they enter the government district.
“You ready?” Nomsulwa asks.
“I’m nervous,” Claire says.
“You’ll get through it.”
“Yeah … You’ll come in with me?”
Nomsulwa is about to refuse. She can’t imagine hearing one more word about the water man than she has to. Then she realizes that she is being offered a look into the investigation, a chance to learn what the police know. All the usual police leaks have dried up for this one. She is the only one with access. At least, this is what Nomsulwa tells herself when she nods.
“Thank you.”
“Not a problem.” Nomsulwa gives a grimace that was meant to be a supportive smile.
P OLICE HEADQUARTERS IS LOCATED IN A TALL WHITE building. The avenues here are wide and the buildings are mostly grey and brown, separated by carefully tended lawns. There is a fountain in the median, also brown, with birds of paradise bending at the corners. Orange is the brightest colour around. But Claire might have missed all this because when they drive into the covered car lot, she looks, eyes wide and glassy, as if she has been asleep.
“We’re here,” Nomsulwa says.
“Yes.”
The elevator takes a long time to reach the thirty-fourth floor and Nomsulwa says nothing the entire ride. The secretary waves them in with a weak smile. Claire pauses, lets Nomsulwa lead.
In the office the air is too cold from the AC wall unit behind the desk. Zembe perches on the edge of a side table, and a tall man Nomsulwa doesn’t know rests in a chair behind Zembe.
Nomsulwa takes a stool from the corner and sits far away from Claire. Zembe gives her a hard look, but she ignores it despite the officer’s wishes.
The Commissioner begins, explaining things very slowly, bit by bit painting the picture as gently as possible for Claire. His voice is deep and monotonous. They found Claire’s fatherin the township, they don’t want to upset her by going over again the details of her father’s death that she and her mother were provided by phone, but they know who is responsible and all units are looking for the culprit. They believe her father was killed by a member of a local gang, likely for his money. They’ll know more once the suspect is apprehended.
“Where was he found?” Claire stops the Commissioner in mid-sentence.
“In Phiri.”
“But where? Show me a map so I can see
where.”
She won’t let this detail go.
The Commissioner reaches into a closed file on the desk and takes out a crude map.
“Here, on Lenkoe Street, between the two houses that meet up with Nsizwa. In this yard hidden from the street.”
When the Commissioner removes the map, several photos fall out of the yellow folder. Claire reaches for these, and the Commissioner slides the photos back, out of reach.
“Show me those photos.”
“Are you sure?” The man is incredulous, but seeing Claire’s face he opens the file. Both Zembe and Nomsulwa lurch forward.
“No, let him,” Claire says in a strange, high voice. “I need to see.”
The man lays the pictures on the desk, facing Claire. Nomsulwa tries to avert her eyes but catches sight of an eyebrow, a hair, brown and curled. She sees a hand, whiteand yellow-rimmed from what looks like sand. It lies palm down, the back visible and bathed in light.
Claire reaches out and touches the last image where a gold ring wraps the middle finger. The band displays three letters like swaying tree trunks intertwined: PEM .
“Where’s his ring?”
“What?” Zembe asks.
“Where is his ring? I want his ring.” Claire is still focused on the photo.
“It’s in evidence,” the Commissioner answers, voice firm.
“It’s my property.” Claire looks up, defiant.
“We’ll send it to you with the rest of his effects once the case is closed,” Zembe assures them both.
“That could be years. I need it now. Please?” Claire directs this last plea to Nomsulwa, who shrinks back. She can’t get involved in police business.
“The ring.” Claire
“You ready?” Nomsulwa asks.
“I’m nervous,” Claire says.
“You’ll get through it.”
“Yeah … You’ll come in with me?”
Nomsulwa is about to refuse. She can’t imagine hearing one more word about the water man than she has to. Then she realizes that she is being offered a look into the investigation, a chance to learn what the police know. All the usual police leaks have dried up for this one. She is the only one with access. At least, this is what Nomsulwa tells herself when she nods.
“Thank you.”
“Not a problem.” Nomsulwa gives a grimace that was meant to be a supportive smile.
P OLICE HEADQUARTERS IS LOCATED IN A TALL WHITE building. The avenues here are wide and the buildings are mostly grey and brown, separated by carefully tended lawns. There is a fountain in the median, also brown, with birds of paradise bending at the corners. Orange is the brightest colour around. But Claire might have missed all this because when they drive into the covered car lot, she looks, eyes wide and glassy, as if she has been asleep.
“We’re here,” Nomsulwa says.
“Yes.”
The elevator takes a long time to reach the thirty-fourth floor and Nomsulwa says nothing the entire ride. The secretary waves them in with a weak smile. Claire pauses, lets Nomsulwa lead.
In the office the air is too cold from the AC wall unit behind the desk. Zembe perches on the edge of a side table, and a tall man Nomsulwa doesn’t know rests in a chair behind Zembe.
Nomsulwa takes a stool from the corner and sits far away from Claire. Zembe gives her a hard look, but she ignores it despite the officer’s wishes.
The Commissioner begins, explaining things very slowly, bit by bit painting the picture as gently as possible for Claire. His voice is deep and monotonous. They found Claire’s fatherin the township, they don’t want to upset her by going over again the details of her father’s death that she and her mother were provided by phone, but they know who is responsible and all units are looking for the culprit. They believe her father was killed by a member of a local gang, likely for his money. They’ll know more once the suspect is apprehended.
“Where was he found?” Claire stops the Commissioner in mid-sentence.
“In Phiri.”
“But where? Show me a map so I can see
where.”
She won’t let this detail go.
The Commissioner reaches into a closed file on the desk and takes out a crude map.
“Here, on Lenkoe Street, between the two houses that meet up with Nsizwa. In this yard hidden from the street.”
When the Commissioner removes the map, several photos fall out of the yellow folder. Claire reaches for these, and the Commissioner slides the photos back, out of reach.
“Show me those photos.”
“Are you sure?” The man is incredulous, but seeing Claire’s face he opens the file. Both Zembe and Nomsulwa lurch forward.
“No, let him,” Claire says in a strange, high voice. “I need to see.”
The man lays the pictures on the desk, facing Claire. Nomsulwa tries to avert her eyes but catches sight of an eyebrow, a hair, brown and curled. She sees a hand, whiteand yellow-rimmed from what looks like sand. It lies palm down, the back visible and bathed in light.
Claire reaches out and touches the last image where a gold ring wraps the middle finger. The band displays three letters like swaying tree trunks intertwined: PEM .
“Where’s his ring?”
“What?” Zembe asks.
“Where is his ring? I want his ring.” Claire is still focused on the photo.
“It’s in evidence,” the Commissioner answers, voice firm.
“It’s my property.” Claire looks up, defiant.
“We’ll send it to you with the rest of his effects once the case is closed,” Zembe assures them both.
“That could be years. I need it now. Please?” Claire directs this last plea to Nomsulwa, who shrinks back. She can’t get involved in police business.
“The ring.” Claire
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