See No Evil

27

‘If she’s going to come, she’d better hurry up,’ Cornelius said checking his watch. ‘The plane leaves in fifteen minutes.’

Calder, Cornelius and Benton were at Johannesburg airport waiting in the small but comfortable lounge of the charter company that was going to fly them to Kupugani. A group of four young German tourists were drinking beer at a nearby table: they were due to be dropped off at a game reserve eighty kilometres further on. The tension between Benton and Cornelius was unmistakable, but they had come to a kind of truce, burying their mutual suspicion in their joint desire to find the diary and the cause of Martha’s death.

‘Shall we hold the plane?’ Benton said.

‘No,’ said Cornelius sharply. ‘We want to make sure we have a chance to take a good look round before it gets dark.’

‘You haven’t seen much of Zan, have you?’ Calder said to Cornelius.

‘Not much, if anything at all. After Martha died I got the strong impression she was judging me for quitting South Africa. She’s a strong-willed woman,’ he smiled, ‘like her father, I suppose. We were both too stubborn to give the other a chance. That can happen in families.’

It certainly could happen in the van Zyl family, Calder thought. Outside on the apron he saw two young pilots, a man and a woman, climb into the Cessna Caravan and begin their pre start-up checks. It was a twin-engined aircraft which could carry ten passengers and was ideal for short runways.

Benton disappeared to the bathroom. Cornelius was leafing through a copy of one of the national newspapers. ‘It’s good to be back in this country, you know. I’ve hardly been here at all since Martha died.’

‘It’s a beautiful place...’ Calder said.

‘But? There was a “but” in there that you didn’t say.’

‘But it’s still screwed up, ten years after apartheid.’

‘I wonder what Martha would have thought of it today?’

‘She would have been pleased, wouldn’t she?’

‘Oh, yes, yes she would.’ Cornelius considered the question. ‘I guess she was right and I was wrong. South Africa’s still a violent place, but there hasn’t been the anarchy I expected.’

‘Do you regret leaving?’

‘Oh, no,’ Cornelius said. ‘I’m proud of Zyl News and what it’s done. But...’

‘But what?’

Cornelius glanced at Calder. ‘You know all our family secrets. You know about Todd and about Edwin. If I do win The Times, what will I do with it? I’m seventy-two. I might stay on a couple of years to turn the paper around, but then who runs Zyl News? Todd won’t have it and I’ll make damn sure Edwin doesn’t get his hands on it.’ Calder smiled and Cornelius noticed. ‘I’ve turned a blind eye to Edwin’s activities for too long.’

‘There must be some managers within the company you could rely on to carry on after you. Or you could hire someone.’

‘Yes, I could do that. I probably will do that. Want a job?’ Calder grinned. ‘I used to have a paper round when I was sixteen. I gave it up after a couple of months. I’m not a natural newspaperman.’

Cornelius smiled. ‘I wonder what Martha would want me to do.’

Calder fished a card out of his pocket and handed it to Cornelius. ‘You know what? When all this is over, give George Field a call.’

‘George? He’d never talk to me now.’

Calder shrugged. ‘He might.’

Cornelius put the card in his pocket.

Benton returned from the bathroom and the ground staff announced that the aircraft was ready for boarding. As they filed out on to the apron, Zan joined them, out of breath.

‘You made it,’ said Calder.

‘Only just.’

Cornelius turned to face her. The aircraft engines roared a few feet away.

Zan hesitated and then drew near to him. ‘Hello, Pa,’ she said, and kissed him on the cheek.

He smiled and they embraced. ‘I’m glad you could come,’ he shouted above the engine noise.

‘You look good, Pa,’ she smiled. ‘Better than you do in your pictures in the paper.’

Cornelius grinned. ‘So do you.’

They climbed on to the aircraft and took up their seats towards the front. Zan paused next to the open seat by her father, and then decided to sit next to Calder. They strapped themselves in and the plane taxied to the hold.

‘We didn’t think you were going to make it,’ Calder said.

‘I almost didn’t.’

‘You said you were meeting someone about the Laagerbond this morning. Did you find anything out?’

‘Yes. Don’t trust the bastards.’ Zan explained how she had received a call that she should meet Dirk du Toit, a senior banker and presumably a Laagerbond member, at a deserted spot near Franschhoek. She described her rendezvous with Colonel Moolman, how she had had the foresight to wear a bullet-proof vest and how she shot him after he had tried to kill her. She omitted to mention how she had finished him off.

Calder was shocked by how coolly she described it all. ‘Is he dead?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ she replied.

‘And you still flew up here? What about the police?’

‘I’m sure they can sort it all out by themselves. I’ll speak to them when we’ve finished here. I’m not that easily put off.’

‘You certainly know how to handle yourself.’

‘The ANC taught me well in Mozambique,’ Zan replied. ‘Moolman was complacent, probably because I’m a woman. His mistake.’

At least the Laagerbond had lost one of their killers, Calder thought. But there were almost certainly plenty more where he came from, and the attempt to kill Zan showed that they were becoming more desperate. It wouldn’t be long before they discovered that Calder and Cornelius were together in South Africa, if they hadn’t already.

‘So what did your NIA contacts tell you about the Laagerbond?’ Calder asked.

‘I’ve got some names. Eight.’

‘Great. Anyone important?’

‘Two former cabinet ministers and a general. But they’re dead now. Then there’s Dirk du Toit, Andries Visser, Daniel Havenga and two others I haven’t heard of. Maybe Moolman makes nine. I’ve made some notes, they’re in my bag.’

‘Well done,’ Calder said, although he was actually a little disappointed. The dead people weren’t of much value, and he knew about Visser and Havenga. Du Toit might be a useful lead.

‘So,’ said Zan. ‘How do you know the diary is hidden at Kupugani?’

Calder explained.

They flew east over the wide brown plain of the high veld, over the peaks and gorges of the Drakensberg mountains to the bush veld on the other side. Trees and scrub stretched from the high escarpment behind them as far as the eye could see, like a sparsely planted forest. Soon the aircraft descended and joined the circuit above a clearing with a stripe of tarmac at its centre. Calder could see a cluster of buildings that was the main camp about a mile to the south. On final approach the pilot pointed out a small herd of five elephants grazing on the trees and then the aircraft was on the ground. They disembarked, and the aircraft taxied back to the runway threshold and took off, taking the group of German tourists on to their destination.

A Land Rover approached them driven by a young ranger who introduced himself as Darren. They piled on board and he drove them off to the main camp.

‘Whose are those?’ Zan asked, pointing towards three single-engined aircraft parked under a makeshift hangar. There were two Piper Warriors and a Cessna 172.

‘They belong to some of the guests,’ the ranger replied.

‘You could have flown up yourself, Zan,’ Cornelius said.

‘I would have if I’d had time.’

‘Do you fly?’ Calder asked.

‘Yes, every now and then,’ she said. ‘I own a Saratoga, which I keep at Stellenbosch. It would take a couple of days to fly from Cape Town to here, though.’

The Land Rover lurched along a rough track, surprising a warthog on its way. They soon approached the camp, which comprised half a dozen thatched wooden cottages clustered around an old farmhouse. As they climbed out of the Land Rover a thin woman with short grey hair and a tanned, weatherbeaten face emerged from a door marked ‘Office’ to greet them. She was wearing a khaki tunic and trousers, just like the ranger.

She approached Cornelius first, holding out her hand. ‘Welcome to Kupugani,’ she said. ‘I’m Phyllis Delahay. You must be Mr van Zyl.’

‘That’s right. Thank you for seeing us at such short notice,’ Cornelius said.

‘Not at all. I must admit I was surprised I didn’t see you eighteen years ago. Now, introduce me to your companions.’

Cornelius was a little taken aback to be put so firmly in his place, but he introduced Zan, Calder and Benton.

‘Yes, I remember you, of course,’ Phyllis said to Benton. ‘I do hope the police weren’t too hard on you?’

Benton smiled. ‘They were pretty rough, Mrs Delahay. But they let me go in the end. This is the first time I have been back to South Africa since then.’

‘It’s changed. For the better. And you?’ The woman turned her eyes on to Calder. They were searching; hers wasn’t just a polite enquiry, she wanted to know what he was doing there.

‘I’m an old friend of Todd van Zyl’s wife,’ he said. ‘Todd is Martha’s son.’

‘This is the man who has been asking the awkward questions about her death,’ Cornelius said.

Phyllis smiled quickly. ‘Ah, yes, Libby mentioned she had met you. And you’re Martha’s daughter?’ she said, turning to Zan.

‘Stepdaughter,’ Zan said.

‘I see.’ Phyllis seemed to disapprove. ‘Will you have some tea?’ she asked.

She indicated some rattan chairs on a verandah overlooking a small watering hole. Monkeys played in the trees above. The chairs caught the afternoon sun, which was warm without being hot. Strange bird calls, unfamiliar squawks, whoops and trills, emanated from the bush surrounding the camp on all sides. Calder wondered how far away the elephants were that they had spotted from their aeroplane. A uniformed waiter appeared with a teapot, followed by a waitress with some cake.

‘A nice place you have here, Mrs Delahay,’ Cornelius said.

‘Thank you. My father bought it in the 1930s. We used to use the farm just for ourselves and our guests. As time went on we began to take in tourists. Now Kupugani has become big business. Financially that’s good, of course, but I sometimes think it’s unfortunate.’ She sipped her tea. ‘All the guests have just left for the afternoon game drive. They won’t be back until after dark.’

‘As I told you over the telephone,’ Cornelius said, ‘we’ve come here to try to find out more about how my wife died.’

‘Yes, I understand,’ Phyllis said. ‘But frankly I’m a bit surprised you’ve all come together.’ She raised an eyebrow at Benton.

‘Martha’s death upset all of us,’ he said. ‘Cornelius and I have been talking; he knows why Martha and I were here. I’d like to help him.’

‘Do you have any idea who shot her?’ Zan asked.

Phyllis shook her head. ‘No. I know it wasn’t guerrillas as the police claimed. My trackers found footprints from a single man, wearing expensive boots. From the size of his feet they guessed he was of below-average height. I told the police this, of course, but they ignored me. I decided to let it drop. I knew that you were a powerful man, Mr van Zyl, and I expected to be hearing from you. When I didn’t, well, I assumed that you had colluded in the police’s cover-up.’

‘An understandable assumption, but mistaken,’ Cornelius said.

Benton cleared his throat. ‘Martha had a diary. It was a black notebook about this big.’ He indicated the size with his hands. ‘We are pretty sure that it contains some important clues as to who killed her. I grabbed it when I ran away, and hid it. We’d like to look and see if it’s still where I put it.’

‘Heavens,’ said Phyllis. ‘And where was that?’

‘In a maintenance shed near the cottage.’

‘Is the shed still there?’ asked Cornelius.

‘Yes, it is,’ Phyllis said.

‘Has it been cleared out over the last twenty years?’

‘No,’ Phyllis replied, after a moment’s thought. ‘Things will have been brought in and taken out. But it hasn’t been repainted, or even repaired that I can remember.’

Cornelius exchanged glances with Calder. This was looking good. ‘Can we see it?’

‘I don’t see why not.’ Phyllis put down her tea cup and went over to a wall where three bolt-action rifles rested in racks. She took one, loaded it with five rounds, picked up a small backpack and headed off into the bush. ‘Follow me.’

She led them along a sandy trail into the scrub. On either side termite mounds rose precariously, some of them ten feet high. Despite her age and size, Phyllis seemed supremely confident in the bush.

‘Do you really need the gun?’ Calder asked.

‘This camp is unfenced,’ she said. ‘You never know what you’ll run into. See that?’ She paused and pointed to some marks in the sandy track. ‘That’s leopard.’ She studied the print for a couple of seconds. ‘Probably came through here last night. We’ll be fine during daylight, but you do have to be careful when it’s dark.’

‘Would you shoot? If we did run into something?’

‘Oh, no,’ Phyllis said. ‘Only as a very last resort. The important thing to remember is not to run. If you hold your ground, you’ll be OK. Mind you, this is a powerful rifle. They tell me it will drop a charging elephant, although I’d rather not test that one out.’

They walked through the trees for a couple of minutes before they came to a cottage, much like the others in the camp. It stood by itself, overlooking a dry river bed. As they approached a pair of hornbills flew from a tree, kicking up a fuss as they went, their flared tail feathers balancing their large beaks in ungainly flight. To the west it was just possible to see the peaks of the Drakensberg mountains in the distance.

‘This is where we stayed,’ Benton said.

‘It’s a lovely spot,’ said Calder.

‘You can see it’s very discreet,’ Phyllis said. ‘And a lot of game passes along the stream bed.’ She pointed to the dry sand which was crisscrossed with animal and bird tracks of all kinds. ‘The killer fired his shots from over there.’ She pointed to the other bank. ‘Just behind that mopane tree.’ It was a distance of about sixty yards, no problem for a good shot.

Calder glanced at Benton. He was standing still, a faraway look in his eyes. Everyone was quiet, watching him.

He smiled grimly. ‘Sorry. Just that being here, it brings it back.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Anyway, I broke the bathroom window and climbed out the back. Here, I’ll show you.’

He strode rapidly round to the back of the cottage, his long legs leaving the others behind. The bathroom window was out of sight of the spot where the killer had stood. ‘Then I ran along the path, but I ducked to the right here.’ There was a turn-off where a narrower path headed into the trees. After twenty yards or so it passed a small shed. ‘And this is where I hid.’

‘Can we look inside?’ Calder asked Phyllis.

‘Certainly.’ She pulled out a key. ‘It’s locked now, but it wasn’t then. Let me show you.’

She switched on the light from a single electric bulb. The shed was small, about the size of a garage. It was full of old equipment: gardening tools, an axe, oil lamps, pieces of wood, a broken table, some cans of paraffin, and an insect screen for a window. ‘When I hid in here there was some metal roofing material over there,’ Benton said pointing to one wall. ‘I squeezed myself behind that.’

Cornelius looked up at the roof. There were beams running the length of the shed, about eight or nine feet off the ground. ‘And where did you hide the diary?’

‘Up there.’

The beams were old and unpainted. And lying lengthways on one of them Calder could see the edge of a brick.

‘Is that it?’ asked Calder.

‘I think so,’ said Benton. He looked around for something suitable to stand on, and found an old tea chest. It creaked under his weight as he climbed up on to it. He reached up, lifted the brick with one hand, and ran his fingers along the beam with the other. ‘It’s not there.’

‘Check further along,’ said Cornelius.

With help from the others, who cleared a path along the floor, Benton slid the tea chest under the beam the length of the building, and reached upwards. Nothing.

‘Are you sure no one has found a diary?’ Cornelius snapped at Phyllis, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice.

Phyllis shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Mr van Zyl,’ she replied primly. ‘I’m afraid your trip has been a waste of time.’

A wave of disappointment washed over Calder. Vague hope had somehow turned into near certainty that they would find the diary after such a long time, certainty that he now realized had always been groundless. He could see that Cornelius and Benton felt equally crushed. Only Zan seemed to take their failure with equanimity, but of course she had less at stake than they did.

‘Can we go back and see where the killer stood?’ Cornelius said.

‘All right,’ Phyllis said, and led them back to the cottage and down into the river bed. Phyllis was talking to Benton in murmured tones, no doubt commiserating with him for all those years ago. As they reached the far bank she paused. ‘It’s just by that mopane tree I showed you earlier,’ she said. ‘Benton wants to spend a couple of moments alone in the cottage. I’ll take him back there.’

Calder and Cornelius climbed the bank and pushed through the scrub to the tree. There was a good view of the cottage on the other side of the bank. They could see Benton and Phyllis inside. And Zan hurrying back across the stream bed towards them.

‘What’s Zan up to?’ Calder asked. ‘Do you think she’s scared?’ He did suddenly feel vulnerable out in the bush without the protection of the rifle, which Phyllis had taken with her.

‘Zan, scared?’ Cornelius said. ‘Never.’

The urgency with which Zan was moving worried Calder. He hurried after her, followed by Cornelius. They scrambled down the bank and back to the cottage. The door was open. They walked in together to see Phyllis and Benton standing side by side next to a bed, on which lay Phyllis’s open backpack. In Benton’s hand was a black notebook. They were both staring at something over Calder’s shoulder.

He turned round.

‘Get in!’ said Zan. She was standing in the corner of the room, holding Phyllis’s rifle, which she was pointing at Calder and Cornelius. She waved them over to where Phyllis and Benton were standing and kicked the door shut. ‘Now... very slowly, Benton... hand me the diary.’