I PRINTED OUT A COUPLE of the photographs, and was comparing them with my apple painting when the doorbell rang again. I had been half expecting it and, sure enough, there was Inspector Pillay, on his own this time, for which I was grateful. I hadn’t much taken to Sergeant Dhlomo, but then he also seemed not to have taken much to me either. Or Daniel. Either way, his was a presence I could do without.
Pillay came in looking rumpled and even wearier than yesterday.
“Tea, Inspector?”
“That would be lovely. If you’re having some.”
“Sure. Go through to the studio and I’ll bring it now.”
As tribute to the might and dignity of the law, I made the tea in a pot rather than follow my usual teabag-in-a-mug regime. But I did stick with the mugs. Somewhere in a cupboard are teacups and saucers, but in the five years since my divorce and the merciful end of visits from my ex-mother-in-law, they have stayed there.
When I carried the tray through, Pillay was staring out of the window. No art criticism today. He turned as I came in, and waited until I had sat down before he moved to an upright chair facing me.
I thought I might as well take the bull by the horns: “Do you know who the man is … was?”
“Oh yes. He was carrying his ID. We didn’t say anything until we had contacted his family. His son identified the body this morning.” If anything, Pillay looked even sadder. “His name was Ndzoyiya, Phineas Ndzoyiya. He lives in Durban, but he’s originally from the Eastern Cape.”
I said nothing, but I felt ridiculously guilty all the same.
“His son, who works here in Pietermaritzburg, has told us his father was staying with him for a couple of days. He had come to the city to meet an artist: Mr Moyo, in fact. Did you know that?” Pillay was looking hard at me. His appearance was deceptive: he was neither submissive nor sleepy; he wasn’t missing a thing. And he hadn’t missed a thing yesterday either.
I took a deep breath, and a mouthful of tea while I tried to collect my thoughts. “Look, Inspector, yesterday, when Daniel found the body, he had absolutely no idea who it could be. It was only when you showed us the Mendi photograph that he realised there might be a connection with his research.” I spoke slowly, trying to tell the absolute truth without putting Dan into a more difficult situation than the one he seemed to be in already.
“I was surprised by the photograph. It gave me a shock, I suppose, when the sergeant asked about the Mendi. After all, just before Dan found the body, we had been talking about it. It was a crazy kind of coincidence. We told you, remember, that it had been mentioned when we were talking.”
“Yes, you did.”
“It was only earlier today that Daniel said he had begun to realise that it might not be just a coincidence. He had been trying to contact descendants of the survivors of the Mendi, and had arranged to meet a man from Durban this week.” There. That shouldn’t put Dan into a bad light. “I’m sure he’s going to contact you and tell you.”
“No need. Sergeant Dhlomo has gone to see him.” Pillay was watching me, waiting for a reaction.
“Well, that’s okay then. Daniel can tell him what he knows.”
Pillay nodded. “Had Mr Moyo arranged to meet Mr Ndzoyiya here, at your house?”
“No … I don’t think so. I mean, why would he? Dan had just dropped in to see me. We’re old friends, but he’s staying with someone else and probably doing his research at the university. I’d imagine they were going to meet there.”
“But Mr Ndzoyiya’s body was found here.”
“Well, yes. But you said you thought he had been killed somewhere else.”
“Did I?” Pillay looked surprised. “Well, it’s a possibility. We don’t know yet. But if he was, then why dump the body here?”
“I don’t know. I know nothing about all this, really. I know it must look odd, but it’s just a coincidence.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, I do! You’re not suggesting Daniel killed this man, brought him here, dumped him, came round to the front of the house, rang my doorbell, offered to take my dog for a walk and then came rushing back saying he had found a body? I mean, that’s just insane!” I was beginning to sound shrill.
Pillay ran a hand over his face, as if trying to smooth away his weariness. When he took it away, his skin had reddened, but the colour faded quickly.
I went on. “Surely you’re investigating what else Mr Ndzoyiya was doing here; what he did in Durban; who his enemies were? I simply cannot believe that Daniel had anything to do with his death. Or that his death is any way connected to the SS Mendi.”
“We have to investigate everything.” The inspector looked hopefully at the teapot, and reluctantly I poured him another mug. I wanted him gone. Surely they couldn’t be suspecting Daniel? It was completely crazy.
The inspector spoke again: “How did Mr Moyo arrive yesterday? Did he have a car, or a bicycle, or was he on foot?”
He must have known the answer to that. They had seen Daniel here, and had watched him go. “He has a car – an old Golf. I suppose he came in that. I didn’t go and look for it, but I imagine he must have brought it. He came round in it this morning.”
“Oh. He’s been here today, then?”
“Yes. We worked on some photographs.”
“Did he bring his car into your drive, inside the gate?”
“Yes.”
“And yesterday?”
I stared at Pillay. “I suppose so. I don’t remember.” And I didn’t. Which was odd. This morning Dan had come in the gate and parked his red Citi Golf behind my garage. There was a dent on the back, just below the boot lid, which I had noticed when I opened the front door. Had he done the same yesterday afternoon? I somehow didn’t think so, but if not, why not? A whisper of concern, insubstantial but troubling, drifted into my mind. But whether he had parked in the drive or in the road, what did it matter?
Pillay got up. “Mr Moyo did have his car here yesterday. Both Sergeant Dhlomo and I saw it when we arrived. It was parked outside your gate. Now, why would he do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t mean to stay long. He didn’t know the boys were away and so perhaps he thought Rory might be coming back with his car. It was only when he came in and saw I was working that he offered to take Grumpy out.” At the sound of his name, Grumpy, who was sprawled in a patch of sun on the tiled floor, thumped his tail and gave a contented groan.
“We’ll be asking him about that.” Pillay paused, and looked down at me. “Mrs Marsh, I know you’re a friend of Mr Moyo, but I must tell you he could be in some trouble over this.”
I started to protest, but Pillay held up his hand. “How long have you known him?”
“Five, six years. He was studying at university and we got friendly. He’s a Zimbabwean: he was in a difficult situation, trying to get his documents in order and short of money. It’s tough for refugees, as I’m sure you must know. Locals, officials, even the police, are resentful. He stayed here for a while. He’s a friend of my sons as well, and I trust him completely. He’s one of the gentlest people I know – he couldn’t do anything violent.”
“He’s been in some trouble with the police in Johannesburg, part of a vigilante group that got mixed up in a violent altercation. Did you know that?”
“He mentioned it – it was nothing. Just a scuffle, he said.”
Pillay said nothing. He shrugged his shoulders and then asked me if I had walked the dog in the plantations today.
“No. At least, I went up the road and took a lane that runs alongside my neighbours’ house. You can walk along the edge of the trees. It’s a bit steeper, but I didn’t want to go to where … you know.”
“Of course. I’m not sure that walking there alone is a good idea, Mrs Marsh. Nothing to do with this case, but as a general rule. You should be careful.” He looked at me with concern in those deceptively gentle brown eyes. “Well, I must be going. Thank you for the tea. I may need to speak to you again, and if you think of anything, anything at all that could be of help, please phone me.” He handed me his card, and I watched him leave, flicking it backwards and forwards between my fingers. I couldn’t help liking him, though at the same time, my concern for Daniel was growing. Why on earth would someone he was planning to meet have been murdered, and then left here for him to find? And was there more to that “scuffle” than he had told me?