The Wall

70

Jay-Jay Dlomo followed his white colleague. At his age, he thought, I was still seeing them set dogs on black people. Just for being black. Times had changed, he thought. Who knew that better than he did?

The warrant officer’s Nissan rounded a corner, then another one. It slowed down and stopped in front of a house. The door of a Central Alert car opened, and a young woman stepped out. She straightened her uniform and waited for something to happen. The security people always talked a blue streak, Dlomo thought. But when the real police showed up, they knew their place.

A haggard old man appeared at the front door. Shirt and pants dangling off him like XXL-sized clothes on a starving child. He was carrying a little dog and slowly approached the newcomers. The dog nervously bobbed its head.

“Do you have him?” he asked. “Do you have my things?”

Dlomo saw Bezuidenhout shake his head and opened the tailgate of his truck.

“Nkosi, come!”

The German shepherd jumped down, snuffled the wind and ground, and then sat down beside Dlomo. Raised his head, waiting on a signal. Bezuidenhout nodded in their direction.

“It’s been over thirty minutes since he was here. That shouldn’t be a problem, right?” The warrant officer didn’t wait for an answer. “This is Mr. Foster. Money and jewelry are missing. Can we go right inside? Mr. Foster, show us where the burglar was.”

“He was everywhere in the house,” the old man said. As he said this, the slack skin under his jaw quivered. “I’m sure he thought I wouldn’t notice anything. But something was wrong with the lock, and then I saw that the… What is it?”

He looked down at the little dog he was carrying, which was staring at his larger cousin, his fur standing up in tufts. Nkosi hadn’t even deigned to look at the little dog.

“And then?” Bezuidenhout urged. “May we come in?”

“There,” Foster said as he walked into the bedroom. “I immediately noticed that. The doily on the dresser. It wasn’t lined up with the edge.”

“What’s in the dresser?” Bezuidenhout.

“You should ask: What was in the dresser?” Foster.

“Fine. What was inside?”

“Money.”

“How much?”

Foster hesitated for a second. Dlomo could already smell the lie in advance.

“25,000 rand.”

“That’s a lot of money for a dresser.” Bezuidenhout.

“And here, you can see the doily. That’s where it was sitting. My sister brought it back for me from Australia.”

The thing looked like a little rug. Dlomo had no idea why anyone would bring that back as a present.

“So, the burglar was definitely in here?” Bezuidenhout.

“Absolutely.”

The warrant officer turned around. “What does the dog need now?”

“Something that the burglar held. Let’s try that thing on the dresser.” Dlomo picked up the rug and held it out for Nkosi to sniff. “Search,” he said.

The dog sniffed at it for a few seconds and took a step toward Foster.

“Good, Nkosi,” Dlomo said. “Not him.”

The dog snuffled the rug a little more and picked up another scent. He dropped his nose to the floor, found something, and followed the trail. Dlomo let him lead the way. Nkosi entered every room in the house, turned around, caught a secondary trail, hesitated for a moment, and finally stopped at the front door. He barked once.

Now we’re off, Dlomo thought.