Let the Dead Lie (36 page)

Emmanuel
slid from under the spread of blankets. The mountain air had a bite and he
dressed quickly. Both sleep and dreams eluded him. Outside the night was a soft
velvet curtain drawn over the land. A lonely moon hung in the sky amid an
explosion of diamond-bright stars. The cold breeze carried the scent of dirt
and river stones up from the depths of the valley. He could hear distant water
running over rocks. He walked to the edge of the grass plateau and stared into
the abyss.

Weak
lights flickered on the crest of a hill. On the wind came the sound of an
automobile engine labouring up a rise. Twin lights grew stronger. Headlights.
Emmanuel checked the sky for signs of dawn but it was still too early. The
lights descended into the valley and came to a stop at the junction. The car
hesitated before turning left along the river. Emmanuel guessed it was the
tradesman and his unseen accomplice from the rope storehouse. He felt their
presence in his blood. They were headed for the clinic. Nicolai was right when
he'd said that this hunt would continue until the prey was trapped or dead.

He
cut across the grass flat to the building occupied by Shabalala and Lizzie and
rapped on the window. The creak of bedsprings was followed by a sleepy groan.

'Shh
...' Shabalala made the universal sound of comfort and opened the door. He was
puffy-eyed, a grey blanket wrapped around his broad shoulders.

'Visitors,'
Emmanuel said.

'I
will dress.' Shabalala went back inside and Emmanuel returned to the verge. The
headlights flickered through the tall grass that pressed onto the dirt track.
In half an hour the car would be at the circle of aloes. Shabalala ran to
Emmanuel's side and gazed into the valley.

'What
is it they seek?'

'They
are here for the Russian.'

'This
man can hardly keep one foot in front of the other. What value does he have? Is
he a chief of something?'

'He
was once a chief. The men in the car want to exchange him for one of their
own.'

The
interior lights in the Zweigman house came on and Natalya's primal groans
travelled out into the night. The thump of footsteps was followed by a murmur
of voices.

'The
baby is come,' Shabalala said. 'I will fetch my wife. She knows what to do.'

'Get
her,' Emmanuel said and studied the laborious movement of the car headlights on
the narrow track. The tradesman and his partner were travelling into unknown
territory. That would slow them but it would not stop them.

Shabalala
emerged from the hut with Lizzie, who held a lantern high into the darkness.
She skirted the vegetable garden and headed for the main house. The door opened
and Lilliana Zweigman hurried her inside.

'I'll
go,' Emmanuel said when Shabalala reappeared.

'I
don't know that there is a way to stop them. But it is worth a try. At least I
might be able to slow them down.'

'Until
the young one comes into the world,' Shabalala said. 'Maybe that is all the
time that is needed.'

'Yes,
maybe.' Emmanuel blew into his cupped hands. In Durban, winter had a residue of
subtropical heat but the mountains were icy, especially at night. 'I'll get a
coat from the old man's suitcase and a torch from the storeroom.'

The
storeroom door creaked open and Lana Rose stood in dim candlelight. She was
fully dressed with a crocheted blanket wrapped around her. 'What's going on?'
she asked.

'Natalya
is about to have her baby and there's a car coming up from the valley,'
Emmanuel said studying Lana's face. 'Any idea who's in the car and how they got
directions to the clinic?'

She
looked into his eyes. 'How would I know that?'

'Who
did you call from Labrant's Halt?' he asked and shouldered his way into the
storeroom. Two candles burned in the interior. 'Maybe you passed on directions
to the clinic then.'

'I
couldn't even find this place with a map,' she said, hands on her hips.
'Shabalala drove out here, remember?'

That
was true.

'Who
did you call?' he said and continued searching the shelves for a torch. There
had to be one here somewhere.

'The
major,' she said. 'I had to let him know where the next stop was after
Labrant's.'

Emmanuel
found a silver torch and pressed the switch. The beam was bright and narrow.
Lana stepped into the light.

'You
don't trust me,' she said.

'I
don't know anything about you.'

'Did
I imagine the night we spent together?'

'Okay.
I don't know
very much
about you.'

She
shook her head. 'You are the brightest and the thickest man I've ever met.
We've done more than just fuck, Emmanuel. I don't hotwire cars and steal from
Indian gangsters every day of the week, you know.'

'No.
But you have done those things before,' he said. 'And now you're the girlfriend
of a major in the police service. That's a big jump.'

'You
want to know why?' Lana stepped closer. 'My father was a gambler and a thief
and not much good at either.' She spoke clearly and quickly. 'He used the rope
storehouse on Signal Road to hide stuff he lifted from the freight yard. I
helped him pack and sell whatever he'd stolen. Sometimes I helped him steal the
things myself. Mr Khan bought a lot of it. Khan also hired me to serve drinks
at private parties. He likes white girls to work the bar. I let him touch me
but I never fucked him because Khan only respects what he can't have. You know
what it takes to get out of that kind of life, don't you Emmanuel?'

He
nodded. Even now, decades later, he was still amazed that he'd escaped Sophiatown
and a life interrupted by regular jail time.

'And
the major?' he said.

'He
pays my bills. When I've got enough money I'm going to move to Cape Town where
nobody knows me and I'm going to start over again. There. Do I have your trust
now?'

He
was stopped dead by the deluge of information but he had no doubt that Lana
would have it
all. . .
down to the very last wish.

'Yes,'
he said. 'You do.'

'Good.
What do I need to know?'

'The
men in the car are coming for the Russians. I'm going to try to stop them. Stay
with Nicolai and keep an eye on Lilliana. She panics easily.'

'Okay.'
They moved in tandem across the grass to the
stoep
of the main house and Lana went inside.

Shabalala
wrestled the Russians' suitcase onto the stairs. The intervals between
Natalya's groans had shortened and the sound of them had deepened.

'Beautiful.'
Zweigman's voice was calm amid the vocal work of childbirth. 'You are doing
beautifully, my dear. We will move to the clinic and by morning there will be a
baby.'

Shabalala
opened the case and threw Emmanuel a thick wool coat with a fur collar. A pair
of leather gloves followed.

'We
must move,' he said, selecting a long scarf, which he double-looped around his
neck and then tucked into the lapels of his police-issue winter jacket. 'Ready,
Sergeant Cooper?' For a fleeting second the operation felt real. The detective
branch ID and Shabalala by his side. That was where the fantasy ended.

'There
are things to be done here at the clinic. Important work,' Emmanuel said.
Despite the very real props, this was not an official investigation in which a
native constable was obliged to follow the orders of a ranking officer. 'You
don't have to come with me.'

'It
is women's business and doctor's business.' The Zulu constable removed a
home-made slingshot from his pocket and stretched the rubber band till it
snapped back with a twang. 'We must go. Our business is elsewhere.'

'Yebo
,' Emmanuel said and they set off
at a run towards the circle of mountain aloes. Flashlight played over the stone
walls of the clinic and the circle of dirt that led to the approach road. They
would move downwards to meet the car.

'Carry
on,' Shabalala said and stopped to collect a handful of pebbles, which he
dropped into his coat pocket - ammunition for the slingshot. Emmanuel waited.
They set off again and ran hard to put the lights of the Zweigmans' house
behind them. The thump of their feet on the dirt track was the only sound.

Small
circles of light from the stone houses grew dim and were soon eaten by the
darkness. The clinic disappeared into the bushland. Emmanuel slowed and swung
the beam of the flashlight along the sides of the road, on the hunt for an
obstacle to place in the tradesman's way. A fiery-necked nightjar swooped low
over the ground and caught a white moth in its beak before ascending into an
acacia tree.

The
throttle of the car engine grew louder.

'There.'
Emmanuel steadied the beam on a broken tree branch with spreading limbs. 'We'll
block the road with that.'

They
heaved and pulled. The branch was unwieldy and clung to the underbrush.
Headlights appeared through the grass.

'Together.'
Shabalala counted in Zulu:
'Kanye, kabili,
kathathu ...'

Muscles
strained and lungs burned with the effort required to break the tree limb free
of its bush mooring. Wood creaked and the branch shot forwards into the road.
Emmanuel stumbled but Shabalala grabbed him by the coat sleeve. The lights
rounded a bend.

'Quick,'
Emmanuel said. 'Hide.'

They
cleared the road and crouched in the long grass. A car appeared on the
straight. Twin shafts illuminated the tree branch, which lay to the left of
centre. Not so much of an obstacle as an annoyance. It would not stop the
tradesman for long.

'We
have to get them out of the car. Distract them.' Emmanuel glanced around for
ideas and came up empty.

Shabalala
pulled the slingshot from his pocket and said calmly, 'This I can do.'

The
black Dodge slowed to a stop and the tradesman got out of the passenger side
door. The breeze tugged at straw-coloured hair and whipped it across his
bloodless face.

'Cold
out here,' he said to the driver then pointed to the tree branch. 'This is the
reason I hate the fucking country. Go slow. I'll guide you around.' He stepped
forward and tried to push the branch out of the way. His hand shot into the air
and he jumped back with a yelp. 'Shit!' He examined the red indentation on his
skin. 'Something just hit me.'

Seconds
later the windscreen of the Dodge crackled under a rain of stones and the
silver grille pinged like a giant xylophone. The tradesman skipped and twirled
under the barrage; a drunk performing for loose change in a bush bar. Emmanuel
smiled at the impromptu tap dance. The half albino was not calling the tune
this time.

'Get
down!' the driver yelled from the safety of the Dodge. 'Get down.'

The
tradesman threw himself to the ground and crawled behind the tree branch for
cover.

'One
stone left,' Shabalala whispered.

'Wait
till he stands up,' Emmanuel said. After that, the plan ran out of steam.

'I'm
coming after you, Cooper,' the prone figure yelled. 'You'd better be
bulletproof.'

'Wait,'
Emmanuel said. 'Wait.'

The
tradesman stood, Colt revolver in hand. Shabalala's last shot hit him square
between the eyes. He reeled back and fell against the hood of the Dodge. The
car engine died and the driver's door opened. The tradesman came upright by
force of will. Lazarus with a six-gun.

'Now
I've got something for you.'

The
Colt was aimed directly at the patch of grass where Emmanuel and Shabalala
crouched. A bullet shredded leaves from the shrubs to their right. Far too
close for comfort.

The
tradesman walked forwards and squeezed out a bullet for every step. He undid
his coat buttons. Two gun handles poked out from his trouser waistband.

'Get
out of the car.' The order was given calmly. 'Bring the torches.'

'Run!'
Emmanuel said to Shabalala.