Recipes for Love and Murder. Sally Andrew

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СКАЧАТЬ was a corridor leading off this room, with doors to smaller offices. On the other side of the counter sat a young black policewoman at a wooden desk, busy with some paperwork.

      Anna glared at the rude man, her eyes bright and her nose twitching.

      ‘She hated you, you ugly warthog,’ she said. ‘Vlakvark.’

      He did look a bit like a warthog: stocky, his eyes small and his hair wiry. A big nose. And brown and grey scraggly whiskers on his jaws. Where had I seen him before?

      ‘You blerrie fat rat,’ he said.

      She was baring her teeth at him now, but not in smiling way. She didn’t look like a rat; more like a rock-rabbit, a dassie. With her soft fur and dark eyes. I wondered if the dassie was going to sink her teeth into the warthog.

      ‘She was mine,’ he said.

      Now I recognised him: Dirk van Schalkwyk – from Jessie’s photographs.

      The policewoman said something, but I could not hear, because at that moment the aircon unit made a loud rattling sound.

      ‘She hated you,’ Anna hissed.

      ‘I’ll blerrie kill you, you fat kakkerlak,’ he shouted.

      That was just silly. She looked nothing like a cockroach.

      ‘Hey!’ said Detective Kannemeyer, coming out of the office at the back. He stared down at us all. He really was a tall guy. ‘Stop that.’

      ‘Go ahead, warthog,’ said Anna, standing up straight, pushing her shoulders back. ‘Kill me, you murderer.’

      ‘You’re not gonna get away with it,’ said Dirk, pulling a gun out from under his shirt.

      I thought she would kick him or throw herself on the floor but she just lifted her chin a little higher. Maybe she was happy at the thought of joining her Tienie.

      Piet moved so quickly I hardly saw him. He knocked Dirk’s arm up into the air as a shot rang off. Boom! Bits of plaster and dust fell down from the ceiling.

      Detective Kannemeyer clamped Dirk’s wrist in his big hand, and took the gun from him.

      ‘Enough,’ said the detective.

      Kannemeyer twisted Dirk’s arm behind his back, and Dirk made a snorting noise. They both had ceiling dust on their hair.

      ‘You fat rat,’ Dirk mumbled as he was pushed past Anna, out of the room.

      I shook my head. Such rudeness. So unnecessary.

      Anna really was not at all fat. She had some padding, like any woman who ate three meals a day. But to call her fat was just wrong.

      Now the police station was full of people who’d popped in to see what the shouting and shooting was about.

      ‘Hello, Tannie Elna,’ I said to the woman who worked in the shoe shop next door.

      She was small and thin, hopping up and down like a meerkat to get a good view.

      ‘What’s going on?’ she said.

      ‘Would you say she is fat?’

      I pointed to Anna, who was being led away by a policewoman. Elna put her head to one side and scrunched up her mouth, then shook her head.

      ‘No,’ she said, ‘not really . . . ’

      ‘Was someone shot?’ asked a man from the Spar, the manager.

      He had one of those silly little moustaches, like a little boy who’s drunk chocolate milk. The hair on his head was combed sideways, to hide the bald bits.

      ‘Dirk van Schalkwyk was here,’ said Elna.

      The Spar manager’s nostril curled up.

      I don’t know how Elna knew about Dirk; I hadn’t told her. But that’s what it’s like in a small town. Sometimes news travels faster than the things that are actually happening. I was once told of an old lady’s death before she died. But she did die, the next day, so she managed to catch up with the news.

      ‘I hear Martine van Schalkwyk was killed,’ said Tannie de Jager from the library.

      ‘Who is she?’ said a lady wearing a pink floral dress.

      ‘She’s married to Dirk, who works at the Agri,’ said Elna. ‘She does the books at the Spar.’

      Then they were all talking at once, saying and asking I don’t know what. I was looking around for somewhere quiet to sit, when the detective came back in again and said very loudly: ‘Show’s over. Go away.’

      The people went quiet and looked at him and each other.

      ‘Voetsek!’ he shouted, making a shooing movement with his hands, and they scuttled out like chickens.

      But I stayed, standing to one side. Kannemeyer ran his hand through his short hair.

      ‘Can I help you?’ he said.

      ‘You look like you could use a nice cup of coffee,’ I said, looking up at him.

      He smiled. It was a nice smile. Slow and warm, and it went right to his eyes. His moustache curved up at the corners. His teeth were white and strong.

      ‘Ja,’ he said. ‘You were at the Karoo Gazette.’

      ‘I need to talk to you,’ I said. ‘About Martine van Schalkwyk.’

      He sighed and took a pen out of his pocket.

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      The next morning I stood on my stoep and watched the early light make long shadows of the hills and the thorn trees. The sun was warm on my face and I had a good feeling but I wasn’t sure why. It was probably because of the lamb. I was going to make slow-roasted lamb, with potatoes, pumpkins and green beans. And a buttermilk chocolate cake.

      Detective Kannemeyer hadn’t listened to my whole story at the police station, but got my details and said he’d come round to my house the next day to take a statement. I could see he had a lot on his hands, so I didn’t argue. He said he would call first.

      On the way home from the police station, I’d stopped at the butcher because they had a special on leg of lamb. There is no better-tasting meat than Karoo lamb. You can taste the Karoo veld, and sunshine and the sweet wild herbs the lambs eat.

      I was in the mood for my nice cream dress, the one with the little blue flowers. I took off my veldskoene and found my blue shoes with the low heels. I put on my apron and started with the lamb.

      Once the lamb was in the oven, I went outside to pick rosemary for the potatoes. The red geraniums were flowering, and I cut some to put in a vase on the kitchen table.

      When I was in the garden, the phone rang. My shoes interfered a bit with my walking, and on СКАЧАТЬ