inmates were in a frenzy, yelling to let them out. His vision cleared but the skin on his face still burned and he could feel a sticky coat of chemicals on it. He walked past the shouting inmates and looked out the small window in the door leading to the offices of the precinct. It didn’t look like anybody else was around.
Eric went back to his cell and looked the guard up and down; they were about the same height.
“Take off your uniform and shoes,” Eric said.
“What?”
“Take off your uniform.”
The guard took off his uniform and threw everything on the ground at Eric’s feet. Eric shut the cell door and locked it before changing. It was a little tight, but passable.
He walked past the other inmates again who were now spitting and throwing things as they realized he wasn’t going to help them.
Eric walked out into the precinct. It had beige carpet and a few gray cubicles set up around the center with offices down narrow hallways. There were voices coming from a room nearby, a female’s laughter. He headed for the double-doors of the front entrance. An office door opened when he was ten feet away and Detective Pregman stepped out, looking over some papers.
Eric turned away quickly and saw he was facing some copy machines. He grabbed some paper and shoved it into a machine and pressed the copy button. The hum of the machine began as the green light flowed from the cracks in the top. Eric could hear Pregman’s voice as he walked across a hallway and into an office.
“Cindy I need copies of these four and then a copy of the tox report for the Millens case please.”
“Sure,” a female voice said.
Eric heard the sound of high-heels approaching from behind. His heart was beating so fast he couldn’t breathe. The secretary stepped to a machine next to him and glanced over. She did a double take and Eric could feel her stare.
“That machine’s broken,” he said.
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, try the one next to it.”
“Thanks,” she said, uncertain.
“Um hm,” Eric said as he walked away and toward the front entrance. He glanced back once to see Pregman, with his head in some papers and turned away, look up, the detective catching a glimpse of the back of his head as he walked through the doors, and onto the rain soaked streets.
CHAPTER
18
The day was boiling and all the plastic and metal in Namdi’s jeep reached near-scalding temperatures. He gripped the bottom of the steering wheel with the edge of his shirt and tried not to let his arm inadvertently touch the metal gear shift.
Berksted hadn’t said anything since they began driving. He stared out into the grass, watching the occasional animal with a cold detachment. Namdi had seen this before. When a person is murdered, the family can blame the murderer. But how do you blame an animal for following its own nature? The family has no outlet for their anger and hatred and it turns inward into depression. Many often turn to drugs and alcohol and even attempt suicide in the weeks and months that follow.
“It was my idea to come here,” Berksted finally said. “I brought them here cause I thought it’d be fun to go on safari and see the animals but without all the bullshit of Africa. My wife wanted to go to Australia, but I brought them here.”
“It is not your fault, Mr. Berksted.”
“Isn’t it?” he said, turning toward him. “How the fuck would you know?”
Namdi didn’t say anything.
Berksted turned back to the landscape. “Sorry,” he said.
“You do not need to apologize.”
“So you’re a doctor?”
“Yes, surgeon by specialty. But out here there are no specialties.”
“You live here?”
“Sometimes. I have a house in Johannesburg in South Africa as well.”
“What the hell you doin’ here?”
“I spend half the year working for the government and then half the year in Johannesburg working at a free clinic. I would work for free the entire year if I could, but one must earn money somehow.”
Berksted
Eric went back to his cell and looked the guard up and down; they were about the same height.
“Take off your uniform and shoes,” Eric said.
“What?”
“Take off your uniform.”
The guard took off his uniform and threw everything on the ground at Eric’s feet. Eric shut the cell door and locked it before changing. It was a little tight, but passable.
He walked past the other inmates again who were now spitting and throwing things as they realized he wasn’t going to help them.
Eric walked out into the precinct. It had beige carpet and a few gray cubicles set up around the center with offices down narrow hallways. There were voices coming from a room nearby, a female’s laughter. He headed for the double-doors of the front entrance. An office door opened when he was ten feet away and Detective Pregman stepped out, looking over some papers.
Eric turned away quickly and saw he was facing some copy machines. He grabbed some paper and shoved it into a machine and pressed the copy button. The hum of the machine began as the green light flowed from the cracks in the top. Eric could hear Pregman’s voice as he walked across a hallway and into an office.
“Cindy I need copies of these four and then a copy of the tox report for the Millens case please.”
“Sure,” a female voice said.
Eric heard the sound of high-heels approaching from behind. His heart was beating so fast he couldn’t breathe. The secretary stepped to a machine next to him and glanced over. She did a double take and Eric could feel her stare.
“That machine’s broken,” he said.
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, try the one next to it.”
“Thanks,” she said, uncertain.
“Um hm,” Eric said as he walked away and toward the front entrance. He glanced back once to see Pregman, with his head in some papers and turned away, look up, the detective catching a glimpse of the back of his head as he walked through the doors, and onto the rain soaked streets.
CHAPTER
18
The day was boiling and all the plastic and metal in Namdi’s jeep reached near-scalding temperatures. He gripped the bottom of the steering wheel with the edge of his shirt and tried not to let his arm inadvertently touch the metal gear shift.
Berksted hadn’t said anything since they began driving. He stared out into the grass, watching the occasional animal with a cold detachment. Namdi had seen this before. When a person is murdered, the family can blame the murderer. But how do you blame an animal for following its own nature? The family has no outlet for their anger and hatred and it turns inward into depression. Many often turn to drugs and alcohol and even attempt suicide in the weeks and months that follow.
“It was my idea to come here,” Berksted finally said. “I brought them here cause I thought it’d be fun to go on safari and see the animals but without all the bullshit of Africa. My wife wanted to go to Australia, but I brought them here.”
“It is not your fault, Mr. Berksted.”
“Isn’t it?” he said, turning toward him. “How the fuck would you know?”
Namdi didn’t say anything.
Berksted turned back to the landscape. “Sorry,” he said.
“You do not need to apologize.”
“So you’re a doctor?”
“Yes, surgeon by specialty. But out here there are no specialties.”
“You live here?”
“Sometimes. I have a house in Johannesburg in South Africa as well.”
“What the hell you doin’ here?”
“I spend half the year working for the government and then half the year in Johannesburg working at a free clinic. I would work for free the entire year if I could, but one must earn money somehow.”
Berksted
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