FINALLY ADAM BROKE THE silence. “Come on, Laura. Let’s get you inside. Thembinkosi will let the forensic team in. And I’m sure he has able assistance from Ms Govender.” I could hear a smile in his voice as he placed a hand under my left arm and steered me back to the studio. “Now. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine, really. But … what’s going on? Do you know who killed Paul? And aren’t they kind of admitting something by leaving that card there? It could hardly have been dropped there by accident.”
He sat down opposite me. “Oh no. No accident. It’s a deliberate taunt. But then they obviously know that we know about them. I had already asked Paul Ndzoyiya if he had heard of them, you know. He said he hadn’t, but that he would ask around.”
The immediate lessening of my guilt was an almost physical sensation. I was not the only one who could have put Paul at risk. “He didn’t say anything to me when I asked him. He just said the same; that he would ask people down at the coast.”
“I asked him not to say anything to you, and told him not to ask around, and I hope he didn’t. I warned him to be careful, and I said I thought both you and he were potentially at risk. If he spoke to anyone, he didn’t contact us to tell us.”
“But then … how did the killer know that he knew about Flash Funerals?”
Adam shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe he did phone someone down in Pondoland. We’re checking his cellphone and landline records to see if we can find anything. Maybe he told his sister – and you said she was there when you spoke to him. She could have told someone. I haven’t met her, so I hadn’t warned her. We’re trying to make contact with her. She seems to have gone back to Mthatha, but we’ll need her to formally identify the body.
“I think the killers have overplayed their hand, though. That card, whether it’s genuine or not, is a deliberate taunt. They’re saying that even if we know who they are, they’re untouchable – and they’re not.”
For a moment, there was silence. Then Adam leaned forward. “Laura, tell me what you know about Martin Shongwe.”
In that instant the name meant nothing. Following the second murder, I had almost forgotten my concerns about how anyone would have known when Daniel would be visiting me. “I don’t know much, really. He’s a master’s student or something at the university. I’ve known him – only vaguely, mind you – for a couple of years or so. He’s quite aggressive: he was a student activist. Keen on seeing more black lecturers, saying the students need role models. He’s right, of course. But I did a semester’s teaching last year – filling in for someone who was on leave and supervising afternoon pracs after I finished at school. There was a certain amount of tension – some people felt the job should have been given to a black postgrad, and I think Martin had something to do with all that. Not that he ever spoke directly to me about it. And, anyway, there wasn’t anyone prepared to take the work on for what it was paying, him included.”
Adam nodded. He seemed to be about to say something, when my cellphone rang. It was in my pocket, and I got it out with difficulty, reaching across my body with my left hand. But I was too late: the call had already switched over to voicemail, and no message was left. The number was unfamiliar, and I shrugged and kept the phone on my lap. If they tried again, I would at least have it at hand.
“Why are you asking about Martin Shongwe? You think he’s mixed up in this?”
“Maybe. We’ve spoken to him, and we’ll talk to him again. But apart from possibly knowing where Mr Moyo was going on the day Phineas Ndzoyiya was killed, there’s nothing to link him to any of this. And he denies telling anyone. I just have a kind of hunch …” His voice slowed, and he turned to look at me. “But none of this is anything to do with you, Laura. Please remember that.”
“Your sergeant doesn’t seem to agree. I thought he was going to arrest me last night.”
“He was angry – not specifically with you, I assure you. So was I. So am I. A good man was brutally killed. But it’s not your fault.” I must have looked sceptical, or miserable, because he added: “Really.” He reached out and laid his hand gently on my left one. His touch was warm.
“You’re cold. Let me get you something to drink.” At that moment, Ness came in. Her sharp eyes missed nothing, but all she said was: “Your forensic people are here. I’ve let them in.” Adam nodded and went out to meet the other policemen while Ness and I stayed in the studio.
The police hung around for quite a while, sifting through the earth, broken shards and crushed tree outside the studio and photographing the mess, the marks on the wall and the impressions in the flower bed. And then they were gone. Ness stayed with me until Mike came home, and in all that time she said not a word about Adam Pillay. Maybe my obviously fragile state had persuaded her to treat me gently. For whatever reason, I was grateful. I didn’t need to be teased that morning, and anyway, I was aware that my feelings towards the Inspector were not quite those of a witness towards a cop, or, for that matter, towards someone who could be a subject for Vanessa’s light-hearted teasing. He inspired confidence and made me long to trust him. I needed someone to trust in my life, but to balance that I also did not need any further complications. And I had no reason to think Adam had any interest in me. He was just a nice guy: treating people decently was what he did. My world appeared extraordinarily bleak on that chilly Saturday.
Mike and Vanessa nobly cleared up the mess of the shattered pot, throwing away the broken pieces of terra cotta, and putting the earth and the mangled tree on the compost heap. The surviving tree looked vulnerable and lonely, standing there to the left of the door. Mike said we should get another one, to restore the pair. But I felt differently. One had gone: that was how it should stay.