CHANTAL IS TOUGH AND capable and manages an NGO office working with abused women. She picked up the phone on its first ring. Her Cape accent was sharpened by concern.
“Laura! Thank heavens it’s you, man. What’s going on? I just came in now and there’s a scribbled note from Dan saying: ‘Been arrested’. Where is he? Has he spoken to you? I tried his phone, but it’s switched off.”
I told her what I knew, and that Robin had gone to the police station. I then asked if Verne was there.
“No. He was meeting some postgrads this afternoon and he’s not back yet. Should we go to the cops when he gets in? See if there’s anything we can do?”
“As soon as Robin gets back to me, I’ll phone you. I don’t think there’s much we can do before then. But Chantal … if it comes to bail … do you know if Dan’s got any money at the moment?”
“Shouldn’t think so. Look, between Verne and me, we could probably scrape something together …”
“So could I, but not if it’s going to be thousands.”
“Well, let’s worry about that when it happens.”
I didn’t know Chantal all that well. She and Verne both came to Pietermaritzburg from the Cape, about five years ago. Verne had supervised Daniel’s master’s degree, and I knew him from the Fine Arts Department, but I wouldn’t have described either him or Chantal as friends of mine. Just reasonably friendly acquaintances. But I asked Chantal if she knew anything about Daniel’s connection with the dead man. Maybe she knew something I could tell Robin.
All she could tell me was that Dan had phoned a week or so ago, saying he wanted to come down as he had arranged to meet someone who lived in Durban and who might have information he could use, and that while he was here he would do some research in the university library. She said she hadn’t talked to him about what it was: he might have spoken to Verne but she didn’t know. I said again that I would get back to them when I heard anything, and hung up.
Waiting for Robin to phone was horrible. I was too restless to work, or to read, and I wasn’t hungry. I didn’t want to tell the boys that Dan had been arrested until I had a better idea of what would happen next. I switched on the television and surfed through the channels, but there was nothing to hold my attention. I roamed the house, straightening cushions, moving a couple of earth-toned Zulu baskets I had picked up over the years to see whether they would look better somewhere else. But my heart wasn’t in it. I’ve often felt I can handle a crisis when I’m in the middle of it, but I’m not cut out for the times when there is nothing concrete to be done and the imagination takes over. Waiting is the real test.
Eventually, at around 8 o’clock, Robin rang. The news was not good. “They’ve booked him, Laura, and he’s due in court on Thursday morning.”
“Oh God – why not tomorrow, Rob?”
“Be grateful. It could have been Friday. I saw Pillay there, and Dhlomo. I did get the feeling he’s got it in for Daniel, though I don’t know why. He seemed to resent the fact that I was there and wanted to know who had contacted me. So he’s probably got it in for you too now. Anyway, Daniel will appear in the District Court, and we’ll get it remanded to the Regional Court for a bail hearing, probably around the end of next week. I can’t see it happening before then, Laura. I’ve explained to Dan that he’ll be kept in the holding cells until Thursday anyway, and probably until the second court date as well. He’ll be okay. Don’t worry too much about that.”
But I did worry. Dan was Zimbabwean, and there were always terrible stories about what happened in police cells, especially to people who might not fit in with the other inmates. It seems it doesn’t do to be different even, or particularly, among the criminal classes. And the police and warders either can’t or won’t help. But Robin did say that, for the moment anyway, Dan was alone in a cell.
“I asked Pillay on what basis they were arresting him, what their evidence was. He was pretty cagey, and I don’t think they’ve got a hell of a lot to go on. But Dan had been in contact with this Ndzoyiya guy, and he did deny any knowledge of him when he found the body.”
“But he had never seen him! He had no idea who he was!”
“I know, I know. But it doesn’t look good. And Pillay confirmed he had been in some kind of trouble with the police in Joburg – not arrested, but questioned about something that happened when foreign traders were roughed up and their supporters took on the thugs. The guys here are waiting for more details on that. But it does mean Dan’s name is known to the police, and in connection with a violent incident. Still, if the evidence for this killing is purely circumstantial, we can make a good case for bail. There’ll be conditions. He’ll probably have to stay down here, not go back to Joburg. And report to the police station, etc. Though as he’s an immigrant, and doesn’t own property, it may be tricky.”
“Rob, what kind of money will we be talking? I mean, I don’t think Dan’s got much at the moment, and while I can help a bit, and probably some of his other friends, it’s not going to be easy to find big bucks.”
“I would hope we could keep it to under ten grand – maybe even less than that. But it might depend on the magistrate. I’ll find out who the prosecutor is beforehand, and if it’s someone reasonable, we can try to make a plan. I know most of them, and over the years I’ve made a point of establishing working relations with them. Don’t worry yet, Laura. I don’t think the police have much of a case, at least at this stage. We’ll do what we can.”
“Thanks so much, Rob. I really appreciate this. But the money thing …” I kind of trailed off. I had no idea how I was going to raise the bail, let alone pay Rob. Ten grand was not the sort of cash I had lying around. I could ask my father for money, and he would probably help, but I didn’t like the idea. I’m a middle-aged adult: asking the folks for handouts is something I go a long way to avoid. A very long way.
“Hey, don’t worry. We’ll sort things out. Relax. Daniel was pretty calm when I left, and he’s given me a bit of info about his contact with this Ndzoyiya. Come into my office tomorrow afternoon and I’ll show you what I’ve got. We can see if there’s anything we can do, or find out. It’s too soon to worry.”
And I had to be satisfied with that. I sighed, and called Verne. He answered straight away, and I told him what Robin had said. I asked if he knew anything about Phineas Ndzoyiya, and he said he thought Dan had been given his name by someone working for some heritage body: Verne could shed no further light on who Ndzoyiya was or where he worked. Daniel had told him what he had told me, that his contact was the grandson of a Mendi survivor, and apparently was keen to see the tragedy remembered in a practical way. Dan had spoken to him over the phone about the exhibition and arranged to meet him. But more than that, Verne didn’t know.