Seven-fifty the next morning found McQuade in the dining-room, drinking tea and reading the newspaper, while Sarah sat two tables away. At eight o’clock Lisa van Rensburg walked in, and McQuade’s heart went out to the girl.
She was pale, her eyes swollen. She forced a frightened smile, made her way to Sarah, and half-sat in the chair opposite. She leant across the table urgently.
McQuade watched, above his newspaper. Sarah smiled, but he was surprised that there was no smile in her eyes. She gave the sealed envelope to Lisa, who took it fearfully and fumbled it into her gym-bag. She shook her head, refusing coffee. Sarah put her hand on Lisa’s and said something. The girl replied imploringly. Then she got up and hurried out.
McQuade glanced compassionately at Sarah. She was staring sightlessly at her newspaper. He got up, and left.
She followed him a minute later. As they entered the bedroom he took her in his arms. ‘Thank you.’
‘We’re meeting her at three o’clock. In the cocktail bar.’
‘It looked as if you were a bit hard on her.’
‘Theatrics. Can we now please stop talking about it?’
McQuade nodded. ‘What would you like to do until we meet her this afternoon?’
‘I feel like getting drunk.’
He smiled. ‘The pubs aren’t open yet.’
Her arms hung limp. ‘I want,’ she said, ‘to make love.’
He put his arms around her. She did not respond.
‘I want,’ she said, ‘you to use me.’
Later, while Sarah was showering, McQuade telephoned Inspector Dupreez. He was not looking forward to this.
‘Well, it’s definitely murder, hey,’ Dupreez said. ‘The poor bastard was hanged to make it look like suicide. He was probably unconscious when he was put on the stool, because we found a bruise to the back of his head. At the postmortem the doctor also found bruises to his back and ribs. And he’d been kicked in the balls, man. There’s skin under his fingernails, so he scratched his assailant – his mother had no scratches. She was killed with a number of blows to the head.’
McQuade felt a surge of guilt for not telling Dupreez about the Toyota chasing him. ‘And when does the doctor say was the time of death?’
‘Between eleven p.m. Monday night and three a.m. Tuesday morning.’ Dupreez drew on a cigarette. ‘You left your girlfriend at Windhoek airport at five p.m. that Monday afternoon.’ Pause. ‘Where did you spend that night?’
McQuade felt his stomach contract. There was no mistaking that he was not above suspicion. ‘I reached Outjo after midnight. I slept in the Landrover for an hour or two at the roadside and got to Jakob’s kraal at sunrise.’
‘That was some drive, man. What was the hurry?’
‘As I explained to the Khorixas police, I felt it my duty as Jakob’s employer to inform his wife of the old man’s death and make funeral arrangements. Then I wanted to get to Johannesburg as fast as possible to be with my girl.’ He added: ‘She had urgent business and we don’t have much time to be together.’
‘Love will find a way, hey?’ the inspector said. ‘But I thought your girlfriend is on a holiday, so what’s her urgent business? What happened to the trip to Ai-Ais?’
Oh God! ‘Well, Jakob’s death put a damper on that. We started off for Ai-Ais but then she decided to go straight to Jo’burg.’
‘You started off for Ai-Ais? You see, if you were so concerned about informing. Jakob’s wife, why didn’t you go straight to his kraal from Swakopmund, instead of starting for Ai-Ais and then changing your mind?’
Oh Jesus. ‘We drove straight from Swakopmund to Windhoek, changed our minds on the way, and put her on a plane. I had also decided I really should go to Jakob’s kraal.’
There was a silence. ‘And you had no trouble with another vehicle?’
‘No. I’ve already told Sergeant Bekker.’
Another silence. ‘Why didn’t you sleep at the hotel in Outjo, instead of beside the road?’
McQuade felt feverish. ‘Because of the expense. And I only wanted a short sleep, to get to Jakob’s kraal early and then on to my girl.’
He could almost hear the inspector nod understandingly. ‘Yes, with these huge distances, I’ve often slept by the roadside myself. And where are you calling from now?’
‘A public telephone in Pretoria.’
Dupreez said sympathetically, ‘Still in Pretoria, man? When’re you taking the girlfriend on her trip?’
‘We’re on our way now.’
‘Oh, very nice. And where are you off to?’
‘Spending the weekend in the country somewhere. Then Sun City, probably.’
‘Very nice. Just don’t lose all your money gambling, hey? Okay, jus’ call me every third day, in case there’s anything further you can help us with.’
McQuade hung up grimly. Dupreez knew he was lying. That bastard was onto him, too.
He went into the cocktail bar, alone. He was feverish to get this business over with. A few minutes later Sarah entered. She sat alone on a couch in the corner.
Shortly after three o’clock Lisa van Rensburg entered. She hurried over to Sarah’s corner, and slumped down onto the couch beside her. Sarah smiled. ‘Got it?’
Lisa whispered breathlessly, ‘Yes, but I couldn’t get the photographs. There’re too many files and I haven’t got access to them easily.’
‘Too bad. Just act naturally and hand it over as if it was a cardigan I left behind.’
Lisa implored: ‘Do you swear this isn’t a trap?’
Sarah felt a heel. ‘Swear it. Have a drink.’
‘No.’ Lisa burrowed into her gym-bag, and pulled out a shopping bag furtively. Her eyes darted around the bar. ‘I must go now. Goodbye.’
She got up and hurried out.
Sarah finished her glass of wine. She walked out of the bar, carrying the shopping bag. McQuade swallowed his drink and followed her.
They entered the elevator. ‘Congratulations!’ But Sarah gave a bitter sigh.
‘I know,’ McQuade muttered. ‘But no harm’s going to come to her.’
‘She couldn’t get the photographs, too risky.’
‘Damn!’ He looked in the bag and saw a bulky sealed envelope.
They walked back to his room. He locked the door behind them, then went to the ice-bucket. ‘Well, despite that unpleasantness, we have plenty to celebrate.’ He added: ‘And murder is a very unpleasant business.’
She waved a finger at the bag. ‘Well?’
‘Later.’
‘Suppose there’s only newspaper in it?’
He pulled the envelope out of the bag, ripped it open, and drew out a wad of computer paper. He saw the name Strauss and a mass of data. He shoved it back. ‘It’s there.’
She smiled. ‘You mean you’re only going to study it when you’re alone? In case I peep over your shoulder.’
‘Please, Sarah. We’ve been over this.’
‘Okay.’ She looked at him soberly. ‘What happens now?’
‘How about a late lunch?’
‘And after that? Where do I go? I’ve served my purpose. I’ve told my lies and I’ve blackmailed your lesbian. Now you want me to go away.’
‘Sarah – this business is going to get dangerous. These bastards are after me.’
She sat up. ‘Please let me come with you.’
‘You’ve got your tour to do. And work.’
‘It is work,’ she cried. ‘Good God, I’m a journalist! I’ve stumbled across an explosive story of triple murder, and wanted Nazi war-criminals! Any journalist would give his eye-teeth for the story; and I can help you catch these bastards! Didn’t I do the job on Lisa?! Haven’t I corroborated your lies to the police?’ She glared, then pointed at the plastic bag. ‘I can help you find your man.’ McQuade started to speak, but she played her last card: ‘Look – I don’t even want to know the name on that print-out. Got that? Because I don’t want that kind of bullshit to spoil our relationship. So – go and read your print-out in privacy. But,’ she implored, ‘when you know where you’re going, take me with you.’
She was making it easy for him. I promise I will if I think it’s safe,’ he replied. ‘I need a couple of days alone, then I’ll phone you.’
She took a weary breath.
‘Okay. I get the message.’ She stood up. ‘I don’t want to feel a pest. So I’ll take a powder and let you get on with it.’
He was relieved. ‘Please understand.’
‘I understand perfectly.’
‘But let’s have lunch?’
‘And then drive our separate ways, into the sunset?’ She shook her head. ‘No, thanks.’
He said: ‘I love you.’
She looked at him.
‘I love you too,’ she said.