by Mick Finlay
‘See how dry her eyes are,’ said the guvnor. ‘It looks as if she’s been dead a few days.’
Napper moved the lamp through the air, examining each corner of the small room. From what I could remember, it seemed just the same as when I’d had a look in there yesterday: piles of books, a few crates filled with empty ginger beer bottles, a little chest of drawers with a candle stood on top in a sardine tin. Mabaso lit it and opened the top drawer, out of which he pulled a ball of string, a box of nails, a few tools.
As he slid open the next drawer, Napper stepped back into the hall.
‘McDonald!’ he yelled. ‘Bring the prisoners in here!’
The young copper came through from the corridor, pushing Thembeka and Senzo afore him.
Napper pointed at the cupboard: ‘How d’you explain this, ma’am?’
Thembeka looked past him into the little room where Mabaso knelt on the floor, searching for clues under the dresser. Her mouth fell open. She looked back at Senzo, whose face was grim. They exchanged words.
‘Miss Thembeka,’ said Napper again. ‘Tell me what happened here.’
‘S’bu?’ said Senzo, stepping toward the cupboard. ‘S’bu?’
‘He’s not here, lad,’ said Napper. ‘It’s only Mrs Fowler.’ Then, without warning, he clutched Senzo’s jumper and pushed him up against the wall. ‘Tell me what happened, damn you,’ he hissed.
Senzo was a few inches taller than the detective, but he made no move to resist. His head touched the wall; his wide eyes looked down on Napper. He spoke in his own language.
‘What’s he saying?’ grunted Napper over his shoulder.
‘He’s asking what happened,’ answered Thembeka.
Napper let go of Senzo and turned to her. ‘You’ve been here since she went missing. You tell me what happened.’
‘We were on the other side, in the roof. We never came down here.’ She jerked her head toward the ladies in the doorway. ‘Maybe they saw someone?’
‘Don’t believe them, sir,’ said Mabaso, stepping over to Mrs Fowler’s body. He bent and picked something from the floor under the chair. ‘Look at this.’
Between his long fingers was a red feather, just like the ones Senzo had worn around his neck when we first met. Thembeka frowned, her eyes flicking at her cousin. He shook his head.
Napper examined it. ‘Anything else there, constable?’
‘There’s the ribbons tying her to the chair, sir. The newspaper reports said Mr Nyambezi wore feathers around his neck and Musa Schoko had ribbons on his hat when they appeared in the police courts.’
‘They did,’ said Napper, looking again at the feather.
Mabaso turned to the guvnor. ‘Were the feathers like this one?’
‘Well, they were the same colour,’ said the guvnor, a troubled look on his face. He met my eyes. It wasn’t just the ribbons. The clay pipe was the same type Thembeka was smoking in the Quaker Hall. ‘I can’t say if they’re his.’
‘And the ribbons?’
‘Again, the same colour, but I really don’t know if they’re the same.’
‘We didn’t kill her!’ cried Thembeka, moving from foot to foot. Her jaw was strained, her brow tight. ‘You must believe us. We didn’t kill her, sir.’
‘Why should I believe you?’ answered Napper.
‘My oath on the Bible, sir. It wasn’t us.’
Napper sighed and shook his head. ‘If I believed every suspect who told me they were innocent, I’d hardly arrest a soul, Miss Kunene. Now come along, admit it. Your cousin killed that woman.’
‘He didn’t kill her, detective,’ said Thembeka, taking Senzo’s arm. ‘He didn’t.’
‘Perhaps you helped him, ma’am.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then it was S’bu.’
‘No!’ said Thembeka. ‘He’s only a boy!’
‘If it wasn’t him, it must be you two,’ said Napper, raising his brow and scratching the tight bristle on his bonce. ‘Look at the evidence. You both disappeared at the same time as Mrs Fowler. Her body is found in the hall where only you and the ladies have been staying. And this feather,’ he held it up, turning it in between his thumb and forefinger, ‘which your cousin was wearing, is found by her body. Help me, miss. Explain it.’
‘We left the feathers and ribbons when we ran from the Quaker House,’ she said, her voice ragged with despair. ‘Someone put those there to make it look like us.’
‘I’m arresting you both for murder,’ said Napper. ‘You’ll hang for this.’
‘No!’ cried Thembeka.
‘Hold on, Napper,’ said the guvnor. ‘I don’t believe they killed her.’
Napper’s eyes narrowed. ‘How so, Arrowood?’
‘If you were going to kill someone, would you leave the body in the same house you were hiding in? Especially in the cupboard of a hall used for public services? You saw yourself – that door isn’t locked. Wouldn’t the discovery of the body lead to a police search of the house? And wouldn’t that be a stupid thing to do if you were trying to hide there, not to mention leaving all this other evidence?’
‘They didn’t consider the consequences,’ said Napper.
‘Nobody would be that foolish, detective.’
‘They’re Zulus, Arrowood.’
‘AmaQwabe, sir,’ I said. ‘Other side of the river.’
‘I’m just saying they acted on impulse,’ said Napper, looking over at Mrs Fowler as if she was his ally in this. ‘They didn’t plan it out.’
‘You don’t think we can make plans?’ demanded Thembeka.
Napper said nothing.
‘Because we’re Africans?’ she added.
‘Of course they can make plans, Napper,’ said Arrowood.
PC Mabaso stood in the entrance to the cupboard, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed on the detective inspector. His face was severe and still.
Napper had coloured. ‘Read your Havelock Ellis, Arrowood,’ he said, then turned and strode clickety-clack across the stage. ‘He explains it. Come along, McDonald. Let’s get them locked in the van.’
‘We didn’t kill her,’ pleaded Thembeka. ‘I swear it, sir. We didn’t know she was there!’
‘Don’t be an ass, Napper,’ said the guvnor. ‘They didn’t kill her.’
‘Come along, McDonald!’ Napper barked.
‘I’ll help him take them to the station, sir,’ said Mabaso.
‘Yes, thank you. I can finish up here on my own.’
‘Who was it told you the two prisoners were here, PC Mabaso?’ asked the guvnor.
‘One of Mr Capaldi’s drivers. I don’t know his name.’
‘That was good work, PC,’ said Napper.
There was a flicker of something in Mabaso’s eyes, but his face was cold. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said.
‘How did you persuade him to tell you?’ asked the guvnor.
‘I followed him to the stables after he’d dropped Capaldi off. He was a weak fellow.’
‘Did you assault him?’
‘How he got the information isn’t your affair, Arrowood,’ said Napper.
‘Did he mention S’bu or Mrs Fowler?’ asked the guvnor.
‘He said the Zulus were here, Mr Arrowood,’ said Mabaso, stepping behind Senzo and putting his hand on his arm. ‘I believed he meant all of them.’
‘Pay him another visit once you’ve got these two to the station,’ said Napper. ‘See what else he knows. And McDonald, send the surgeon immediately.’
We watched as they took the two prisoners out. As the door swung shut, we heard Mabaso begin to cough again.
‘Did they have the pistols on them?’ asked the guvnor.
‘No,’ said the copper. ‘We had a search.’
‘There’s something I must tell you, Napper,’ said the guvnor. ‘You won’t like it.’
The detective sighed, lowering himself onto a chair in front of the stage. He pulled out a thin cigar and lit a match. When he’d got it going, he waved his h
and and shut his eyes.
‘Go on, then. If you must.’
‘Senzo and Thembeka have been hiding here since Tuesday. We discovered this on Thursday but we didn’t tell you.’
Napper’s face screwed up and stayed that way for some time. Then his eyes snapped open. ‘Go on,’ he said.
‘We were here yesterday evening. We searched the whole building, including those cupboards. Mrs Fowler wasn’t here, dead or alive. Now, I don’t believe Senzo or Thembeka could’ve left the building, not with the police and the Capaldis looking for them. The most likely explanation is that someone else brought Mrs Fowler’s body here since then.’
‘Or she arrived herself and then the Zulus killed her.’
Arrowood shook his head. ‘She’s been dead for several days. You saw how dry her eyes were. She was brought here some time between yesterday evening and now, and she was already dead.’
Napper took another puff and blew the smoke upwards to the ceiling. ‘So, you knew they were here while we were searching all over town for them.’
‘We did.’
‘You allowed us to waste our time for two days while you kept this a secret.’
‘We didn’t know where S’bu or Mrs Fowler were,’ said the guvnor. ‘It wasn’t wasted time.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’
‘Why in damnation didn’t you tell me?’
‘They believe someone in the police works for Mr Capaldi. They were afraid he’d come for them.’
‘Who?’
‘They don’t know.’
Napper stood. ‘I’m arresting you both as accomplices to Mrs Fowler’s murder.’
‘No, sir,’ said the guvnor. ‘You’re not going to do that.’
The detective blinked. ‘And why not?’
‘Because you need our help, Napper. You’ve rounded up two of your fugitives. There’s only one left, but you’ve now got three murders to solve. You’re in every paper already, and after today you’ll be famous. The murder of a white woman and her husband. The arrest of two Zulus, no less, and who in Britain doesn’t remember Rorke’s Drift? You’ll have all the press of the empire watching.’ He shook his head. ‘You cannot, you must not fail.’
Napper took a deep draw on his cigar, then raised one leg and gave the chair he’d been sat on an almighty shove. It slid across the floor, then tumbled head over tail to a stop. He dropped the cigar and ground it into the nice parquet floor with his boot. When he spoke, each word came out slow through his gritted teeth.
‘Do not hide anything from me again. Understand?’
The guvnor nodded, then put his hand on the copper’s arm. ‘Don’t underestimate the Africans, Napper.’
‘We control almost a quarter of the world, for God’s sake. Isn’t that proof we’re better made?’
The guvnor patted his elbow and smiled. ‘It’s proof our guns are better made, my friend.’
Napper pulled away. ‘A Daily News man, are you? Well, I’m a patriot, and that’s the end of it. Tell me what you think happened here.’
‘May I have a look at the body first?’
Napper held out his hand. ‘Don’t touch anything. And before you say it, she’s been throttled. The bruising around her neck’s clear.’
Arrowood collected the lamp and waddled into the cupboard. There he put on his eyeglasses and examined Mrs Fowler, holding the flame up to her hair, her neck, her face. He studied the ribbons binding her wrists to the seat, her ankles to the legs. Then, with a groan and a burp, he got down on his knees and peered at her boots.
‘Where’s your magnifying lens, Sherlock?’ asked Napper with a chuckle. The guvnor muttered under his breath. Napper gave me a wink. ‘Are you trying to identify the type of clay on her boots?’
‘What the hell’s wrong with you!’ barked the guvnor, looking up at the copper. ‘Haven’t you any decency? There’s a dead woman here! Have some respect.’
‘I was teasing, you bloody fool!’ said Napper, his cheeks colouring.
‘Well, your jokes are tiresome, detective,’ muttered the guvnor. ‘I’m afraid you’re one of those unfortunate people who lack a sense of humour but don’t realize it.’
‘What’s wrong with you?’ demanded Napper. ‘Why are you so blooming difficult today?’
‘There’s a taint in my bloodline,’ said the guvnor as he studied Mrs Fowler’s ankles with the hand-lamp. ‘I was born with a mildly neurotic temperament, though nothing like my sister.’
Napper looked at me. ‘I don’t know how you can stand to work with him, Barnett. You ever thought about getting a job with us? You could make detective sergeant one day.’
‘I might do that, sir,’ I said.
‘Right.’ The guvnor, still on his knees, put the candle on the floor of the little room. He tried to stand up, but the effort seemed too much for his weak legs and he unbalanced, falling back onto the polished floor. Napper watched him, a distracted look on his red face. I’d have given him a hand up, but the copper was blocking my way. Arrowood rolled over onto his knees again, placed his meaty hands on Mrs Fowler’s thighs and, with a groan, used her to push himself up to his feet.
‘Don’t touch the body!’ cried Napper.
It was too late. Arrowood was already halfway to his feet when the chair tilted forwards, unbalancing him. He fell backwards onto the floor, crying out as the chair with Mrs Fowler tied to it landed on top of him.
‘What the hell are you doing!’ barked Napper. ‘The surgeon hasn’t examined the scene yet, you buffoon!’
‘Oh, Lord,’ groaned the guvnor, struggling to get out from under Mrs Fowler’s cadaver. ‘I’ve put my blooming back out now. Get her off me!’
‘No! You damn well stay where you are! Do not disturb the scene one more inch.’
‘What! Get me up, you fool.’ Mrs Fowler’s face was planted on his breast. He moved his arms and clutched her shoulders, but the chair legs were jammed between the set of drawers and the open door and he couldn’t shift her. ‘Lift it off!’ he demanded. ‘I’m in pain!’
‘No chance! You stay where you are until the surgeon arrives, you fat baboon.’
‘But that could be hours!’ he cried from the floor. ‘I’m not lying here till then! What’s wrong with you?’
‘It’s your own fault. Don’t you dare move.’
‘Barnett! Help me up.’
Napper turned to me. ‘I’ll arrest you if you move that body.’
‘I understand, sir,’ I said. ‘But he’s done his back in. I’ve got to get him out.’
‘He bloody deserves to lie there.’
‘I know he does. He’s always rude when he’s in pain. That back gives him hell, it truly does, inspector. It’s nothing personal. Maybe we can just put the chair back where it was? She’s been dead a while. I know you’re a careful man, sir, but now it’s done it won’t make much difference if she’s down there or back where she was.’
‘Get m—’ the guvnor started.
‘Shut your mouth!’ I barked at him. ‘He owes you an apology, inspector, and he’ll give you one just as soon as we’ve got him out of there.’
Napper looked at me, thinking. He tightened his lips, and I could see he was about to nod when the guvnor started up again.
‘Take this woman off me, Barnett! Don’t listen to that blithering imbecile!’
We both looked down at him laid flat out on the floor, his grizzled red face clenched with fury, his bowler beside his ear and Mrs Fowler bent on top of him. The clay pipe had been knocked out her mouth and lay by his shoulder.
Napper picked up the lamp and slammed shut the cupboard door.
‘Don’t you dare leave me here!’ came the guvnor’s voice from within.
‘I’m going to talk to the ladies,’ said Napper to me. ‘You stay out here until the surgeon arrives. Do not go in there.’
I sat on one of the hard chairs facing the stage, glad to take the weight off my feet. For a few minutes, the guvnor’s muffled voice raged
from behind the cupboard door, then slowly it calmed. I might have enjoyed his misery, but the weight of death around us these past few days was heavy, and I wanted the end of this case. My thoughts turned to Mercy and Leo. I had a bad feeling about those poor little mites. Fever in a baby was like the toss of a coin. I’d seen it too many times before.
‘Norman,’ came his voice, pleading now. ‘It’s dark.’
I rolled a smoke and lit it up.
‘Norman, at least open the door.’
I choked down a sad laugh, then felt ashamed. What kind of brute was I becoming? Mrs Fowler was tied to a chair with the breath choked out of her. She seemed a good sort, more alive than her husband, that was sure. And poor old Musa had his teeth smashed out before they killed him. Whoever did that to him was some cruel monster and there was none of us going to sleep easy until he was caught. Three people were dead and a laugh had risen in my throat. I shook my head in shame and wondered, as I had so many times these last few years, if it was time to get out of this line of work, try and get some normal feelings back. I didn’t seem to care about much anymore, and that was no way of living.
I rose, opened the door, and lifted the chair with Mrs Fowler off him. Then I helped him up.
He puffed and wheezed, his eyes screwed up tight. I had half an idea he might have been weeping in there, so I got out my box of Black Drop and gave him a couple, then led him over to a seat.
‘Sometimes I think I’m cursed,’ he mumbled, clutching his back. ‘Like the good Lord just put me together to amuse himself. What with the gout and the wheezes and this blooming back. The damned nerves from my father. And his piles. There’s blood in my stool again, did I tell you?’
‘No, William.’
‘D’you think he drinks, Norman?’
‘Who?’
‘The Lord!’
‘Does the Lord drink?’
‘Who knows? Go through and see what they’re doing. I need to be alone a moment.’
In the kitchen, Napper stood by the range, Leonie, Gisele and Sylvia at the table. Nick was hunched on the mattress on the floor, his arms clutched round his knees. Under his eyes were puffy grey bags, his lips ridged and cracked. They were telling the copper they didn’t know the body was there, didn’t know who put it there, hadn’t heard or seen anything. It didn’t matter which way Napper asked the question, the answers were the same. Dave sat on a stool by the larder smoking a fag.
