After he had signed a formal statement to the police, and had deposited Jakob into the safe custody of Potgieter on the Bonanza, McQuade had returned to his house and hastily packed a bag. He had a licensed pistol, which he put in his pocket. He also had an old twelve-bore shotgun, which he locked in the metal tool-box in the back of the Landrover. He drove fast through the night, back to Swakopmund, feverishly thinking it all through.
Firstly, it was clear that Inspector Dupreez suspected that Jakob was more than a gardener. Dupreez knew that McQuade had gone to Europe for some reason other than a holiday, then returned hurriedly, specifically to find the old man and keep him under wraps. He also knew that McQuade knew why Jakob had been tortured. That interview was all very bad news. The only consolation was that Dupreez had failed to connect the case with any submarine, and had not asked why the Bonanza’s last trip had been so short. Thank God the Bonanza was sailing at dawn, with Jakob on board.
Secondly, who were these two whites who ransacked his house and tortured Jakob? This was the really bad news. Obviously they knew about a submarine. Just thank God that Potgieter had stopped them dragging Jakob away to show them the whereabouts.
Who were these bastards? Red Straghan and his boys? Straghan was a hard character, but burning an old man with cigarettes? Was Straghan that hard?
If it was Red Straghan, that would be the good news. He would only be up against a bunch of treasure-hunting pirates. The terrible news would be if they were Germans. Then it was a whole different ball-game, because it meant that a German information network existed and that probably meant they were Nazis. Which probably meant that Heinrich Muller was going to be very hard to find, and very dangerous. If they were Germans, the only good news was it probably meant Heinrich Muller was alive and McQuade was not wasting his time in looking for him.
But whoever they were, what were they going to do to James McQuade?
Thirdly, what about Sarah?
He didn’t want her mixed up in this, and he didn’t want her knowing anything about this submarine, either. So? Tell her to catch a plane back to Johannesburg, while he drove across Africa to Pretoria?
No, he could not bear to let her down again. And what explanation could he possibly give her without hurting her? And without arousing her journalist’s instincts for a story? The very last thing he wanted was to lose her, and the safest thing he could do right now was to drive her away from the Skeleton Coast. He had told Inspector Dupreez that he was driving her to South Africa. Dupreez had all the resources to find out if that was true, and he would be very inquisitive if it wasn’t. So the best thing he could do was drive her to Johannesburg – she gave him an alibi.
It was after ten o’clock when he roared across the dry Swakop river. He parked inside the courtyard of the Europahof, rather than leave his Landrover outside for all the world to see. She came to the door in a bathrobe with worry all over her face. She closed the door behind him and said tensely, ‘I’ve just received a threatening phone call. Or rather you have. Literally a minute ago.’
McQuade stared at her. ‘From whom?’
‘I don’t know. This male voice said: “Is McQuade there?” I said, “No, who’s speaking?” He snarled: “Just tell McQuade to lay off or else!” Then he hung up.’
McQuade stared at her, his heart knocking.
‘What was his accent? English-South African, like mine. Or Afrikaans? Or German?’
‘Not like yours. Afrikaans. Maybe German. They sound pretty similar out here.’
‘How did they know I was here?’
She demanded, ‘Who’s “they”?’
‘Don’t know. The same guys who beat up Jakob, obviously.’
‘And how did they know you were here?’
He shook his head. ‘Like the police said, it’s a small town. We’ve been seen together. Maybe they followed me from Walvis Bay this afternoon.’
‘But you must have an idea who your enemies are. And what you’ve got to lay off from?’
Oh, this was getting tricky. ‘Just a fishing dispute. With my rivals. It could be any number of guys.’ He added unconvincingly, ‘It’s a cut-throat business.’
‘And what’s this dispute about?’
‘It’s very complicated.’
‘But what would poor old Jakob know about a very complicated fishing dispute? He’s an old peasant, not even a member of your crew.’
Just then the telephone rang again. Sarah looked at him. McQuade took a breath. ‘Answer it.’
She picked up the receiver. ‘Yes?’ Pause. ‘Yes, he is. Who’s speaking?’ Then she turned to McQuade. ‘Inspector Dupreez.’
McQuade took the receiver. ‘Yes, Inspector?’
Inspector Dupreez said, ‘Sorry to trouble you again, hey, but I’ve got bad news. Your boy Jakob has just died.’
McQuade was aghast.
The inspector went on, ‘Mr Potgieter has just come to report it. He went to Jakob’s bunk and found him dead. Probably fractured skull and internal haemorrhage, the doctor says. Anyway there’ll be a post-mortem examination tomorrow.’
‘Oh God,’ McQuade breathed, ‘poor man …’
The inspector said: ‘This changes the case to murder, hey.’ He paused. ‘So, are you quite sure you have nothing further to tell us, Mr McQuade?’
‘I’ve told you everything.’
‘Well, if you think of anything, please telephone me immediately. And we’d better record a statement from Miss Buckley. We can send a man over right away.’
‘But Miss Buckley knows nothing.’
‘Let me speak to her, please,’ the inspector said.
McQuade handed the receiver back to Sarah.
‘Hullo?’ Sarah said. ‘Murder?’ She listened, aghast. ‘Of course. Now is better than the morning. Goodbye.’
She replaced the receiver, and turned to McQuade.
‘Now it’s a murder case …’ She stared. ‘Are you going to tell them about the threatening phone call?’
‘No,’ McQuade said grimly.
She stared. ‘You don’t want me to mention it?’
‘Correct.’
‘And why not? It seems to me to be most relevant.’
‘It’s my business, Sarah.’
‘Like hell it’s just your business! Now it’s a case of murder!’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘Look – if I’ve got to withhold information from the cops I’d like to know why! I don’t want any trouble. I’m a nice American on a good-behaviour tour and I don’t want my editors to hear that this reporter topples into bed with a man who’s covering up murder! Supposing I’m detained as an accomplice?’
McQuade sighed angrily. What he had to do had no place for a woman in it, nor for her penetrating questions. ‘I’m not covering up a murder. I’m trying to find a murderer! So I beg you please not to mention that threatening phone call because it will complicate matters. But you’re right. I don’t want you involved in this. So tomorrow you fly to Johannesburg and I’ll drive alone. I’ll contact you when this is over.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Just let me get one thing straight, Mr Secretive McQuade. Is this trip to Pretoria to find the murderer?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you were going to Pretoria before Jakob was murdered. So has this murderer murdered before?’
‘Yes. And that’s all I’ll tell you.’
‘And Jakob knew about this man?’
McQuade sighed. ‘No. And I’m not going to explain myself.’
She glared. ‘Can you just explain how you’re going to find the murderer?’
‘That’s my business, Sarah.’
‘Is it, hell! One minute I’m making mad passionate love to you, the next the cops are announcing murder! Listen, buster’ – she tapped her breast – ‘I like to know who I’m fucking! How do I know you’re not a crook?’
‘You’ll just have to take my word for it.’
‘Or tell the police the snippet about the threatening phone call?’
He looked at her angrily. ‘If you do, it will screw everything up. Because they’ll question me about what I’m supposed to lay off, and then they’ll try to find this guy I’m after. And they’ll screw everything up. Believe me.’
She stared. Then demanded, ‘And if I don’t tell them, will the cops leave us alone? Or are they going to be on our backs for the rest of my jolly holiday?’
‘They’ll leave us alone. We haven’t committed any crime, and we’re not suspected of any.’
‘Then, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t drive to Johannesburg with you!’
He said firmly, ‘I don’t want you involved, Sarah.’
‘I am involved! I’m making false statements to the police! I know something about a murder which I’m withholding from them.’ She looked at him. ‘And I’m involved emotionally. I want to come with you …’
McQuade sighed. And smiled. ‘Okay. I also want you to come. But I won’t answer any more questions.’
She held up a hand. ‘Okay. But do try to find it in your heart to understand that I’m worried witless about what’s happening. What may happen to me …’