Emmanuel was halfway back to The Protea Guesthouse when the singing began. It was a popular tune rendered almost unrecognizable by a high-pitched voice that broke on every fifth word and then started up again like a scratched record. He located the drunken songbird behind the coloured church.

"Hansie." Emmanuel greeted the tottering figure. "What are you doing out here?"

"Sarge, howzit?" The teenaged policeman held up two bottles of whiskey triumphantly. "See? Louis said he wouldn't give it, but he did when he saw the uniform. My uniform."

"Tiny gave you those bottles?" One of them was already half empty. Hansie was having the time of it.

"Won't give any to Louis. But he gives to me because of the uniform."

"Where are you going with the bottles, Hansie?"

"Louis bet me I couldn't but I did." Hansie thumped his chest. "Because I am the law and people respect the law."

"You going back to Louis's house?"

"The shed." The boy squinted out across the dark veldt, then turned in an unsteady circle. "Louis said take the kaffir path but I don't know...where...where's the way back?"

Emmanuel put his arm around Hansie's shoulder. He was interested in how the lion of G.o.d managed to talk his friend into shaking down a coloured merchant for liquor.

"I'll show you," he said, and turned Hansie in the direction of the nonwhite houses in order to get more time to "interrogate" him. "Why didn't Louis get the bottles? He knows the kaffir path better than you, doesn't he?"

"See." Hansie held the bottles up. "I got them. Me."

"Good job." Emmanuel tried another tack. "Does Louis normally get the bottles?"

"Ja. But he sent me this time."

"Why?" It was hard to stop himself from smacking some sense into the idiot constable.

"He went, but Tiny said no, no, no dice."

"Why?"

"Captain found out about the drinking. He sent Louis away to a farm in the Drakensbergs...long way away up in the mountains." Hansie gave a full-bodied burp that echoed across the empty veldt. Up ahead, the light from the captain's work shed punctuated the darkness.

"That's the shed. Go in but don't tell anyone you saw me. Understand?"

"Ja." The drunken Afrikaner lurched forward, eager to show his spoils.

Emmanuel spun Hansie around to face him and leveled the police boy a severe glance, the kind used by headmasters about to hand out a "six of the best" caning.

"Forget you saw me. That's an order, Hepple."

"Yes, sir, Detective Sergeant, sir."

Emmanuel launched Hansie toward the light with a gentle push. The inebriated boy stumbled toward the open door with the bottles held aloft like the conquering hero. A chorus of cheers greeted his entrance. Louis wasn't the only one waiting for the whiskey river to start flowing.

At the open shed door, Emmanuel risked a quick look in. Hansie, Louis and two freckle-nosed teenagers sat on an oil-stained blanket and pa.s.sed the half-empty whiskey bottle among them. The second bottle of amber was placed in the middle of the circle with its top off in readiness.

"Hey, Hansie." A boy with a train-tunnel-sized gap between his front teeth took a swig. "Louis here says that Botha's daughter isn't the prettiest girl in the district. Says he's seen better."

"Who?" Hansie was flabbergasted. "Who could be better than her? No one."

"I've got different tastes from you." Louis pushed his messy blond hair from his forehead. "Just remember that no matter how modest women are in their appearance, no matter how shy and clean, they are the reason Adam fell into sin."

"That's exactly what I'm hoping for, man!" Hansie replied.

The policeman's answer set off a round of laughter that continued even as Emmanuel slipped away into the veldt. He didn't have to stay longer to know how the evening would unravel. There'd be talk of girls, imagined and real, then someone, most likely Hansie, would lie about having lost his virginity. There'd be more talk of girls and cars and the next big social dance. And during all this, Louis the sleeping lion of G.o.d, and Louis the juvenile delinquent, would jostle for supremacy.

15.

EMMANUEL CALLED IN at the Grace of G.o.d Hospital early the next morning and found Sister Bernadette and Sister Angelina supervising a breakfast of cold porridge without milk for the twenty or so orphans collected on the open veranda. He waited until they'd dished up the last bowl, then approached them. He had no idea how to ask for what he wanted. at the Grace of G.o.d Hospital early the next morning and found Sister Bernadette and Sister Angelina supervising a breakfast of cold porridge without milk for the twenty or so orphans collected on the open veranda. He waited until they'd dished up the last bowl, then approached them. He had no idea how to ask for what he wanted.

"Sisters..." He cleared his throat and started again. "Sisters, I'd like you to witness a likeness of Captain Pretorius for me."

"Of course," Sister Bernadette said. The tiny white nun wiped her pale hands on her ap.r.o.n. "Do you have a pen, Detective?"

"Yes, I do...it's just that...I..." He trailed off.

"Yes?" Sister Angelina prompted.

"I should warn you that it's a...a provocative image. One that might upset or shock you."

"Oh..." Sister Bernadette's smile was strained. "In that case we should get it over and done with as quickly as possible."

G.o.d bless the pragmatic Catholic sisters, Emmanuel thought, and pulled the second of the two envelopes from the leather satchel. In fifteen minutes the photographs were due on an express bus to Jo'burg with Miss Byrd's cousin, Delores Bunton.

Sister Angelina motioned him over to the far end of the veranda to an old gurney covered by a sheet. They were out of sight and earshot of the children. Emmanuel hesitated, then pulled the image free.

"Look at the photo," he said, "then turn it over and write 'I swear that this is a true image of Captain Willem Pretorius.' Sign your names underneath and date it, please."

He put the image faceup on the trolley and felt the heat of a blush in his cheeks.

"Oh, my," Sister Bernadette gasped.

"Gracious." Sister Angelina crossed herself and blinked hard.

"This is a surprise," the little Irish nun muttered. "I had no idea."

"Yebo." The black nun pursed her lips. "Who knew the captain had such a big smile."

"Yes." Sister Bernadette pushed an imaginary strand of hair into her head covering. "I don't recall seeing him this happy before."

The sisters stood motionless and stared at the photograph. Emmanuel turned the image over and heard a sigh from the nuns. He handed over the pen and watched them sign and date the photo. He placed it back in the envelope.

"Thank you, Sisters," he said. "If anyone from the Special Branch or the Pretorius family asks about this photograph, deny ever having seen it. It's the safest way."

Poppies General Store was quiet. The normal hum of sewing machines was replaced by the soft sc.r.a.pe of Zweigman's shoes as he unpacked cans of sardines from a box and stacked them on a shelf.

"Detective." The shopkeeper greeted him with a nod. His hair, normally chaotic, was now positively Medusa-like with warring white strands fighting each other in an epic battle for control.

Emmanuel motioned in the direction of the silent back room. "n.o.body home?"

"My wife is unwell," Zweigman said. "She has given the ladies a day off."

"Anything to do with my visit?"

"The damage was done long before you appeared." The German stacked the last can of sardines on the shelf. "You have come for your checkup, yes?"

"That and use of the phone if I may." He had to let van Niekerk know that the satchel of photographs was already on its way to the address he'd telegraphed through two days ago.

"Of course." Zweigman picked up the phone from the counter and shuffled into the back room, where the rows of sewing machines stood with their night covers still on. Poppies felt deserted without the ladies bent over patterns and pins under the watchful eye of Lilliana.

"I will be in the front unpacking." Zweigman put the phone on the tea table. "Call me when you are ready for your examination."

Emmanuel sat down and dialed the operator. He wanted to be at the Jacob's Rest police station within the half hour to see if the Security Branch raid had netted a big Red fish during the night.

He got through to headquarters without any trouble and was given a new number to call. Van Niekerk knew how to fly under the Security Branch radar.

"I've sent you something," Emmanuel said once the major picked up.

"Is it useful?" Van Niekerk was in high spirits for a powerful man forced to dirty his hands in a public call box. Like a prized bloodhound, he sniffed something on the wind.

"Extremely useful," Emmanuel said.

"s.m.u.t? Dirty money? Political?"

"s.m.u.t."

"Can it be tied to our departed friend or a member of his family?"

"Let's just say the captain was as good behind the camera as he was in front of it."

"My G.o.d! Are you absolutely sure it's him?"

"One hundred percent," Emmanuel said. "I had the image signed and verified by two people who knew him."

He felt guilty using Sister Bernadette and Sister Angelina, but nuns were hard witnesses to push around on the stand. It was uncharitable to attack a bride of Christ.

"Good man," the major said. "I knew you'd come up with the goods. You always do."

Giving the information to van Niekerk didn't feel as rewarding as Emmanuel thought it would. Willem Pretorius's homicide was still unsolved and that was the only reason he'd come to Jacob's Rest. The p.o.r.nographic pictures were of value only if they helped catch the killer.

"The packet will be hand-delivered this evening to the address on the telegram." He was suddenly impatient with van Niekerk. Catching the killer was secondary to the power that possession of the photos gave the major over the Security Branch and factions of the National Party. "I have to go and check out what the Security Branch dragged in," Emmanuel added. He wasn't leaving Jacob's Rest until he found out who'd killed Willem Pretorius and why.

"They got him," van Niekerk stated bluntly. "Your man from Fort Bennington College."

"How do you know?"

Van Niekerk laughed, as if the question itself was too stupid to answer.

"I just do, Cooper."

"Anything else you can tell me?" Emmanuel asked. There was no way Piet or d.i.c.kie would let him in on the questioning.

"He was at the crossing on the night the captain was killed," the major said. "That's a solid fact. The miner Duma from the location was his contact. You may want to start entertaining the possibility that the Security Branch is on the right track."

"I'll do that, sir," Emmanuel said before signing off. He knew in his bones that the Communist agent wasn't a fit for the murder. Why was the body dragged to the water when it could have been left on the sand? And Shabalala was sure the killer had swum back to Mozambique. Maybe the Security Branch had some answers.

He went to the front of the store, where Zweigman was busy cleaning the shelves with an ostrich feather duster.

"I'll come back for my examination this afternoon," he told the shopkeeper, and set the phone back on the counter. "I have to check in at the police station."

"Of course. I will be here until approximately five-thirty."

Emmanuel stepped onto the pitted dirt sidewalk fronting Poppies and the liquor store. It was time to hammer on Shabalala's door until the black man told him everything he knew about Willem Pretorius's secret life.

Four Chevrolet sedans were parked in front of the police station, the shiny chrome trim of each car flecked with dust and the dried bodies of crushed insects collected on the night drive. A handful of plainclothes officers in creased suits mingled on the porch, smoking and talking to a plump man with a camera slung around his neck. Press, Emmanuel guessed. The reporter would be in the employ of one of the toady Afrikaner newspapers that ran with the official National Party line no matter what the real story was.

Emmanuel climbed the stairs, ready for the brush-off. The Security Branch machine had a stranglehold now on the police station and he wasn't on their list of invited guests. One of the new Security Branch officers stepped forward.

"This is a restricted area," said the moonfaced man in the badly cut suit. "No entry without Lieutenant Lapping's say-so."

Emmanuel stepped back. He was unlikely to get pockmarked Piet's nod of approval in this lifetime.

"I was looking for the regular police. Constable Shabalala, Lieutenant Uys and Constable Hepple. I'm working a local investigation."

"Check out the back." Moonface smiled, then said, "Hey, you caught the pervert yet, Detective Sergeant?"

Emmanuel walked away without answering. Lieutenant Lapping had isolated him from the murder investigation and made him a figure of fun into the bargain. He'd eat humble pie for as long as it took to find Shabalala and until he'd finished sifting through Willem Pretorius's dirty laundry.

He opened the side gate to the police station's backyard. Paul Pretorius and the diminutive Lieutenant Uys were sitting in the shade of the avocado tree with three men he didn't recognize. Was there anyone left at the Security Branch offices?