The Satanic Mechanic (18 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

‘No,' I said to the mosbolletjie rusk in my hand. ‘I won't make a divorce meal tonight.'

‘What?' said Jessie, looking up at me.

‘Sorry, I didn't realise I was talking out loud.'

I was not going to make a divorce meal for Henk. I'd make a meal that would make him think twice about leaving, even after I'd told him the truth.

I drank my last mouthful of coffee. If you drink the coffee quickly enough, then the bits of rusk that have sunk to the bottom are not too soggy. I opened the letter from my Scottish friend – the woman with the man somewhat younger and darker than her.

Thank you, dear Maria
,

That dark fruitcake (that matures with age) is very delicious. He likes it so much I gave him takeaways
.

I am sure you are right, that age and colour don't really matter. But what about language? I hardly know any French, but he speaks a little English. And we communicate a lot with our hands. Of course, that smile of his says more than the moon on a dark night. Oh look, now he has me writing poetry! Oh dear, I must be crazy, falling for him like this. But he has agreed to visit me every day now, so he must feel something too. I would like to have lunch ready for him. Something simple, like those lovely cheese scones. My energy is not so good since the operation. But I'd like to do more than sandwiches
.

Maybe something interesting with meat?

Yours
,

Lassie falling in love

While I thought of how to answer the lassie, I made some more coffee. Then I wrote:

Dear Lassie
,

It sounds like things are moving along nicely.

Language is just words. So much can be said with food
.

I dipped my rusk and chewed on it. A piece of aniseed filled my mouth with flavour.

Yes, a man likes his meat. Here is a recipe for toad-in-the-hole made with boerewors (or any other nice spicy sausage). And a corned-beef pie made with tins of corned beef and mushrooms. Both are very delicious and easy, and can also be frozen. You can serve them with bread or pap, and salad
.

On my way back from work, I picked up the ingredients I needed for Henk and me. And a bunch of celery for Kosie. I chatted with Tannie de Jager from the library.

‘So did that new mechanic fix your problem?' she asked.

‘What?'

‘I saw your bakkie turning in at that farm where he lives.'

‘Oh,' I said. ‘Yes. No. He's still busy with it.'

‘Did you leave it there?'

My bakkie was parked outside the Spar. I wasn't going to try to fool a librarian. ‘No, I'm going back,' I said.

‘I've heard that strange things go on out there. At his farm.'

‘Mm,' I said, ‘don't these pears look nice?' I put a bag of pears into my basket.

* * *

As I walked up the garden path to my house, my chickens came to greet me. I threw them a handful of mielies from the bucket on the stoep. Their dust-red feathers fluttered as they danced around each other to get at the food. The white-eye birds watched them from the branches of the lemon tree. It was a warm, still afternoon: just the weather for braaing.

I was going to make Henk a meal that would look like I hadn't tried too hard. Just hamburgers and malva pudding. But they would be bobotie mince burgers made with roosterkoek. And my aunt's malva pudding was like none he'd eaten before.

I mixed the yeast, mieliemeal and flour together and then stirred in the water and kneaded the mixture until it was smooth and silky. I coated the dough with a little olive oil, then left it to rise in a warm spot on the stoep.

Then I fried the ostrich mince and added raisins, lemon rind and subtle Malay spices. And also apricot jam and lemon juice. Before I mixed in the flour and egg to turn the mince into patties, I served myself some and ate it for lunch with the salad that was on my diet sheet. Superb.

I laid a fire but didn't light it. My braai is built up with bricks and concrete, with a counter next to the fire and a big space underneath for firewood. It is in my garden, just in front of the stoep. I put the raw patties and roosterkoek on a covered dish on the counter, then I prepared the malva pudding. Like the bobotie, it had apricot jam in it.

I showered, washed my hair and put on my white underwear, my cream dress with the little blue flowers and my smart blue shoes. Not really braai clothes, but anyway. I spent a bit longer than usual over my make-up. I noticed some grey hairs in the brown curls that curved onto my cheeks. I wondered how long they'd been there. I was not one to stare in the mirror. But today I stared. My green eyes gazed back at me. Could they see that I had killed a man? Or that I was about to lose the man I loved?

I took a diet tablet and laid the stoep table. Then I brought two of the metal garden chairs to the braai and lit the fire. I sat down and watched the autumn light become softer as the afternoon fell into
evening. The lemon tree cast long shadows onto the chickens that were sorting through the compost heap. I looked out at the thorn trees and the veld. A mongoose darted from some spekbome to the gwarrie tree. There was no sign of the kudu, thank heavens. I needed to be sane tonight. No imaginings, just the truth.

I heard Henk's Hilux when it turned off onto the dirt road. My heart beat faster as he got closer. I took even breaths, like I'd learnt in my group. Should I talk to him before or after the meal? Maybe during. My heartbeat slowed a little with my breathing, then it sped up as I saw Henk and Kosie heading along the path between the peach pips. Kosie skipped into the vegetable patch, but Henk did not stop him; he was marching straight towards me.

‘So, when were you going to tell me?' he said, looking down at me.

I stood up, but he was still so much bigger than me.

‘What?' I said. ‘Sit down.'

‘Or were you never going to tell me?'

‘Do you want a beer?' I said.

He sat down, and now he was closer to my standing height.

‘I can't believe it,' he said, shaking his head, frowning.

‘Who told you?' I said.

‘It's all over the police station.'

‘What? How . . .?'

‘Dirk. Dirk told Warrant Officer Smit. They're drinking buddies.'

My knees were shaky, and I sat down. What we said in the group was private. I could hear Ricus's voice: ‘What we say here, stays here.'

Henk said, ‘But of course if no one officially reports it, there's nothing we can do. It's an embarrassment to us, as police.'

‘An embarrassment? What do you mean?'

‘This sort of stuff going on in our own back yard. And you, you not even telling me.'

‘I'm sorry,' I said. ‘I was going to tell you tonight.'

‘I thought I could trust you.'

‘I was scared what you might think.'

‘Come to the police station,' he said, standing up, taking my arm. ‘We can go now and report it.'

I felt like I was in a bad dream.

‘But there's no proof,' I said.

‘You will give the proof,' he said, tugging at me to stand. ‘You can sign a statement.'

Tears welled in my eyes.

‘Henk,' I said, looking up at him, ‘is this really what you want?'

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Henk's grip on my arm was firm. He could have pulled me up, but he wasn't that kind of man. I don't know what I'd expected, but it wasn't this. Did he really think I belonged in prison? If I wanted to clear my conscience, free myself, would I need to be locked up? The woman who'd stabbed her boyfriend in the heart had said she felt so free. I'd thought she meant killing him had freed her, like Fanie's death had freed me. But maybe being caught and going to jail is also what set her free. Because she did not have to bury a secret inside her.

Jessie would help me organise legal aid. I could maybe argue self-defence after all that Fanie had done to me.

I took a deep breath and stood up.

‘Maybe it is for the best,' I said.

‘Ja,' he said. ‘We need to lock those bastards away.'

‘The bastards?'

‘Excuse my language. Those blerrie idiots from Hotazel.'

‘Hotazel?'

‘The ones in dress-up costumes who invaded your group with smoke bombs. And weapons.'

‘Oh. Oh, them . . . They were toy weapons.'

‘They are dangerous people.'

‘How do you know they're from Hotazel?'

‘Our guys stopped a Ford that was doing 160km an hour on Route 62. Painted with red flames. I'm sure it was your same threesome in the car, though they gave false names. We ran the plates, and the car's registered to a man in Hotazel. He's out on parole after serving time
for kidnapping. That's probably why they used toy weapons; the real thing would have him locked up again for a long time. The Hotazel police say he's big in the satanist movement, a high priest or something. He hangs out with a priestess who likes to wear red. And guess who the previous registered owner of the vehicle was? Your friend, Ricus.'

‘Your hand. It's too tight on my arm.'

‘Ag, sorry,' he said, letting go and walking towards Kosie. ‘Come, Kosie, we're going back to the police station. Once we have your report, we'll try to track them down, get them for trespassing, harassment, something . . .'

Kosie dropped the lettuce that was in his mouth and trotted towards Henk.

‘I can go to the station tomorrow,' I said, sitting down again. ‘We can't just leave the fire. I've made supper and all.' Kosie butted Henk's knee gently with his little horns. ‘I've made bobotie burgers. And I've got celery for Kosie.'

Henk sighed and came and sat by the fire, then put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. ‘I'm sorry.' He ran his hand down the side of his face, messing up one of his moustache tips. ‘These Hotazel idiots do piss me off, but . . .'

I put the grid on the fire as I let him find his words. The coals were just right for braaing.

‘It's not just them,' he said. ‘It's the Slimkat Kabbo case. It's getting to me.'

‘Has something happened?'

‘No,' he said, ‘that's the problem. We're not getting anywhere. It was bad enough that he died on my watch, but now it looks like the murderer's going to get away with it.'

I clicked my tongue sympathetically and put two patties and four pieces of roosterkoek on the grid. Henk came and stood at the fire. A man can't resist a braai.

‘Jessie thinks it has something to do with the Hardcore diamond miners,' I said. ‘Or maybe Agribeest, the cattle company. Slimkat played a big role in the court case that lost the miners their diamonds, and the company their grazing land.'

‘Ja, of course we've been looking into that.' He picked up a stick and
poked at the coals. ‘But it doesn't make sense. Firstly, every one of the board members of both companies has a watertight alibi for that night, far away from Oudtshoorn.'

‘Maybe they paid someone else to do it.'

‘Of course, ja, and that's what we were thinking when we caught that mustard guy. But there's no motive now that the court case is over. When they were still fighting the case, ja, maybe killing someone might've helped them, but now . . .'

He shook his head, picked up the braai tongs and lifted a patty and then a piece of roosterkoek to look underneath, but they weren't ready.

‘They might be angry with Slimkat,' I said. ‘They must have lost a lot of money.'

‘Ja, people do murder for revenge, I suppose. Last week in Riversdale a guy was killed because he wouldn't give someone a cigarette. But it doesn't make sense for them to do something so . . . what's the word? Vindictive.'

‘Are they nice people?'

‘Ag, no, I doubt it, but the publicity would be so bad for them. It's not worth the risk. Diamonds, especially, are full of politics. Blood diamonds and all that. Killing Bushmen would really give them a bad name.'

Henk put down the tongs, picked up the fire poker and moved the coals around.

‘So what happened to the mustard guy?' I asked.

‘Ag, that was a dead end. The lab reports agreed with you – it wasn't his mustard in the poison sauce. It was Colman's, but a powdered mustard – not the one I brought you.'

I could smell the meat and bread were ready, so I handed Henk the braai tongs and he turned them over. They were just right, with dark brown marks from the grid.

‘He confessed to being at the KKNK,' Henk said, ‘and stealing the wallets. He ate some kudu sosaties, which is why his prints are on the bottle. There's nothing that links him to Slimkat.'

‘Is there anyone else who might have a reason to kill Slimkat?'

‘What gets me thinking is the poison used. It's something that grows in the veld. Something a herbalist would know.'

He moved the cooked meat and bread to the edges of the grid and put on fresh roosterkoek and patties.

‘There are a lot of muti killings,' he said. Medicine killings. ‘Witchdoctors use clever herbs, try to make it look like a natural death.'

‘Aren't the herbs medicines, for fixing up people?'

‘Ja, mostly, but of course there are bad doctors.'

‘That's sad.'

I looked up at the night sky, at the moon that was getting fuller. It was a forgiving moon.

‘There's an old woman,' I said, ‘a relative of Slimkat's, who went missing after his death.'

‘Ja, she was a medicine woman. We know her name, but no one can tell me where she's gone. No one
wants
to tell me.'

‘But if she might've done it, wouldn't they want her caught?'

‘They may want to deal with it in their own way. I don't think they've got much respect for our law. They think it's racist against the Bushmen. I suppose you can't blame them.'

‘Maybe she has been killed too? By the same people.'

‘Ja. We've asked at the hospitals.'

‘And if she was killed, they might have hidden the body.'

‘Of course, yes, but if she's not dead, then going missing makes her a suspect.' He turned the burgers and the roosterkoek.

‘But you'll track her down?'

‘It's a big country,' he said, shaking his head. ‘And these people can hide out deep in the bush if they want to.'

‘She could be hiding because she's afraid for her life,' I said. ‘She might come back when things have calmed down.'

‘Maybe,' he said. ‘Maybe she's hiding amongst her own people. The Oudtshoorn police are getting a search warrant. To search the homes of her family here in Oudtshoorn and also up on the game reserve near Kuruman.'

‘A search warrant,' I said. ‘That's not going to make them trust you.'

‘We tried the nice chatting. What else can we do?'

I put the hamburgers onto our plates. They smelt fantastic.

‘There must be another way,' I said.