LITMIR.BIZ

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prints were on the handle.’

      ‘Sounds like someone used it and then wiped the prints.’

      Kannemeyer moved in his chair and looked out of the window. There were a few big clouds in the sky. Fat with rain that would probably never fall.

      ‘It wasn’t the poker alone that killed her,’ he said at last. ‘She had taken – or been given – a strong sedative. Then she was hit on the head with the poker. Afterwards she was suffocated. Probably with a pillow. There were bits of the cushion fibre in her mouth.’

      ‘What?’ I said.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

      Suicide was like killing her twice. Heart and body. But this way she was murdered three times over. I could not believe Anna would do that.

      ‘It doesn’t sound like a crime of passion to me,’ I said. ‘It must have been planned.’

      ‘You know, Tannie Maria,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking the same thing myself.’

      ‘So why arrest Anna?’

      ‘We need to go on the evidence we’ve got. She’s arrested, not convicted. She can apply for bail. I’m hoping you can talk some sense into her. You are the only one she’s asked for. Convince her to get legal help. And to press charges against Van Schalkwyk.’

      ‘What does Dirk van Schalkwyk say? Did you question him?’

      ‘Of course we’ve questioned him. What he said is police business. I am only sharing Anna’s story with you because she needs your help.’

      ‘Let me see her then. Can you organise us some coffee, please?’ I said, picking up the Tupperware from his desk and closing it. ‘To go with her cake.’

      ‘I’ll take you to her.’

      Kannemeyer led me down a darkened corridor to a back room with a small window and an enamel-topped table and two plastic chairs. The walls were yellow-white and cracked, like a smoker’s teeth.

      A policewoman led Anna in. Anna wore jeans and a khaki shirt that hadn’t been ironed. Her short dark hair needed a brush. She scowled at Kannemeyer and the woman.

      I opened the Tupperware and put it on the table. We sat down and Anna tried to smile at me but her mouth was too tight.

      The policewoman scooted forward to see the cake. I bet she had never seen such a nice chocolate cake, but she wasn’t getting any. Even if Anna offered to share it with me, I’d say no. I could see she needed every crumb of it herself. At the approach of the policewoman, Anna held her mouth even more closed. Her lips almost disappeared. I would have to get her to relax if she was going to talk or eat.

      ‘Konstabel Witbooi will bring coffee,’ said Kannemeyer, at the doorway.

      ‘Can we be alone?’ I said to the policewoman. ‘Please.’

      The woman glanced behind her as if I might be talking to someone else.

      ‘I am here for your safety,’ she said.

      I looked up at Kannemeyer. He moved his chin to tell her she could go. The door clicked locked behind them.

      ‘How are you doing?’ I said.

      Anna looked at me with those big brown eyes.

      ‘Oh, Tannie,’ she said.

      She lifted her fingers to her forehead and let her head fall into her hand.

      Piet came in with coffee.

      ‘Dankie, Konstabel Piet.’

      When he’d gone Anna sat up and looked at me again. I was adding milk and sugar to our cups.

      ‘Bloody hell,’ she said, kicking the table leg with her boot. ‘I messed up.’

      The coffee wobbled and the cake did a little dance. The icing was melting. I passed her coffee to her and tried to take a sip of mine, but it was still too hot. Anna rubbed her hands on her thighs.

      ‘She’s dead. Dead. And it’s all my fault,’ she said.

      Was she giving me her confession now?

      ‘Oh, Anna,’ I said, then I kept quiet.

      If she was going to talk, I’d listen.

      ‘I got there too late,’ she said.

      She ran a hand through her hair, messing it up even more.

      ‘I knew the bastard would kill her. I could’ve stopped it. But she’d told me not to come round and I didn’t. I was stupid, I should never have listened to her. On Tuesday I was feeding my ducks, when I felt like I was punched in my stomach. I rushed to her house.’ Her gaze shifted to the wall. ‘But it was too late . . . ’

      She was not looking at the cracking paint, but at another picture inside her mind.

      ‘Have some cake,’ I said.

      But she didn’t. She had a sip of coffee

      ‘The poker,’ I said. ‘It had your fingerprints on it.’

      ‘When I found Tienie dead, I was so upset and angry,’ she said. ‘I was angry with him. With Tienie. With myself. And that blerrie wedding photograph. It sat there, staring at me, lying to me, like it did every time I came to visit. I know it was stupid, but I was just so blerrie freaked out, I picked up that poker and klapped that wedding photograph across the room.’

      I took a sip of my coffee.

      ‘Did you hit Martine?’ I asked.

      Her eyes went wide.

      ‘Tannie Maria, I loved her.’

      I kept looking at her.

      ‘No,’ she said. ‘I would never hurt her. Never. But Dirk . . .’ She took a big sip of coffee. ‘He’s going to pay for this.’

      I peeled the wax paper off the cake and pushed it closer to her, and she started in on it. Now I knew she was going to be okay. She nodded at me, her mouth full, and gave me the thumbs-up.

      ‘Have you laid charges for what he did at the police station?’ I said when she was finished.

      She licked the icing off her fingers and shook her head.

      ‘This is between me and him.’

      ‘Anna, you must get legal help. I brought those phone numbers from my letter. Call Legal Aid. Apply for bail.’ I took the paper from my pocket. ‘Here.’

      She laughed but it was not a happy laugh.

      ‘Tannie Maria,’ she said, ‘do you think I care if I go to prison?’ She took the piece of paper but she didn’t look at it. ‘Do you think I care if I die? Have you ever loved someone? I mean, really loved someone?’

      I found myself wishing I had brought an extra piece of cake for myself. That was a big slice she ate all on her own.

      ‘No,’ I said, into my coffee cup.

      Henk Kannemeyer came to the door to fetch me and my empty Tupperware. He had chocolate icing on his bottom lip.

      ‘Will she apply for bail?’ he said as we walked along the corridor.

      ‘I gave her some Legal Aid phone numbers,’ I said. ‘I don’t think she did it.’

      ‘That cake,’ he said. ‘Very good.’

      As we came to his office, I saw that he’d shared his piece with Piet. Piet was studying every crumb on his plate for clues to how such a perfect chocolate cake was made. The phone rang on the desk, and Kannemeyer stopped to answer it. He lifted his hand, asking me to wait one minute. But I hurried past. I wanted to get home as soon as I could. There was still half a cake in my kitchen.

      CHAPTER

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