Читать книгу Blood at Bay - Sue Rabie - Страница 12

David changed the sheets on his bed for Kathy, gave her one of his T-shirts and a clean towel, and then made up the bed in the spare room for himself.

Stowaway spent the night with Kathy. On the bed. On his pillow. So David lay there in the spare room, thinking about her, about the woman sleeping in his bed next door. That morning, before he had met Kathy, he had been wallowing in loneliness, obsessing about his nightmares. He hadn’t thought about his nightmares all evening. He thought about Kathy, about Peter, about the faceless man falling in the shredders at the sugar mill, about the man killed in the car crash. He thought about Peter’s parents, how they would be struggling to sleep as well. In the end, he did eventually nod off …

… and promptly woke with a cold nose on his chin and the sun shining through the curtains. The cat was perched on his chest, its paws tucked underneath it and its bright green eyes staring at him as he awakened.

“Damn thing,” he groaned, pushing it away.

The cat was unperturbed by his apparent disinterest and climbed back onto his lap as he tried to sit up. It meowed, demanding attention.

“All right,” he groaned. “I’m getting there.”

He picked it up, flipped the bed covers back and got out of bed; then he carried it out to the kitchen for breakfast. But Stowaway had already been fed. A saucer of fresh milk was placed next to a cup as a water bowl, and last night’s dinner plates were washed up and drying in the sink.

There was a note on the kitchen counter, along with a phone number:

Thanks for last night.

Phone me when you get up?

Kathy.

David phoned straight away.

“You looked exhausted when I came in to wake you,” she explained after he had asked her how she was. “So I let you sleep.”

“Where are you?” he asked.

“I’m going to work, to help with … Peter’s things.”

“Oh,” he replied. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“I want to. I’ll feel better doing something constructive for his parents, at least. There were some photos of them on his desk, and some personal items I know the police won’t want but will make all the difference to them.”

David understood. “All right,” he said. “But phone me if you need anything.”

“I will,” she replied. “And David?” she added.

“Yes?”

“Thanks for being there last night, and for being such a gentleman.”

He told her it wasn’t a problem at all, and she hung up. David closed his phone and peered down at Stowaway who was sitting at the front door watching him expectantly. “So,” he asked the cat, “what now?”

He didn’t have a delivery any more; the second consignment of machinery parts had been postponed by Ms Prinsloo until further notice. His next delivery was only later next week.

“Well, there’s only one other job left to do,” he told the cat. “And someone has to do it.”

Clean the heads.

He dressed in an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt, grabbed his jacket and the kitten and packed her and her cat litter into his Land Rover. He drove to a supermarket to buy cat food and a set of eating and drinking bowls for her. He also bought some cleaning equipment: toilet brushes, disinfectants and black bags. He added bottled water and sandwiches for his own lunch.

The trip down to the yacht club was negotiated with Stowaway on his shoulder trying to get out of the Land Rover’s window, the section from the car to the yacht with Stowaway clawing at his chest while he juggled with the security disc. The guard at the gate saw his dilemma and let him in with a grin.

It was a bit of a mission getting Stowaway back onto Sea Scout. The cat was acutely aware of the water on either side of her and meowed agonisingly as David clambered up the boarding steps and into Sea Scout’s wheelhouse. He struggled frantically with the lock to the aft companionway and managed to get it open just before the cat started shredding the front of his shirt. David let her go and she fled straight down into the saloon.

He sat at the cockpit for a good minute, trying to recover his composure before he went below. He noticed the boat had been realigned at her moorings, her new fenders keeping her well away from the jetty. Baumann had kept his promise to sort out the moorings. But that was all. The saloon and cabins were still in a mess; the galley was still clogged with dirty dishes. Oh well, David thought, he had promised Julian he would take care of it.

He left the cat wherever she had gone to ground and returned to the car to collect the box with the food and cleaning equipment. When he got back Stowaway was sitting on the cluttered saloon table batting at a half-dead cockroach.

“Well done,” he praised her. “Now, go get another.” She ignored him and started cleaning her paws.

Where should he begin? He started by opening every port light, and hatch he could find; then he took a plastic bag and picked up beer bottles, broken glasses, food wrappings and any other disposables. Another bag dealt with the litter in the saloon. Next came the unbroken dishes and glasses, Stowaway following him with avid interest. He stacked the still intact cutlery and crockery in a box and collected all the abandoned clothes, old bedding and mildewed beach towels. They would go to a Laundromat, then to the Salvation Army. Any boating equipment he stowed in the poop cabin – ropes, harnesses and life jackets – leaving them for another day.

It was hot inside the boat and he took off his shirt as he worked. Stowaway claimed his jacket, which he had left on a seat in the saloon, as a bed for her mid-morning nap.

“Cheeky thing,” he reprimanded her.

The next job was wiping down all the surfaces – the saloon table first, then the galley. Finally, there were the heads. He was just about to pull on some gloves and start with the toilet when his cellphone rang. He scratched around in the cleaning equipment to locate it.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Mr Roth? Sergeant van Heerden.”

“Sergeant,” David sighed. “What can I do for you?”

“The inspector is looking for you, Mr Roth. We’re at your flat and he’d like a few words with you.”

“I’m sorry, I’m down at the yacht club—”

“Which one?”

There was more than one? “The Royal Natal.”

“Whereabouts at the Royal Natal?”

“On a yacht called Sea Scout.”

“International or local jetty?”

Sergeant van Heerden knew his yacht clubs quite well. “Local.”

“Right. We’ll be there soon.”

“Right,” David echoed, finding new respect for Sergeant van Heerden’s interrogation skills as the policeman hung up.

David took a break to walk to the jetty gate and tell the security guard he was expecting visitors. The security guard, whose name badge said Blessing, assured him he would allow the guests entry. David thanked him and returned to Scout. He climbed back down into the saloon, only to be accosted by a clearly hungry Stowaway.

“Okay, okay,” he told her as he scooped a dollop of kitty food into her bowl. “And just because I’m getting to like you, you can have another roach for pudding.”

He ate his sandwich on deck, enjoying the view of the marina from the poop deck and watching Stowaway work her way through her roast turkey and rice. He took his time with the sandwich, delaying the inevitable job of cleaning the toilets.

Both bathrooms were still in a state. He pulled on the gloves, tied a hankie over his nose and mouth and began cleaning. He finished on the main toilet and was about to start on the en suite bathroom when a call came from outside.

“Mr Roth? Permission to come on board?”

David pulled the hankie down from his face. “Come inside,” he called back and went up to meet the police.

Inspector Govender was still in his light-brown suit and blue tie.

Sergeant van Heerden had his jacket over his arm. He still had his tie on, but it was loosened at the collar. They both looked like they had been up all night. David watched as they climbed into the wheelhouse. Two uniformed policemen waited behind them on the walk-on. They didn’t board, but stood, imposing, beside the boat. David didn’t like their brooding presence or the threat they symbolised.

“Inspector,” he greeted warily. “Sergeant.”

“Mr Roth,” Govender looked him up and down with a grimace. “I thought you were a businessman, not a boat cleaner?”

David looked down at himself. He had been sweating from the heat in the cabins below, and the pink latex washing-up gloves he wore were smeared with foul-smelling grime.

“It’s therapy,” David told him with a forced smile as he stripped off the pink gloves and set them aside. “Someone recommended fresh air and sunlight.”

To David’s surprise, Inspector Govender laughed. “Sunlight? I’ve seen inmates freshly released from prison with darker tans than yours.”

David frowned at him. The reference to prison had an edge to it, and David didn’t like where the conversation was going. Inspector Govender gazed around at the pristine deck and neatly covered sails. “Nice boat.”

David nodded, glancing at the two uniformed policemen who still waited on the walk-on. “She’s getting there,” he said, pointing to the several refuse bags waiting to be hauled off the deck.

“She yours?” Govender asked, straightening slightly and narrowing his eyes.

David knew that look and sighed. “Unfortunately not. She’s my uncle’s. I’m just overseeing some work that needs doing.”

“Ah,” Govender said. “Pity.”

David “hmmed”, not quite sure if he agreed or not.

“Sergeant van Heerden said you had some questions?” he reminded the inspector.

Inspector Govender got back to business. He gazed around the wheelhouse, searching for a place to sit. He indicated for David to do the same. Sergeant van Heerden stood at the cockpit with his notebook ready.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a criminal record, Mr Theron?”

There it was. They knew his real name, and now they knew what he had done. “I wasn’t aware I needed to give you that information, Inspector,” David told them carefully. “I’ve served my time and the courts allowed me to change my name, legally. I prefer Roth, thank you.”

“As a parolee you are expected to notify the police of all your movements. Why didn’t you report to us when you arrived in the city?”

David frowned. “My parole is over, Inspector. I’m a free man, unless you suspect me of something.”

Govender sat up straighter, a strange expression on his face. David suddenly realised the real reason for Govender’s visit. “The fire wasn’t an accident, was it?” he asked. “Peter was murdered.”

Govender nodded. “The preliminary coroner’s report on Peter Calder’s death came in last night, Mr Roth,” he said. “At first the arson investigator suspected accidental death due to smoke inhalation, but there was something that indicated otherwise.”

David just looked at him, waiting.

“We suspect Mr Calder was asleep when the perpetrators broke in,” Govender told him. “There were no lights on in the house and he was still in his pyjamas.” He waited to see David’s reaction.

“Oh?” David said with a blank expression on his face.

“Whoever it was that killed him covered their tracks quite well, Mr Roth. There’s no sign of forced entry and no apparent cause of death. Except for one small thing.”

David suspected that one small thing would somehow fill up his life.

“He drowned,” Inspector Govender told him.

David stared at him in disbelief. “He drowned? How does a man in a burning house drown?”

“We were hoping you could tell us that, Mr Roth.”

“Why ask me? I have no idea.”

Govender watched him for a moment. “Whoever it was held him underwater,” the policeman went on. “Repeatedly. Probably trying to get information out of him. The glue and abrasions and ripped hair on his wrists confirm that. Our medical examiner was able to ascertain they tied his hands together with duct tape.” David glanced away, imagining the scene. Peter must have suffered greatly. Attacked. Tied up. Half drowned. Only, whoever was questioning him must have gone too far, held him underwater too long. They must have set fire to the house to get rid of any evidence.

“I’m sorry I have to ask you this, Mr Roth,” Govender said. “Standard questions, you know, but where were you the night before last, around the early hours of four or five in the morning?”

David’s attention was brought abruptly back. He stared at the policeman, speechless. He had been expecting it, but having just heard how Peter died and the accusation the question itself posed was almost too much. He had to physically control himself, force himself not to react. “I was at home,” he told them in as controlled a tone as possible. “Asleep.” Or trying to, he thought through the anger.

“Was anyone with you to corroborate that story?” the inspector asked meaningfully.

He was referring to Kathy, and this time David couldn’t help but frown. “No,”he said firmly. He felt his anger rise but kept it in check. He didn’t mention that last night she had in fact spent the night.

A look came into Inspector Govender’s eyes; it was as if he were weighing David up, as if he had come to an eventual decision. “I did a little digging on you, Mr Roth, about what happened up in Boston in that snowstorm.”

There was an implied question, but David didn’t respond.

“You saved all those people. You’re quite the hero.”

Still David didn’t reply.

“But, apparently, a lot of money went missing,” the inspector drawled.

David glanced at him sharply. “I had nothing to do with that.”

Govender grunted again. “I heard that orphanage up in Harrismith is doing well. They built a new library for the kids.”

“I’m very happy for them,” David replied steadily. “Someone must’ve made a substantial donation.”

Govender smiled. “You mentioned last time that you were delivering equipment to the Umvoti Mill?”

David nodded.

“Where did you get the money to invest in a new business, Mr Roth?”

“I sold my petrol station and garage in Boston. To Phiwe M’Lozi; he was the assistant manager at the time.”

“And how did you get the job in Dalton?”

“A Ms Prinsloo contacted me. She found my details on the internet. I have a website.”

Govender seemed to accept that easily. “You have some good friends on your side, Mr Roth. Everyone I asked vouches for you – the police involved in the Boston incident, the authorities who investigated.”

David didn’t respond.

“But it also seems you’ve got some enemies …”

David looked up sharply.

“Yesterday, you mentioned that Peter Calder removed a document from the Umvoti Mill records. Well, this morning an anonymous caller phoned our offices and told us quite a lot about you, Mr Roth. It seems they knew about your stint in prison as well. They also alluded to your collaborating with Peter Calder in the theft of those documents.”

“What!”

“We contacted the mill about the theft, and their financial manager, a Mr Maritz, confirmed that there were papers missing.” Govender watched him carefully. “How can you explain that, Mr Roth?”

David was barely listening. Someone was accusing him? Of theft?

“In fact,” Govender went on, “Mr Maritz was quite helpful. He tells us his secretary was with Mr Calder the whole time he was packing away their auditing equipment, and that Ms Barnett was in no condition to take any papers as she was ill at the time. He suggests that, if anyone took anything, it was you.”

David tried to stay calm.

“Do you have the document, Mr Roth?”

David was icily firm with his reply. “No.”

“Would you give us permission to search your flat?”

David held his temper in check. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

Govender looked at him, his head inclined. “I believe you,” he said, sighing heavily. “But I’m afraid we’ll have to search your flat anyway. We have a warrant. May we have the keys?”

David nodded stonily and fetched his flat keys from below.

He handed them to Van Heerden, who glanced at Govender expectantly. Govender turned to David. “Would you like to be present during the search, Mr Roth?”

David shook his head. Van Heerden nodded once and tossed the keys almost casually to the two uniformed policemen waiting on the walk-on.

So that’s what they were here for, David realised. To search his flat, not to arrest him, he hoped.

“Does Ms Barnett know where the missing document is, Mr Roth?”

David was pulled back into the questioning. “Kathy? I don’t know. I don’t think so. Peter didn’t give it to her.”

Govender raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think so, because she told you?”

David looked at him squarely. “No, because I asked her.”

“You asked her? Last night? When you were together?”

David stared at him. He knew. Govender suspected he and Kathy had been together. He didn’t want to tell the inspector she had spent the night; it wasn’t what a gentleman did. Besides, it had nothing to do with Peter Calder’s death. He avoided the question by asking another. “Why are you so interested in this document? Did Mr Maritz say what was on it?”

Govender shook his head. “No, he just said it was important.”

“Important enough to get Peter killed?”

Govender stared at him. “Why do you say that, Mr Roth?”

“Peter might or might not have removed something after I left,” David told the inspector, again truthfully. “But perhaps it’s not me you should be questioning.”

“Really?” Govender asked. “Who do you think I should be questioning, Mr Roth?”

David frowned. “Perhaps you should find out who that anonymous caller was,” he told the policeman. “And perhaps you should ask Mr Maritz about the deaths that have been occurring at his mill, because while he’s accusing me of theft, he’s still scraping some poor guy out of his shredder. Why don’t you ask him about that? There must’ve been witnesses.”

“We did ask. Unfortunately, there was a shift change when that accident took place. There were no witnesses.”

“Well, what about the man who died in that car crash?”

“We’re looking into that incident, too, Mr Roth. There seem to be no witnesses there either.”

David glared irritably at him. “Then what else can I help you with?”

“I’m just curious, Mr Roth. About a few other things.”

David tried to clear his mind so he could focus on Govender’s next question.

“Who is Patterson?”

David looked up. “Patterson?” he echoed. “Never heard of him. Why?”

“We went through Peter Calder’s things at his office. We found an entry in his diary. On the day he died, Peter Calder wrote the name in his diary. We were wondering if you knew who the person was.”

David shook his head. “Sorry, don’t know him.”

Govender stared out over the bay. “Pity,” he said.

David sighed. “Look, Inspector, are you going to arrest me?”

Govender took a deep breath, apparently relishing the fresh breeze that had started up. “No, Mr Roth. We’ll let you get back to your cleaning,” he said, standing up. “We’ll return your flat keys as soon as we’re finished. Take care of yourself, Mr Roth, and when you see Ms Barnett, tell her to take care too.”

David watched the policemen as they climbed down the boarding steps and onto the jetty. Sergeant van Heerden walked off, but Inspector Govender stopped and turned. “Oh, one more thing, Mr Roth,” he called, “if you do come across that document, be sure to let us know.”