Vee snapped the folder on the desk in front of her shut with her good arm.
‘I don’t buy it,’ she said. ‘And I’ll tell you why I don’t buy it.’
‘I’m sure you will, and I cannot wait to hear it,’ Sergeant Mthobeli said wearily. He was fed up with this woman, with her singsong accent and arm bundled in an unsightly sling. Violence against one’s person tended to deter other people, make them re-examine their priorities. No such luck here. Journalists.
Ezra Mthobeli felt some admiration too, despite himself. In addition to single-handedly rejuvenating a long-abandoned case and pushing it further than any officer had, this journalist appeared to be getting help. He didn’t know from where, but she was privy to a lot of information concerning the Paulsen enquiry that the press wouldn’t be in possession of. Moreover, she’d been allowed to take a quick look at the docket against her assailant. Orders dribbled down from the top, and all he could do was obey.
‘I can’t wait to hear why you don’t believe Carina Fourie is the one who tried to kill you. She has already turned herself in. On top of that, she has confessed to murdering Jacqueline Paulsen. I’ve heard about this so-called investigation you’ve been running.’ He wagged his finger under Vee’s nose and resumed stamping the reports piled on his desk. ‘You got lucky, young lady. After all this time and trouble, the case is solved. Your murderer has walked in and confessed, and you are still alive. Heh-heh, maybe you should come work for us!’
‘I don’t believe it because it doesn’t make sense.’
‘What doesn’t make sense?’ Sergeant Mthobeli banged his stamp one last time and put it to bed on a worn ink cushion. ‘The hit and run? We took statements from you and the one witness who saw everything, and your stories tally. Both you and, er … Mrs …’ He reached for Vee’s accident docket.
‘Mrs Pearl Nyathi,’ Vee chipped in. The angel who’d seen the attack and called the ambulance and police. Thank the sweet Lord for corporate jobs that required late nights and early mornings, otherwise she would’ve lain in the street for a long while. She had a lot to be grateful for: battered arm and ribs, bruises everywhere but no broken bones or internal injuries. This couldn’t become a habit.
‘Yes. Both of you saw the licence plate number. In fact, Mrs Nyathi remembered all of it. But then–’
Mthobeli slammed his hand on the desk and Vee jumped. The sergeant smiled beatifically and spread his palms. ‘A miracle happens! Before a case file is even opened, a woman walks into Pinelands police station and confesses to two crimes. Two!’ He brandished two fingers and wiggled them close to her face, in case the significance of such incredible fortune was lost on her.
‘This doctor claims to have killed a teenage girl, her husband’s love child. She also admits to using her Mercedes-Benz in an attempt to flatten a nosy journalist who was making her life miserable. That would be you, by the way. So,’ he waggled the docket chronicling Carina Fourie’s escapades, ‘we check out her story and guess what? It all holds water. She even drove the car with the smashed headlight to the station. Imagine that!’
‘Which brings us here.’ He smiled and waved his arm around the central police station, the squat building on the corner of Buitenkant and Caledon. Carina had been booked in Pinelands and transferred there. The mandatory two-day wait for a court appearance had passed and she was still in custody. Her lawyer was kicking up a fuss. The first hearing was scheduled for two thirty that afternoon. Mthobeli was looking forward to attending.
‘So, please tell me which part of this wonderful tale displeases you.’
Vee smiled. Let the sergeant have his fun. ‘Her story doesn’t add up.’
‘Where is your adding not adding up?’
Vee held her peace. She couldn’t mention that her boss rewarded heroic endeavours, that Portia had ways and means. Vee now had copies of the original police docket, as well as the full case file on the Paulsen disappearance. ‘There are holes in her story.’
‘There are holes in my shoes, but I still wear them,’ Mthobeli replied. ‘I don’t know if you are refusing to accept this and laying a formal complaint of culpable homicide. It is your right.’
Vee rubbed her arm. ‘I told you, I didn’t see the attacker.’ Which was the truth. She hadn’t even been able tell if the driver was male or female.
‘Then we have to wait until the good doctor gives us a more detailed confession,’ Mthobeli shrugged. ‘Until then, all we have is what she’s told us. Carina claims that Jacqueline went to their home late in the evening to speak with her father and found the house empty. Carina was the only person at home. Jacqui had always been rude to her and that night had been no different. Carina was facing the fifth anniversary of her son’s death and she didn’t want to deal with this child whom she wished did not exist. They had a heated argument that got out of hand and she killed Jacqui in a fit of rage. We have search warrants for their home but, to be honest, we are not optimistic.’
‘That’s the flimsiest confession I’ve heard,’ Vee snorted. ‘Killed her in a ‘fit of rage’, what is that? How did she do it? Where’s the body? Why has she refused to let her family visit her?’
The sergeant shook his head and picked up another stack of papers. He didn’t want to be rude, but he couldn’t spend his whole day on this young woman and her questions. ‘You can ask her yourself when you get the chance.’
A constable came in and made a silent signal to his superior. Sergeant Mthobeli turned to Vee, his forehead furrowed. ‘This is a huge favour we’re doing for you. I hope you know that.’
‘I do. Thank you so much.’ Vee got up. ‘Won’t take long.’
‘Ten minutes. In and out.’ Mthobeli picked up the stamp.
*
‘I know you didn’t do this.’
‘You know nothing.’
‘I know more than you do. That’s why your confession doesn’t line up and you’re buying time until you work out the details. It’s always the details that let you down, isn’t it?’
‘My story is airtight, my dear. I’ve made my peace with what I’ve done, and I’m willing to face the consequences. I’m actually at peace with putting my cards on the table.’ Carina held Vee’s gaze and hadn’t flinched once.
She’s willing to face the consequences, Vee repeated to herself. Martyr language, like she was taking the fall for someone else. ‘Lies are exhausting, Carina.’
‘Yes, they are. As I’m sure you well know.’ A smile flitted over Carina’s lips and was gone.
‘What do you mean by that?’
Carina shrugged with her mouth. ‘You are no innocent. You don’t look like one. I’m sure you’ve done your fair share of manipulation to get where you are today.’
Vee straightened up. ‘I have no secrets from anyone. And this isn’t about me, is it?’
Carina’s cackled. ‘All women are liars, my dear. It’s the bedrock of all our relationships. But you’re right; this isn’t about you.’
The room they were in was nothing more than four walls, ceiling and floor. They sat at a bare table with four decrepit chairs, space for lawyers and clients to confer. It was drab and featureless, like Carina had become. Her grey-blue eyes were washed out, like they’d been held under a running tap to leach out their colour and vitality.
‘What did you do to her? Where’s the body?’ Vee pressed.
Carina stared past her.
‘If you murdered her, you should know.’
‘You shouldn’t even be here.’
‘True, but you were the one who agreed to speak with me. They only allow lawyers and immediate family in here, but you gave your consent to let me in. Why?’
Carina shrugged. ‘Intelligent conversation, perhaps. You have been as invested in this …’ she waved a hand noncommittally, ‘affair, as if you are part of my family. I never bothered to ask you why. Why does this matter to you so much? Why would the death of this one girl make you so driven?’
Vee squirmed. ‘Stop deflecting. You won’t give specifics on what happened because you can’t. You probably weren’t even there. You have no clue if Jacqui’s dead or alive, any more than the rest of us do.’
‘Oh, she’s dead,’ Carina whispered. ‘She’s dead.’
Vee felt a chill race through her. Weeks of chasing testimony and stitching clues together, and here was her answer. If no supporting evidence ever surfaced that Jacqueline Paulsen was no longer of this earth, the look on Carina’s face would suffice.
Carina’s facial muscles contorted. ‘She took my child, took my life. So I took hers in return.’
Adele. These two women had climbed over Ian, the orchestrator of their suffering, to annihilate each other. ‘Talk to me, then. Let me tell your side of the story and make things easier for you.’
Carina scoffed. ‘You can’t help me. You know nothing. You’re nobody. You couldn’t even help yourself.’ Her grey eyes burned as she looked at Vee’s injuries. ‘I’m fine where I am.’ Carina went back to staring at the peeling paint on the walls.
Vee got up and knocked on the door for the guard to open up. The hinges whined as it opened. ‘Good luck,’ Vee said, and walked through.