I woke to the sound of thunder. I sat straight up. Where was Jessie?
It was light. I’d overslept. The last time I’d heard thunder was with Jessie, the night of Lawrence’s murder. My spinning thoughts were now focused, hunting:
What was the murderer doing there that night? Why was he looking in her study? Did he find what he wanted?
Anna told me that the study was messed up again. Dirk thought it was Martine’s ghost. Anna thought it was Dirk. But what if it was the murderer? Still looking?
And if he didn’t find what he wanted – where was it?
The thunder was rumbling but no rain was falling. I looked out of my window. The clouds were dark and heavy. It felt like they were about to burst.
Her office at work, I thought. She would have papers there.
I got dressed then went into the lounge.
‘Henk?’ I called.
There was a crash of thunder and a flash of lightning and the heavens opened and fell onto my house. Rain battered down on my roof.
I looked out onto the stoep. Not Kannemeyer but Vorster. He spoke but I couldn’t hear him above the rain.
I went closer and asked him: ‘Any news? About Jessie.’
He shook his head. I stood on the stoep and watched it pouring down. It washed away the view of the hills and mountains. I could only just see the big gwarrie tree.
It was good to have rain, but I could feel no gladness. I was too worried about Jessie. I prayed she was okay. Can I call it prayer? I sent my feeling of longing, that was as strong as an arrow in my heart, up into the sky:
Rain down on Jessie. Keep her safe. Lead me to her.
I went and stood out in the rain. The water flattened my hair, ran down my face, wet my clothes. Vorster must have thought I was mad, but I didn’t care.
Help me find Jessie, I asked the rain. Alive.
Since I was already wet, I walked around the back of my house to check on my chickens. They were all there, tucked under the shelter of their hok.
They gave me a couple of warm eggs and I cupped them in my wet hands. My veldskoene had handled the water, but I needed to change into dry clothes. I put on my pale blue dress with buttons down the front. I fried and ate the eggs for breakfast. Then I phoned Hattie at the office.
‘Maria,’ she said. ‘Oh, heavens! I was about to call you. The police have just left.’
My heart beat in my throat.
‘Is Jessie . . . ?’
‘Her boots, they were on the doorstep when I arrived. Destroyed. Burnt.’
‘Burnt?’
‘Constable Piet thinks they were fried. They’re all black and oily.’
I could not find words. The rain was falling softly now.
‘Piet reckons the boots were left here in the early hours of the morning,’ said Hattie. ‘They were sheltered by the eave, so they didn’t get too wet and he could read some signs, don’t ask me how.’
‘No sign of Jessie or her scooter?’
‘No. They’re still searching. I promised Kannemeyer I’d call you.’
‘We’ve got to find her.’
‘Poor Reghardt’s a wreck. Before now there was a tiny chance of another explanation . . . I’d even hoped she was off investigating something. You know what a bloodhound she is when she gets on a trail. But now with the boots . . . ’
‘I’ll come in to the office now, Hats. I’m just going to stop at the Spar on the way. I’ll explain when I see you.’
I called Kannemeyer but he wasn’t answering his cell so I left a message. I told him I’d heard about the boots, and my thoughts about the messy papers in Martine’s office. And that I was going to stop in at the Spar on my way to the Gazette.
‘Wait,’ said Vorster, as I headed out. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going to work,’ I said. ‘You can go and look for Jessie.’
Vorster nodded, but he stayed sitting. He wasn’t taking orders from me. I walked carefully along the walkway, trying not to step in the streams and puddles.
The travelling tin of rusks rattled beside me as I drove. The veld and farms looked blurry in the soft rain.
‘I’m going to find Jessie,’ I told the rusks.
By the time I got to the Spar, the rain had stopped. I knocked on the office door. But there was no answer. I peered through the mirror strips, and saw no one inside, but knocked again anyway. A young man came up to me.
‘Can I help you, Mevrou?’
He had a pale white face with skin pulled tight over his bones, and a neat short-sleeved shirt with green stripes.
‘Is the manager here?’
‘He’s coming in a bit later today, ma’am,’ said skull-face politely. ‘I am the floor manager. Can I help you?’
‘I need to look through Mrs van Schalkwyk’s papers in the office. It’s important.’
‘I’m afraid Mr van Wyk will need to let you in for that.’
‘Don’t you have keys? It’s really important. Life or death.’
‘You’ll need his permission, ma’am.’
‘Can you call him?’
The young man frowned at me and walked away. He spoke on his cell phone then came back to me.
‘He’s on his way, ma’am. He won’t be long.’
I walked up and down the aisles of the shop, hoping it would calm me down. The sight of all that food usually does. But today it didn’t help. I went back to that floor manager with the bony face.
‘Did you see Jessie here yesterday after six o’clock?’
‘Jessie?’ he said.
‘Pretty girl, reporter, works at the Gazette.’
He shook his head, and said, ‘Sorry, don’t know her.’
‘Her cousin works here. What’s his name? Boetie. Can I speak to him?’
‘Sorry, ma’am, Boetie called in sick today.’
I walked past the cold meats and the butter and yogurts. Rooibosflavoured yogurt. That was a new one. I spotted Marietjie at a till.
‘Marietjie, did you see Jessie last night?’
‘Hello, Mr van Wyk,’ said Marietjie, looking past me.
‘Mr van Wyk,’ I said. ‘I’m glad you are here.’
Mr van Wyk was blowing his nose. His eyes were red and puffy. His hair was smoothed across his head, but it had been done badly and a bald patch was showing.
‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘A cold. Nothing serious.’
It looked pretty bad to me, but I wasn’t going to let some germs slow me down.
‘Did you see her, Marietjie?’ I asked. ‘Yesterday after six?’
Marietjie shook her head and opened her till, started sorting through the change. Mr Van Wyk coughed.
‘How can I help you?’ he said.
‘Can we go to your office?’ I said.
As he led the way, he smoothed the hair on his head sideways, trying to get it in place. His shirt was creased, like he had no one to iron for him.
‘I need to look through Martine van Schalkwyk’s papers,’ I said.
He didn’t invite me to sit. He wiped his chocolate-milk moustache, but it didn’t go away.
‘What are you looking for?’ he asked.
‘Um, I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘I’ll know when I find it.’
‘The police have already been through her papers,’ he said.
I sat down at Martine’s tidy desk.
‘Would you mind if I looked through them again?’ I said.
‘I don’t really see how it’s any of your business . . . ’ he said.
He was standing, his arms folded, looking down at me.
‘It’s part of the Klein Karoo Gazette investigation into Martine’s murder,’ I said. ‘I’m Maria van Harten, a reporter and a friend of Martine’s.’
‘Look,’ he said, ‘I don’t think you should be sticking your nose into police business, but of course I want Martine’s murderer to be caught. So I’ll let you look through her papers. I’ll even help you.’
He pulled a chair up next to mine and we started going through Martine’s desk drawer and her trays, labelled In and Out. I didn’t really want his help, but I was glad he wasn’t stopping me. There was a big pile of books on her desks. They were full of columns with numbers.
‘Don’t you people do your maths on computers these days?’ I said.
‘Sure,’ he said, ‘but the auditor needs hard copies as well. There’s her computer.’ It was a little white laptop. ‘You want to look at it? The police took a copy of the hard drive.’
‘Another time,’ I said.
If the murderer had been searching through her papers, then it was paper I needed to look for. I opened a book titled Ladismith. It was full of columns and codes with numbers and ticks. I didn’t really understand it, and I think Van Wyk could see that.
‘She kept records of sales,’ he said. ‘She also noted all the stock coming in and out. These codes refer to items of stock.’
He leaned forward to point them out. He smelled funny. Like spices gone wrong. Too much pepper. I wondered if his wife cooked for him. Marietjie had mentioned a wife.
‘Does your wife like to cook?’ I asked.
He sneezed.
‘She’s gone away,’ he said. ‘Staying with her sister in Durban. I’m looking out for myself.’
He should use a recipe book, I thought.
I paged through the book, while he blew his nose. There was another book with Regional written on it.
‘What’s this about?’ I asked.
‘She kept a summary of the sales and expenses of all the Spars in this region. I’m the regional manager, you know. The bookkeepers in the other branches email through their information, and she puts it all together.’
I nodded. I picked up a really fat book called Salaries, which seemed to cover the salaries of all the workers in all the regions, their UIF and pension and all. The workers didn’t get paid very much.
There were too many books and too many pages. I was looking for a loose leaf of paper. Something that she might have been hiding. I didn’t have time to look through each page, so I turned the books on their sides, shaking them. But nothing fell out.
‘Have you looked through the papers at her house?’ Van Wyk asked me.
He was also shaking the books now.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Nothing useful?’
I shook my head.
‘What kind of paper do you want?’ he said. ‘Any idea at all?’
‘Well, it might be something to do with money,’ I said. ‘Maybe a sale.’
I was thinking of that cash deposit.
I shook out the other books on a shelf above her desk. Two were about accounting and another was a novel. We skimmed through all the loose papers in her desk drawer and her trays. I scratched in the back of her drawer and I came across an electricity bill and a shopping list. On it was written Lamb knuckles, and it made me think of that mutton curry recipe I’d sent her.
Then I had a thought. It hit me like a hand on my forehead and I had to clamp my mouth shut so I didn’t cry out. How could I have been so stupid?
‘Thanks for your help, Mr van Wyk,’ I said. ‘May I use your phone?’
‘What is it?’ said Van Wyk.
‘Oh, nothing,’ I said. ‘I just need to get going.’
I looked up a number in the phone book and dialled and asked for Dirk van Schalkwyk.
‘He’s in a meeting right now, can I get him to call you back?’ said the lady at the AgriMark.
‘No, don’t worry,’ I said.
I was sure Dirk wouldn’t mind if I just popped in at his house.