That made her angry; he could read her body language, the way she pulled her mouth, suddenly tight and sour.
'Come on, sister, think how it looks.'
'Don't "sister" me.'
He waited for an explanation, but she just sat there.
'Did Adam say anything about a DVD last week? Something that came in his post?'
'No.'
'Do you know who shot him?'
It took a while for the answer to come, reluctantly, more of a question: 'Josh Geyser?'
'Maybe not.'
She looked surprised, brushing long hair back over her shoulder in a practised motion.
'Why do you think it was Josh?'
'I saw him yesterday. He was angry enough. And he's ... weird.'
'Weird?'
The shrug again, which conspired to make her breasts move oddly under the tight, thin material. 'Gladiator turned gospel singer. Don't you think that's weird? Look at him ...'
'I can't lock him up because of the way he looks. Who else was angry with Adam Barnard?'
She made a wry noise. 'This is the music business.'
'And that means ...'
'Everyone is angry with everyone sometimes.'
'And everyone screws everyone else.'
She was indignant again.
'Who else was angry enough to shoot him?'
'I really don't know.'
He asked the question that fascinated him: 'Why were ... the women so crazy about him? He was over fifty ...'
She stood up, crossed her arms over her breasts, cold and angry. 'He would have been fifty-two. In February.'
He waited for an answer but none was forthcoming. He egged her on: 'Why?'
'It's not about age, it's about aura.'
'Aura?'
'Yes.'
'What aura?'
'There's more than one kind.'
'What was his aura?' 'You wouldn't understand.'
'Educate me.'
'He had an aura of power. Very strong. 'Then she looked into his eyes with a challenge and said: 'Women like the power of money, and he had that. And for many women he was the gateway to the stars. He could introduce them to the celebrities with money. But there is another power that is totally irresistible - the power to empower.'
'Now you've lost me.'
'Second prize is to have a powerful man in your life. First prize is to have the power yourself so you don't need a man. That was the kind of power Adam Barnard could give.'
'To the artists? He could give them fame and fortune?'
'Yes.'
He nodded slowly. She hesitated, then turned and walked to the door.
'But you're not a singer,' he said.
With one hand on the doorknob, without looking around, she said: 'Second prize is not so bad.'
She opened the door and went out.
'Send the Nell ou in, please,' he called after her, but he couldn't tell if she had heard him.
Chapter 29
Alexa Barnard became aware of someone beside her bed.
She opened heavy eyelids and felt the dull ache in her forearm, the weight of her body and the peculiar odour of the hospital ward. On the right of her bed she saw large eyes behind thick spectacles. She tried to focus, but closed her eyes again.
'My name is Victor Barkhuizen, and I am an alcoholic,' said a voice very quietly and sympathetically.
She opened her eyes again. He was an old guy.
'Benny Griessel asked me to look in on you. The detective. I am his AA sponsor. I just want you to know you are not alone.'
Her mouth was very dry. She wondered if it was the medication, the stuff that made her sleep.
'The doctor?' she asked, but her tongue stuck to her palate, her lips were stiff and the words wouldn't form.
'You don't have to speak. I'm just going to sit here with you a while and I will leave my number with the ward sister. I will come again tonight.'
She turned her head towards him with effort and managed to open her eyes. He was short and stooped, bald and bespectacled, and the hair that he still had around his head hung down his back in a long plait. She slowly put out her right hand. He took it and held it tight.
'You're the doctor,' she tried to say.
'For my sins.'
'I smoke,' she said.
'And you don't even have a fever.'
She didn't know if the smile registered on her face. 'Thank you,' she said and closed her eyes again.
'No problem.'
Then she remembered, somewhere through the haze she had had a thought, a message. Without opening her eyes she said: 'The detective ...'
'Benny Griessel.'
'Yes. I need to tell him something.'
'I can send him a message.'
'Tell him to come. About Adam ...'
'I'll tell him.'
She wanted to add something, something that evaded her now, like silver fish slipping from her grasp into dark water. She sighed and felt Victor Barkhuizen's hand and pressed it slowly to make sure it was still there.
'I'd like to call my dad. I'll pay, of course,' said Rachel Anderson as she helped him carry the plates to the sink, in spite of his protests.
'No need for that,' he said. 'The phone is on the table, where I work.'
Then he laughed. 'If you can find it. Go, I will clear the dishes.'
'No,' she said. 'The least I can do is to wash up.'
'Under no circumstances.'
'Please, I insist. I love washing up.'
'You lie with such grace, my dear.'
'It's true! At home I do it all the time.'
'Then we'll do it together,' he said as he squirted dish-washing liquid over the plates and opened the taps. 'You do the washing, I'll dry and put them away. Do you still live with your parents?'
'Oh, yes, I just finished high school last year. This is supposed to be a gap year, before I go to college.'
'Here, you can wear these gloves .. . And where would you go for your studies?'
'Purdue. My parents work there.'
'They're academics?'
'My dad has tenure at English Lit. My mom's at the School of Aeronautics and Astronautics, on the Astrodynamics and Space Applications research team.' 'Good grief.'
'She's a real scientist, the most scatterbrained person I know. I love her to death, she's brilliant, she does spacecraft dynamics, orbit mechanics, it's about satellite control, how their orbits decay, how they re-enter the earth's atmosphere, and it's like a rhyme, I can say it, but I don't understand anything she does, I think I take after my dad, and I'm talking too much, right now.'
He put a hand on her upper arm. 'And I'm enjoying every minute, so talk all you like.'
'I miss them very much.'
'I'm sure you do.'
'No, it's more like ... I left home almost two months ago, I've been away from them for so long, it makes you ... I didn't know how dreadful I was, such a teenager ...'
'We all were. It's the way life works.'
'I know, but it took a really bad thing ...' Her hands stopped moving, her head drooped onto her chest and she stood still.
He said nothing at first, just watched her with immense compassion. He saw the tears rolling silently down her face. 'Would you like to talk about it?'
She shook her head, fighting for control. It came slowly. 'I can't. I shouldn't...'
'You're almost done. Go and call your father.'
'Thank you.' She hesitated. 'You've been so very kind ... I...'
'I have done very little.'
'Would it be rude if I...?'
'I don't think you have a rude bone in your body, my dear. Please, just ask.'
'I'm dying for a bath, I don't think I've ever been this dirty, I'll be quick, I promise ...'
'Good heavens, of course, and take all the time you need. Would you like a bubble bath? The grandchildren gave me some for my birthday, but I never use it...'
There was no parking in Castle Street. Griessel had to park a block away from the Van Hunks club in Long Street, and the parking attendant descended on him like a vulture. He paid for two hours and walked hastily towards the nightclub, surprised to find Vusi waiting at the front door.