter whom I had been famously credited with delivering, was a lovely young seventeen-year-old with a shy smile and she blushed furiously when she was reminded that I'd been present at her birth. Sergeant Van Niekerk looked somewhat older around the eyes, his hair turned partially grey, but otherwise he hadn't changed a great deal. They appeared to still be very compatible and happily married.

The first evening we all gathered for dinner at the doctor's house where I was obliged to do most of the talking, trying to achieve a monster catch-up with everyone asking dozens of questions, mostly wanting more details on the things I'd mentioned in past letters. It was not until the following morning, when I visited the police station, that I was able to broach the subject of Mattress's murder with Sergeant Van Niekerk.

I should, in fairness, mention that he was no longer Sergeant Van Niekerk, but had been elevated to the rank of lieutenant. When I congratulated him he was quick to grin and modestly point out that this had come about from seniority and not from any special competence as a policeman. Although it was obvious a more able small-town police officer would be difficult to find anywhere. I had always known him as Sergeant Van Niekerk and even as an adult had never addressed him otherwise, despite several attempts he'd made to make me call him Jan. I asked permission to continue to address him as I had always done and he laughingly agreed.

Settled in his office, and after the African day constable brought in coffee, the sergeant said, ‘So now, tell me, Tom, what's the big secret, why have you come down?'

‘Sergeant, I've come to ask you about a matter we were both involved in,' I began. ‘Myself, when I was seven years old and at The Boys Farm and you, of course, as a policeman at the same time. I refer to the murder of the
Bantu
Mattress Malokoane who was killed by a person or persons unknown.'

‘
Ja
, I remember it well,' Sergeant Van Niekerk said.

‘Do you still have your investigation file?'

‘Why do you ask? I didn't have the experience at that time; today, maybe it would turn out differently, hey?'

I ignored his premature attempt at justification. ‘Is the case closed?'

‘Man, I can't remember exactly, but I can take a look. It will be in an old file in the storeroom at the back.' He paused. ‘But maybe not. The roof leaks, I can't guarantee it, you hear? Last year in the big rain we lost a lot of the old files to water damage.'

‘Could you possibly find it, the file?'

‘Tom, what are you trying to say? The native is long dead, over twenty years already.'

‘Sergeant, I want to ask you to reopen the case. That is, of course, if you closed it.'

‘
Here
, Tom, what are you talking about?'

‘I think I have sufficient evidence to file an indictment in the High Court against Mevrou and the Van Schalkwyk brothers for the murder of Mattress Malokoane.'

Sergeant Van Niekerk's surprise was immediate and he jumped up from behind his desk. ‘Whoa!
Stadig
! Slow down! What are you saying? You want to file a murder charge?' His hands flew above his head. ‘
Wragtig
! Against the Van Schalkwyks?'

I had rehearsed this moment too many times in my imagination to show any surprise. ‘
Ja
, I'm asking you to be the police prosecutor, Sergeant,' I said in an even voice.

Sergeant Van Niekerk took several moments to recover and in the process resumed his seat. He shook his head like a boxer trying to shake off a punch, then looked directly at me. ‘Are you mad, man? Only two years ago the six brothers came out of prison, the whole town turned out to greet them, they're big heroes in this
dorp
, you hear? It's impossible, man!'

I had prepared myself for this moment. ‘Sergeant, you probably won't remember, but the morning after Mattress was murdered you said to Meneer Prinsloo outside Mattress's hut, “
Hy is ‘n slimmetjie
”. You called me clever and that was the first compliment I could ever remember receiving from a white person. Mattress was always saying nice things about me and perhaps that was one of the reasons I loved him. But when one of my own people said something nice that was a big moment in my life. Then later, after we'd met again in the headmaster's office, in your brother's office, afterwards you took me to the Impala Café and Mevrou Booysens served me the one-legged bowl of ice-cream with ten different toppings, that was when I decided that I could trust you. You were the first of my own kind I'd ever trusted. I knew then if you could you would find out who lynched Mattress and bring them to justice.' I paused. ‘I still believe you can.'

‘It's twenty-one years, Tom!'

‘There is no statute of limitations on murder, Sergeant.'

Sergeant Van Niekerk, tapping a pencil against the desk, his chin resting on his chest, was silent for quite a while before he looked up. ‘You don't know what you asking, Tom. It's easy for you. The people in this town they
verkramp
, they will never forgive me. I've got four kids and a wife and we have to live here, you don't. Let me tell you something, twenty-one years is nothing; it's still the same, the same place you left, you can ask Doctor Van Heerden or my brother. The people here, they diehards, only now it's
our
government in Pretoria so they feel even stronger. A dead native is nothing, man!'

I sighed. ‘Sergeant, I do understand how cramped and narrow these mountain people are and that you and Marie and the kids have to live here. To be perfectly honest I expected you to refuse the offer to be the crown prosecutor, but I felt I had to ask anyway. I will act as both advocate and prosecutor.' I paused. ‘Sergeant, you don't know how much I hate saying this, but I must warn you I may have to subpoena you as a principal witness.'

‘
Ja
, I see,' he said.

‘And I'm begging for your cooperation in the matter of police files and any evidence you may have gathered.' I hesitated. ‘Sergeant, I don't want to hear that all of a sudden the files have been rain-damaged and lost.'

Sergeant Van Niekerk laughed. ‘You're still a
slimmetjie
, Tom.'

‘Last year was the worst drought in the Northern Transvaal in twenty years, Sergeant.'

‘
Ja
, no problems, Tom. I will give you complete access to the files and cooperate in every way possible, including acting as a willing witness. I am still a policeman and will do my duty.'

I thanked him, then added, ‘One more question. Sergeant, was the body of the murder victim mutilated in any way?'

Sergeant Van Niekerk appeared to be taken by surprise. ‘You mean apart from being dragged behind a
bakkie
? Why do you ask?'

‘Sergeant, I'm going to ask you the same question in court, but I'd like to know now if you're willing to answer.'

‘How the hell did you know, Tom?' he asked, clearly bemused.

‘Please, could you answer the question, Sergeant.'

‘
Ja
, as a matter of fact, it was, but it was never officially announced, it was something people wouldn't believe white men would do.'

‘And that something was . . . ?'

‘
Ag
, the victim had his sexual organs removed.'

‘And this appears in your case notes?'

‘
Ja
, of course . . . everything.'

I must say, contrary to what you might expect, I was relieved that Sergeant Van Niekerk had refused to prosecute the case and understood that had he done so he would have been made a pariah in Duiwelskrans. All I had hoped for was his complete cooperation and now that I had achieved this outcome, I could spend the rest of the day and the next day or two examining the evidence in his files before returning to Johannesburg.

In fact, the files were brought to me and I got stuck into the evidence immediately, had a sandwich for lunch and decided to stay on at the police station after Sergeant Van Niekerk prepared to go home at six o'clock that evening. ‘We'll keep your dinner warm in the oven,' he promised before leaving. ‘If we're in bed just help yourself, Marie will leave coffee on the stove.' I was left with the night-shift staff, two African policemen who remained in the front of the station while I worked in the sergeant's office.

At around seven o'clock a black policeman entered the office holding a tray on which rested several small tin dishes with lids, a plate, fork and spoon as well as a starched napkin.

‘The coolie, he is bringing this,' the constable announced, placing the tray down on the desk.

‘Thank you, Joseph, is he still outside?'

‘No,
Baas
, now he is going back,' he replied.

An envelope was propped against one of the dishes.

Dear Mr Fitzsaxby,

The sergeant is telling us you like very, very much curry.

We are also sending chicken tandoori. Most welcome home
again, we are remembering well the one-pound note.

Yours faithfully and so on and so forth,

J. Patel & Sons
Impala Café – Mixed Grills and Bombay Class Indian Curry

You can imagine my surprise when the following morning at breakfast and after the kids had left for school Marie brought a fresh pot of coffee and sat down with the sergeant and myself at the kitchen table. ‘Tom, last night when you were working at the station, we had a family talk, you hear?' She smiled over at her husband. ‘First it was only Jannie and me, then his
boetie
came over and then we called my ma and the doctor and they came too. We told them about what you want to do and how you asked Jan if he would be the police prosecutor.'

‘
Ja
, Marie, I understand, I
really
do, his position in this town would become untenable,' I interrupted hastily.

‘No, listen, Tom!' Marie said sharply.

‘Sorry,' I said, suitably chastised.

‘Well, we changed our mind, Jannie will do it.'

I raised both my arms. ‘Whoa! It's not necessary for the sergeant to stick his neck out, I've already told him there's another way around the problem.'

‘No, Tom, you wrong, it
is
necessary, a murder is a murder and in the eyes of God this is about a human being.'

‘In my eyes too, Marie,' I said quietly.

‘
Ja
, of course, we all humans. But Jannie is a policeman but also an Afrikaner; whatever the cost to us in this godforsaken
dorp
, in the end a person has to live with himself. A man has to do his duty. I want my children to be proud of their father.'

‘Tom, it's not
just
the family's decision, I
want
to do it,' Sergeant Van Niekerk said firmly.

I was silent for a moment. ‘Thank you, Marie, thank you, Sergeant. Now, may I say something?'

‘Say away,' Sergeant Van Niekerk offered with a flip of his hand, obviously pleased that everything was out in the open.

‘May I refuse?'

‘What do you mean, Tom? You don't want him? You don't want Jannie to help you?' Marie asked, confused.

‘No, Marie, of course I do. But there are two major parts to this trial, crown prosecutor and principal witness. I have spent almost fifteen years gathering evidence, and after reading the case file yesterday I realise I know more about the murder than the police do. What I don't know is what happened in the days following the murder. I was too young at the time to understand fully what was occurring. I can handle the dual role of prosecutor as well as advocate, but I
must
have a principal witness with impeccable credentials in the eyes of the judge. Such a witness is, of course, the sergeant. You see, I want to avoid a jury if possible. I'm going to ask the court to appoint two assessors instead, two lawyers, to act with the judge to reach a decision. It's taking a chance, I know, but in the present political climate and with the ongoing Treason Trial, I'm not at all sure I could get a jury in Pretoria that would reach a fair decision. If the police officer who investigated the murder is a witness, well, that's far more important in this context than if he acts as the crown prosecutor.'

Marie looked at me, still unsure. ‘Tom, you're not just saying this, I mean, you know, to get us off the hook?'

‘So, why did you ask me in the first place to be the crown prosecutor?' Sergeant Van Niekerk asked pointedly.

It was a good question. ‘Well, in the first place, I hadn't read your investigation file.' I hesitated. ‘I have to be honest, Sergeant, your reaction to the offer would have told me whether you would be a hostile witness under subpoena, or one willing to come forward voluntarily. I was always aware there was a lot at stake for you and your family.' I smiled. ‘But there was a fair bit at stake for me as well, I stood to lose not only a dear friend but the first white man I trusted with my heart and soul. Your reaction yesterday and willingness to be a witness confirmed I had exactly the witness I wanted. It also told me that a child of seven can still be an excellent judge of character.'