white. A gardener was tending a sunken rose garden, where ruby red blooms hung on the bushes.
A slender woman eased herself out of the pool, wrapped herself in a white sarong and crossed the lawn, a russet spaniel at her heels. From a distance, she had looked like an expensiveforty. Clare guessed she was closer to sixty.
‘Mrs Sykes,’ said Clare. ‘I’m Dr Hart.’
‘The guard said you were here about the Gallows Hill properties.’ Mrs Sykes stroked the spaniel’s head.
‘Some people were murdered there, as you probably know,’ said Clare.
‘Of course. But that was all so long ago. Why are you raking up the past?’
‘Another body has just been found, and I’mtrying to piece together what happened,’ said Clare.
Saskia Sykes wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s all so unpleasant. Those two men shot there long ago. It’s as if the place is cursed. We should never have got involved in it.’
‘Are you saying that the development wasn’t a success?’ asked Clare.
‘For that, you’ll need to talk to my husband. It was his venture,’ she said. ‘Trying to make somethingof my father’s money. Not his forte, unfortunately.’
‘Is he in?’ asked Clare.
‘Damien’s in the barn,’ she said. ‘Come this way,’ and she led Clare up some stairs.
Damien Sykes, wearing last night’s shirt, opened the door. Barn was not the right word for the light-filled structure. The roof soared upwards, pooling light on the yellowwood floor. Behind Sykes stood a monumental sculptureof a reclining nude. The bed in the far corner was rumpled.
‘Darling,’ he said. ‘This is a surprise. A conjugal visit.’
‘Clare Hart,’ said his wife, ignoring him. ‘She’s here to see you about the warehouse in Green Point.’ Mrs Sykes snapped her fingers and the spaniel came to heel. Then mistress and dog disappeared down the garden.
‘Her true love, that bloody dog. It hates me,’ saidDamien Sykes. ‘Now, Doctor, what can I do for you? I don’t imagine you have the sort of medicine I need.’
‘I think not,’ said Clare.
She walked past him and stopped in front of a triptych of paintings. LOVE I, LOVE II, LOVE III. Red, white and blue. Bruises, cuts, an alabaster skin.
‘Mr Sykes,’ said Clare. ‘May I ask you a few questions? Did you perhaps own some buildings in town?’
‘Yes, several,’ said Sykes, bemused. ‘Import, export. Storage. But what has this to do with anything?’
‘Was one of them perhaps a warehouse off Ebenezer Road?’
‘Gallows Hill. Yes. I’ve heard about all the trouble there,’ said Sykes. ‘But I didn’t own that building. I had a long lease from the government that was cancelled some years ago. Rumour I’ve heard is that an architectural abominationcalled the Onyx is going up there. Luxury parliamentary housing. Smelt fishy.’
‘When did you give up the lease?’
‘When the state cancelled it. Two, three years ago.’ Suddenly irritated, he said, ‘Please, what has this got to do with anything? I have nothing to do with this new development. Look, we knew those old skeletons were there. We dug them up and covered them quickly again. It wasa mistake, of course.’
He knocked back the whiskey he was drinking.
‘We lost money there, and I paid the price. That place never took off.’
He poured himself another drink, without offering one to Clare.
‘I can tell you that this new one won’t either. It has a curse on it, that place.’
‘It is a skeleton I’m interested in,’ said Clare. ‘A particular skeleton.’
‘They wereall 200 years old,’ said Sykes. ‘Bodies left to hang on the gibbets until they dropped. Wouldn’t be such a bad idea today, crime being what it is.’
‘The skeleton I’m interested in is more recent,’ said Clare. ‘A young mother was buried under the slab of your warehouse, Mr Sykes.’
Surprise registered in his eyes.
‘The builder, Tony Gonzalez, has given me the date. It would’ve happenedthe last weekend of February in
A slender woman eased herself out of the pool, wrapped herself in a white sarong and crossed the lawn, a russet spaniel at her heels. From a distance, she had looked like an expensiveforty. Clare guessed she was closer to sixty.
‘Mrs Sykes,’ said Clare. ‘I’m Dr Hart.’
‘The guard said you were here about the Gallows Hill properties.’ Mrs Sykes stroked the spaniel’s head.
‘Some people were murdered there, as you probably know,’ said Clare.
‘Of course. But that was all so long ago. Why are you raking up the past?’
‘Another body has just been found, and I’mtrying to piece together what happened,’ said Clare.
Saskia Sykes wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s all so unpleasant. Those two men shot there long ago. It’s as if the place is cursed. We should never have got involved in it.’
‘Are you saying that the development wasn’t a success?’ asked Clare.
‘For that, you’ll need to talk to my husband. It was his venture,’ she said. ‘Trying to make somethingof my father’s money. Not his forte, unfortunately.’
‘Is he in?’ asked Clare.
‘Damien’s in the barn,’ she said. ‘Come this way,’ and she led Clare up some stairs.
Damien Sykes, wearing last night’s shirt, opened the door. Barn was not the right word for the light-filled structure. The roof soared upwards, pooling light on the yellowwood floor. Behind Sykes stood a monumental sculptureof a reclining nude. The bed in the far corner was rumpled.
‘Darling,’ he said. ‘This is a surprise. A conjugal visit.’
‘Clare Hart,’ said his wife, ignoring him. ‘She’s here to see you about the warehouse in Green Point.’ Mrs Sykes snapped her fingers and the spaniel came to heel. Then mistress and dog disappeared down the garden.
‘Her true love, that bloody dog. It hates me,’ saidDamien Sykes. ‘Now, Doctor, what can I do for you? I don’t imagine you have the sort of medicine I need.’
‘I think not,’ said Clare.
She walked past him and stopped in front of a triptych of paintings. LOVE I, LOVE II, LOVE III. Red, white and blue. Bruises, cuts, an alabaster skin.
‘Mr Sykes,’ said Clare. ‘May I ask you a few questions? Did you perhaps own some buildings in town?’
‘Yes, several,’ said Sykes, bemused. ‘Import, export. Storage. But what has this to do with anything?’
‘Was one of them perhaps a warehouse off Ebenezer Road?’
‘Gallows Hill. Yes. I’ve heard about all the trouble there,’ said Sykes. ‘But I didn’t own that building. I had a long lease from the government that was cancelled some years ago. Rumour I’ve heard is that an architectural abominationcalled the Onyx is going up there. Luxury parliamentary housing. Smelt fishy.’
‘When did you give up the lease?’
‘When the state cancelled it. Two, three years ago.’ Suddenly irritated, he said, ‘Please, what has this got to do with anything? I have nothing to do with this new development. Look, we knew those old skeletons were there. We dug them up and covered them quickly again. It wasa mistake, of course.’
He knocked back the whiskey he was drinking.
‘We lost money there, and I paid the price. That place never took off.’
He poured himself another drink, without offering one to Clare.
‘I can tell you that this new one won’t either. It has a curse on it, that place.’
‘It is a skeleton I’m interested in,’ said Clare. ‘A particular skeleton.’
‘They wereall 200 years old,’ said Sykes. ‘Bodies left to hang on the gibbets until they dropped. Wouldn’t be such a bad idea today, crime being what it is.’
‘The skeleton I’m interested in is more recent,’ said Clare. ‘A young mother was buried under the slab of your warehouse, Mr Sykes.’
Surprise registered in his eyes.
‘The builder, Tony Gonzalez, has given me the date. It would’ve happenedthe last weekend of February in
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