slalomed off to the change-rooms.
‘Can I keep those forms?’ asked Clare. ‘And your class lists. We’ll need to contact these parents. See if any of them saw anything, do some background checks.’
‘You’ll be discreet? This is my livelihood.’
‘Of course,’ said Clare.
Mister Henrygave Clare the envelope.
‘Anything else?’ asked Madame Merle.
‘A word with Mister Henry.’
‘He’s never with the girls unsupervised,’ said Madame Merle. ‘The rules are so strict these days, especially after there was an incident at the school – with that chess teacher, wasn’t it, Henry? Nothing to do with us. Anyway, class begins in ten minutes.’ Madame Merle turned around and disappearedinto the studio.
‘You’re here every day?’ asked Clare.
‘Every afternoon. Monday, Wednesday, Friday evenings. Saturdays. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I do some voluntary work.’
‘Oh, what kind?’
‘Music therapy,’ said Mister Henry. ‘At an addiction clinic.’
‘Do you manage to make a living from your music?’
‘Well, I don’t really need much.’
Mister Henry walked outside withClare.
‘So, Yasmin’s here every day?’ she asked.
‘Pretty much,’ he said. Her dancing’s been the one thing that hasn’t changed in her life.’
The parking lot was clogged with cars. Pink-clad girls spilled out, chattering as they swirled up the path, shoes in one hand. A piece of elastic circled their little bodies where their waists should be.
‘Tell me about Yasmin.’ Clare leanedagainst her car, making no move to open the door. ‘What she was like when class finished early?’
‘She seemed upset. She asked Madame Merle about it.’
‘And what did she say?’
‘She sent her packing.’ Mister Henry pulled at a piece of skin on his thumb. ‘She only sees the children when they are dancing.’
‘And you?’
‘I see the dancer.’ Mister Henry looked at the stragglers dawdlingup the path. ‘And I see their pain.’
‘Shazia Faizal tells me you saw a blue Mazda here in the afternoon.’
Henry nodded.
‘Captain Faizal’s car?’
He nodded again.
‘You know the car?’ asked Clare.
‘I know it,’ said Henry.
‘He was driving?’
‘He was here in the middle of the afternoon. That’s what I told Mrs Faizal.’
‘You didn’t tell him the school was closing early?’
‘I didn’t think about it,’ said Mister Henry. ‘Everybody knew.’
‘She’s missing, Mister Henry.’ Clare stepped closer to him. ‘What else did you see?’
He stepped away from her, and a gust of wind off the mountain snatched the words from his mouth.
‘What did you say?’ asked Clare.
‘I saw her here.’ He bit the loose skin next to his fingernail. ‘After the class.’ He pointed to theovergrown gate. ‘I’d come out for a smoke. I saw her.’
‘You saw nobody else?’ she asked.
‘Not a soul. This is a wealthy area. Once the maids go home there’s no one about.’
‘What was she doing?’
‘Standing there near the gate. I called her and she looked at me. That’s when I saw the tears.’
‘Did you ask her why she was crying?’
‘Madame Merle called me right then, so I wentinside. I was going to ask her afterwards, but by then she was gone.’ The sun came out. It was behind Henry, and Clare couldn’t see what was in his eyes.
Madame Merle leaned out of a window.
‘Mister Henry,’ she called, ‘warm up.’
‘I must go.’ He hurried away.
A few seconds later, Mister Henry appeared at the window. He held Clare’s gaze for a moment before banging it shut.
18
Riedwaan’s hands were scratched and his shoes wet from working his way up the ravine that separated Devil’s Peak from Table Mountain. After leaving Clare the night before, he’d ridden directly to the mountain. There, he’d repeated the search organised by Rita Mkhize that Friday evening. He had zigzagged his way up territory familiar from his childhood, when, with his friends, he’d sliddown the smooth
‘Can I keep those forms?’ asked Clare. ‘And your class lists. We’ll need to contact these parents. See if any of them saw anything, do some background checks.’
‘You’ll be discreet? This is my livelihood.’
‘Of course,’ said Clare.
Mister Henrygave Clare the envelope.
‘Anything else?’ asked Madame Merle.
‘A word with Mister Henry.’
‘He’s never with the girls unsupervised,’ said Madame Merle. ‘The rules are so strict these days, especially after there was an incident at the school – with that chess teacher, wasn’t it, Henry? Nothing to do with us. Anyway, class begins in ten minutes.’ Madame Merle turned around and disappearedinto the studio.
‘You’re here every day?’ asked Clare.
‘Every afternoon. Monday, Wednesday, Friday evenings. Saturdays. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I do some voluntary work.’
‘Oh, what kind?’
‘Music therapy,’ said Mister Henry. ‘At an addiction clinic.’
‘Do you manage to make a living from your music?’
‘Well, I don’t really need much.’
Mister Henry walked outside withClare.
‘So, Yasmin’s here every day?’ she asked.
‘Pretty much,’ he said. Her dancing’s been the one thing that hasn’t changed in her life.’
The parking lot was clogged with cars. Pink-clad girls spilled out, chattering as they swirled up the path, shoes in one hand. A piece of elastic circled their little bodies where their waists should be.
‘Tell me about Yasmin.’ Clare leanedagainst her car, making no move to open the door. ‘What she was like when class finished early?’
‘She seemed upset. She asked Madame Merle about it.’
‘And what did she say?’
‘She sent her packing.’ Mister Henry pulled at a piece of skin on his thumb. ‘She only sees the children when they are dancing.’
‘And you?’
‘I see the dancer.’ Mister Henry looked at the stragglers dawdlingup the path. ‘And I see their pain.’
‘Shazia Faizal tells me you saw a blue Mazda here in the afternoon.’
Henry nodded.
‘Captain Faizal’s car?’
He nodded again.
‘You know the car?’ asked Clare.
‘I know it,’ said Henry.
‘He was driving?’
‘He was here in the middle of the afternoon. That’s what I told Mrs Faizal.’
‘You didn’t tell him the school was closing early?’
‘I didn’t think about it,’ said Mister Henry. ‘Everybody knew.’
‘She’s missing, Mister Henry.’ Clare stepped closer to him. ‘What else did you see?’
He stepped away from her, and a gust of wind off the mountain snatched the words from his mouth.
‘What did you say?’ asked Clare.
‘I saw her here.’ He bit the loose skin next to his fingernail. ‘After the class.’ He pointed to theovergrown gate. ‘I’d come out for a smoke. I saw her.’
‘You saw nobody else?’ she asked.
‘Not a soul. This is a wealthy area. Once the maids go home there’s no one about.’
‘What was she doing?’
‘Standing there near the gate. I called her and she looked at me. That’s when I saw the tears.’
‘Did you ask her why she was crying?’
‘Madame Merle called me right then, so I wentinside. I was going to ask her afterwards, but by then she was gone.’ The sun came out. It was behind Henry, and Clare couldn’t see what was in his eyes.
Madame Merle leaned out of a window.
‘Mister Henry,’ she called, ‘warm up.’
‘I must go.’ He hurried away.
A few seconds later, Mister Henry appeared at the window. He held Clare’s gaze for a moment before banging it shut.
18
Riedwaan’s hands were scratched and his shoes wet from working his way up the ravine that separated Devil’s Peak from Table Mountain. After leaving Clare the night before, he’d ridden directly to the mountain. There, he’d repeated the search organised by Rita Mkhize that Friday evening. He had zigzagged his way up territory familiar from his childhood, when, with his friends, he’d sliddown the smooth
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