The Monster's Daughter (39 page)

Mynhardt pointed his index finger at her. “Remember, my girl. Thin ice. Anything happens, you put a call out to Strijdom or Mathebe.”

Alet nodded with a smile, resisting the strong urge to throw him the bird under the desk. She picked up the call again. “Okay, Petrus. What's the problem?”

An elderly couple hovered right outside the station door while she listened to Petrus's rant. The man held on to the woman as if he needed her assistance to stay upright. They were well-dressed, a bit too glossy to be from the area. Alet covered the mouthpiece when they approached the service desk. “Be with you in a moment. Take a seat.” The couple didn't move, the woman's gaze remaining fixed on Alet.

“What did you say?” Petrus was working himself into a frenzy.

“Just tell me what you want me to do, Petrus.”

“Those
skollies
only come into town weekends to cause trouble.”

“They're kids, Petrus.”

“Kids my
gat
. There was that broken window last week. And I swear it's them that let the air out of my tires. A bloody nuisance, let me tell you.”

“You sure it's them? Maybe you got a puncture when you visited your girlfriend. Those farm roads are rocky, hey.”

Petrus responded with a nasty swearword and hung up. Alet suppressed a smile and turned her attention to the couple. “Can I help you?”

The woman stepped forward. “We're looking for Constable Berg.” Her accent was sharp, American, her tongue lingering on Buhrrrg.

“That's me.”

The woman smoothed her hand over her white bob and glanced back at the man. He nodded, refusing to look at Alet.

“I am Monica Saunders and this is my husband, Bill. We're Mabel's parents.”

“I'm not sure …”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Mabel Braverman.” The woman on the side of the road.

“
Ja
. Of course.” Alet walked out from behind the desk. “I am so sorry about what happened.”

Bill Saunders's eyes became glassy, his lip quivering. “We were told you found her. That you tried to help.”

“Would you like to sit?” Alet motioned to the charge office's wooden bench.

“We don't want to take up much of your time. We just … hoped that you could tell us what happened. Nobody will to talk to us.” Monica Saunders balled her fists. “We have a right to know. We're her parents.”

Alet touched the woman's shoulder. “I understand. Please.”

Monica nodded and sat down, Bill followed her. Alet knew she was supposed to refer them back to the investigating officer, but if anything like this had happened to someone she loved, she would have wanted to know too. She tried to relay only the facts, keeping her feelings out of it. She didn't mention names or that she was under investigation. Bill sobbed openly as she spoke. Monica looked dazed.

“I'm very sorry,” Alet said again.

“There's nothing else you can tell us?” There was hunger in Monica's eyes.

“That is all I can say.”

“We can't …” She reached for Bill's hand. “You're sure there's nothing else?”

“I have told you more than I should. May I ask why Mr. and Mrs. Braverman were in South Africa?”

Bill lifted his eyes. “Mabel, she—”

“Bill.” There was a warning in Monica's voice.

“Maybe it will help them,” he pleaded.

“Mr. and Mrs. Saunders, we want to bring this perpetrator to justice. If there is anything you know …”

Monica nodded. “You have to understand. They tried everything else.” She looked at her lap as she spoke. “My daughter was desperate and John, he loved her.”

“I don't understand.” Alet searched the two old people's faces.

“They came here for a baby.” Monica said the words reluctantly, tension tightening her mouth.

“I'm sorry?”

“They couldn't have a child and they couldn't adopt. John had a record. It's all so stupid.”

“Do you have the name of the adoption agency?” It was unusual for Americans to adopt black babies from South Africa. AIDS was rampant and the paperwork a nightmare.

Monica looked at Bill. He crossed his arms and stared out the window while he spoke. “Mabel said there was a man who could help them.”

“They were buying a baby on the black market?” Alet leaned forward. “Did she tell you how?”

Monica shook her head. “She only told me that they had to come
here and stay for the night. The contact said he'd find them. I was afraid that it might be a scam, but she wouldn't listen. Please, Constable. You have to understand. They weren't bad people.”

Alet escorted them out, promising to call if anything else came up. Monica asked again if there was anything else she could tell them. Bill didn't say a word, melting away silently as Alet shook his hand.

“There has to be a connection.” Alet got into the police van and handed Mathebe one of the bottles of Coke she had bought at the co-op. “I've never trusted Wexler.”

The van's windows were cranked open all the way, the air inside the vehicle still stagnant. Alet pressed the Coke bottle against her cheek.

“There is no evidence of his involvement.” Mathebe put his straw down on the dashboard and drank directly out of the bottle.

“Mabel Braverman's mother said that they had instructions to stay overnight in Unie. The only place they could have stayed is Zebra House. So what if that's the way Wexler contacts them? He plays host to the tourists, whatever, nothing looks suspicious from the outside.” Alet tried to remember the previous Thursday night at Zebra House. They probably planned everything right there in front of her and she was too busy worrying about Boet Terblanche to notice anything. “I mean, seriously, have you ever wondered why anyone from overseas would want to visit Unie?”

Mathebe considered it. “There is a problem with this.”

“There are many problems with this.” Alet ran the Coke bottle down her neck, the condensation on her cheek evaporating rapidly. “Which one were you referring to?”

“Where do they get babies?”

“Are you kidding? When I worked in Jo'burg we had to haul women off the street who offered their kids for sale on the highway. Some of the Zimbabweans rent kids out to beggars for twenty rand a day. Problem is, the beggars get more money if the kids look sick, so they drug them. Finding an unwanted child is not hard. The tough part is getting them out of the country. I think that's where Wexler comes in. He might have more people involved in this.”

“But where is the baby now?”

“Here's what I think. The Bravermans meet Wexler on Thursday night and set up a meeting place for the exchange. But there is a murder in town and the police are on the lookout for anything suspicious, so they decide to hold off for a few days, do some sightseeing, whatever, until things cool down. But then the Bravermans get hijacked, so the baby gets sold to someone else.”

“This is all speculation.”

“It's a theory. I haven't heard any from you.”

Mathebe was quiet for a moment. “The Braverman couple was here to buy a baby.”

“Ja.”

“To buy a baby and forge adoption papers costs money.” He turned to Alet. “Where is the money?”

“Well, I don't think Wexler is stupid enough to process baby payments through Zebra House's books.”

“The initial contact would have to be overseas. They would use foreign bank accounts.” Mathebe shrugged. “We might not be able to trace it at all.”

“Ugh. There must be a way.”

Mathebe looked intently at the co-op entrance. “It seems that Mr. Terblanche has bought a new irrigation system.”

“What? How do you know that?”

“I have been investigating this case too, Constable. Mr. Terblanche put the order in three days before we found Mrs. Pienaar. He promised Mr. Brink that he would pay in full by the end of the month.”

“So?”

“I had a look at Mr. Terblanche's finances.” Mathebe reached over and opened the glove compartment. He handed Alet an envelope.

Alet withdrew the bank statements inside. Boet's name and address appeared at the top, and string of negative numbers and interest charges ran down the page. “The drought's been bad. There isn't a farmer here who isn't struggling.”

“Mr. Terblanche has two mortgages.”

Alet pretended to study the bank statements. “It might be from something else,” she mumbled. “His wife's parents might have promised them money.”

“Perhaps.” Mathebe finished his Coke.

“Okay. So let's say he has something to do with this baby-buying business. We still don't know how it's connected with Trudie's murder, if at all. Besides, Boet has an alibi.”

Mathebe shook his head. “He was asleep at home with his wife.”

“And how does Trudie fit into all of this? I mean, I don't think she was even friendly with the Terblanches.”

“Perhaps not. But I found something else. Mr. Terblanche only owns half of the land he is farming. He leases the property where the body was found.”

“Who does it belong to?”

“Mrs. Pienaar.”

Alet looked at Mathebe in shocked silence. Could Boet be capable of murder? She didn't want to believe it.

“I do not know what it means yet,” Mathebe said, “but Mrs. Pienaar was murdered on her own land. It is possible she found out that Mr. Terblanche is involved with the baby trade. Mr. Terblanche could have killed her to keep her silent.” Mathebe shifted his weight. “There is also the matter of Dr. Koch's findings.” He had that tone of incredulity again, a look of distaste. “Mrs. Pienaar being … a different species.”

“Look, we don't know if it has anything to do with her death, hey. It might just be this weird thing nobody knew about.” Alet put Boet's bank statements back in the glove compartment, happy to be rid of them. “What we need is a connection between Trudie and the other Angel-killing victims.”

“If the two cases are related, there might be a link between Colonel Berg and Mr. Wexler.”

“Well, we don't know that they're related,” Alet said, aware that she sounded defensive. “Wexler is fit enough to get a body up that mountain, but he must have been in nappies when the first girl died. What bothers me is that someone felt threatened enough to shoot at me last night. Who knows that we found out about all of this? I mean, we barely know what's going on ourselves.”

“I have retrieved a bullet for evidence.”

“How are you going to explain that to Mynhardt?”

“I am holding it somewhere safe until we need it. How you are going to explain the condition of the truck to Miss Pienaar?”

“I'll think of something.” Alet leaned her chin in her palm and
stared out the passenger-side window at a row of white pickups parked next to the co-op. What did these people have against colour? A group of young black boys hung around the entrance, their bare legs dusty, some of them wearing baseball caps back to front, trying to look like gangsters, showing off for girls walking by. Too young, Alet thought, too eager to grow up.

“You have to talk to Mr. Terblanche.”

Alet looked back at Mathebe. “Why? You interviewed him already.”

“We did not have this knowledge yet.”

“He's not the talkative type, you know?”

“That is the job, Constable. You keep asking questions until you find the right answers.”

Alet sighed inwardly. “
Ja
. Of course.” The bent figure of Jakob caught her eye as he went into the liquor store down the street. “Okay, Sergeant. I'll get right on that.” She opened the van door.

“Be careful, Constable Berg.”

“
Ja
 … okay.” Alet got out of the van, suddenly feeling awkward. “You too.” As she walked down the street to the liquor store, a car horn honked behind her. Joey Joubert pulled up beside her.

“Alet! On the job again?”

“
Haai
, Joey.
Ja
. As of this morning.”

“I knew all that other stuff was nonsense. The old
tannies
are all yapping, but I told them no, you shut up. If Alet shot someone, they deserved it.”

“Thanks, man.” Alet glanced at the liquor store.

“Are you coming tomorrow?”

“Uh …”

“André is performing. For the fund-raiser.”

Right. It was the church bazaar weekend. “I don't know, Joey. I'm dealing with some things at the moment.”

“Oh come on, doll. It's a chance to dress up and have fun. You could use some. There's a special menu. Lemon meringue for dessert. Your favorite. And there will be booze.”

Alet raised an eyebrow.

“Only wine.” A sarcastic smile splayed across Joey's pouty lips. “If it's good enough for Jesus, it's good enough for
Dominee
Joubert.” He
touched her arm. “I'll save you a place at my table, okay? You can catch me up on who offed old Trudie. I know of a few
tannies
in town who prefer her six feet under.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Alet saw Jakob walk out of the liquor store, a brown paper bag clutched in one hand.

“Fine. Okay.”

Jakob turned the corner at the end of the block.

“Starts at eight.”

Alet waved at Joey as he drove on. She hurried to the corner. A few farmworkers stood outside the store, still in their blue overalls.

“Do you know where Jakob went? He was here, just now,” Alet asked them.

One of the men shook his head and looked away. Nobody else responded. Jakob couldn't have gone far. Alet moved down the street at a walk-run. It was late afternoon and Unie was buzzing with workers coming in from the farms and people spending their All-pay government money. Later, drunken fights would break out. A few would end up in jail. But for now, all that existed was the anticipation of a good time.