Deadline

by Zaheera Walker

  Two other relatives said it was time for them to leave as well. All three women planned to go home the next day. They packed their cars, hugged Feriyal and shed rivers of tears. How was the young girl goingto cope on her own?

  “You mustn’t worry about me. I’m a woman now. I’ll have my work to keep me occupied. You must go home to your loved ones.” She felt a lump building up in her throat. “You’ve done so much for me already.

  Mummy would have been so grateful that you gave your time to be here with me. Thank you.”

  As they drove out of the carpark, Feriyal waved goodbye. At last. They were gone. She hated having so many people in the flat. The spaces he once shared with her mother. In the beginning, she had valued the company, but, after a few days, they started getting on her nerves. Now they were gone. She felt both sad and relieved.

  Feriyal stepped into the flat and realised things were going to be different. Her shoulders hunched and she hugged herself tight. She could feel fine bumps growing on her body. “I know you are here with me, Ma. I can feel you.” She closed her eyes to seal in the feeling. “You’ll always be with me. With you by my side, I’ll never go wrong. Everyone’s gone now. When Aunty Zainab laughed, I thought I heard you laugh. She walked like you. Creased her eyebrows and fussed just like you. Now she’s gone and you’re no longer here.”

  She turned the key in the door, settled in her bed and closed her eyes. Just one day. That was all she wanted. Just one day to feel free. To play the album of memories in her mind. To be a child again. She gave that to herself the day her relatives went on their different ways home.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Two weeks after the last lump of soil had covered her mother’s grave, the telephone shrilled. It disturbed the silence that filled the space in the flat. There was no desire to answer it. Why should it be answered? With each ring, it sounded louder. Livid. Feriyal stirred in her bed. Why couldn’t life continue without her?

  “Good morning. Can I help you?” Her eyes were not prepared to see the day ahead.

  “Feriyal! Aneel Simha here. Daily Voice. You took your sweet time to answer the phone.” He breathed hot flames into the receiver. “You’re testing my patience, young lady. You have the cheek to take the court diary with you. It belongs to this paper. The decent thing would have been to leave it behind. How are we supposed to follow matters without proper dates?” he barked at her, spitting bouts of verbal diarrhoea without stopping for air.

  First the telephone book. Now the diary. What next? She listened. What else could she do? Had he not heard about her mother’s passing?

  She didn’t have the courage to fight back.

  “Well, what do you have to say for yourself, young lady?”

  It was not the right time. Not in the morning. It wasn’t pleasant to start the day with a bad taste in her mouth. She missed her mother. More today, because she wanted to feel the warmth of her embrace. One last time.

  She was too upset to cry. Why give him the pleasure of seeing how weak she felt?

  “Calm down, please. Yes, I have it. Everything happened so quickly that day. I forgot. Sorry. It was not intentional.”

  “Whether it was a mistake or not is not the issue here.

  What are you going to do about it?”

  She squinted in irritation. She became hot and her hand curled tight.

  “Took you a long time to remember this, didn’t it? My mother passed away only recently. Did you not hear about it? We buried her almost fourteen days ago. We did not end off on a good note, but I honestly thought you’d feel for me.” She hoped it was going to melt him. “I didn’t steal the diary. I’ll bring it through today.” She couldn’t figure out why he was bugging her. Now. After all this time. He had wanted her out. He had kicked her out. Yet he was not satisfied.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. My condolences. She was a good woman.” The man was showing his soft side. Just for a brief moment.

  “But I was your editor. I cannot confuse business with private affairs. It’s not necessary to come here. I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way. But post the diary today. Did you hear me? Today.” He hung up without saying goodbye.

  Feriyal felt like diving into a deep hole and hiding there forever. There was so much to do. The telephone bill had to be paid, the rent for the flat and some food to keep her strength up. There was the electricity. The water account. Now the diary too. So many costs. So little money.

  From now on, she was going to fend for herself. Sink or swim. Survival of the fittest. Law of the jungle.

  ***

  The rain lashed down from all sides. She raced to the bus stop faster than an Olympic sprinter. The only umbrella she owned was broken.

  There was nobody at home to ensure she was covered in layers of thick jerseys. Shivers drizzled down her body.

  The diary was packaged and dropped into the big red box outside the post office. She paid the rent and the electricity. Pinched a bit from the assignment money. A short SMS to tell Shane she wanted to discuss her plan of action. He called her back.

  “Where are you? Can we meet now?” Shane asked if she could wait for him in a coffee shop. He could see her in an hour.

  “I’ll meet you at the Workshop. The sunken coffee shop on the ground floor. I think it’s Out of... something.” She knew the place, but couldn’t remember the name.

  “Africa. It’s Out of Africa. I know where that is. See you in a bit.” He rang off.

  She ordered a frothy cappuccino. It warmed the cold building up in her grief-stricken body. There was a copy of the Daily Voice on the next table, screaming front page headlines. “Serial killer strikes again.” She read the article. The one written by Aneel. She resented him, but needed to know what was going on. To gather information for her framework.

  The waiter checked to see if she wanted anything else.

  “Yes. A toasted cheese. Another cappuccino as well, please.” She was hungry. She hadn’t had much of an appetite the last few weeks.

  Her hand went into the bag. She searched for something to write on. A notepad and a blunt pencil came out from hiding. She scribbled some facts. Then he arrived, his face half hidden behind a bunch of sunflowers; bright and mysterious.

  “For you, my lady. May they brighten your day.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry to hear about your mother’s passing. I wanted to be there for you. I just didn’t know if you would have been comfortable with the idea.” His large hand covered her small one. “I tried calling you as soon as I heard. Your phone went to voicemail. Many times.”

  Feriyal remembered. She had been going to call him back; had just never got around to it. The truth of the matter was she didn’t have airtime. It ran out informing people of her mother’s passing. The waiter arrived with the order. “One toasted cheese and cappuccino for the lady. What can I get you, sir? Would you like to see the menu?”

  “Whatever the lady is having I’ll have too.” He sat down and held both her hands in his. Soft, beautiful hands. They smelt like coco butter. It reminded him of cookies baking in the oven; the scent of perfume, of home and of family. He missed his parents. They chose to remain in Texas. Too old to start anew in a strange country.

  It was awkward. She pulled back her hands. It was not polite to hold the hands of a strange man. At least, not in her Islamic upbringing. He took her by surprise when he did this… but he was no stranger.

  “Thanks for the flowers. My favourites. How did you know?” She brushed her cheeks with the soft petals. Did he care that much?

  “I make it a habit to find out what my favourite girl likes. I know you’re a Leo. Did a bit of research. Discovered those born under that star sign tend to favour bright orange. Yellow too. And the sunflower is your favourite.”

  Feriyal knew she was the luckiest girl to have someone like Shane wanting her. She also knew if she took too long he might lose interest. It didn’t feel like lust. It was pure. Virgin pure. Whiter than white.

  “Yes. Life isn’t co
ming up roses since her death. We were close. Too close. She suffered a great deal. No matter how hard the hospital tried, nothing helped. It crushed me like a bucket of ice to see her waste away.”

  Without realising it, she was talking about things that hurt. Nobody had seen that side to her before now. She stopped, afraid she had given away too much. “I wanted to talk to you about the serial killer matter. But I wanted to see you too.” She lowered her gaze.

  “Pleased to hear that. It took you a while, but we seem to have made a breakthrough.” At last, he was going somewhere with her. He was winning her over to his side. “Let’s talk about you. Leave the serial killer for last.”

  They sipped their hot drinks, froth coating their lips like moustaches, and chatted about the weather, their interests and nothing in particular. A perfect match. Strands of grey showed in his silk mouse-brown hair.

  Her mane was sleek jet-black; hair that complemented her good looks. Shane and Feriyal. Yin and yang. Jack and Jill. The angels must have been singing from above.

  “Now about the serial killer. I see there is an article in the Daily Voice. Did you run one too?” She was behaving like a journalist again. Strike while the iron is hot.

  “Yes, we did. Nothing groundbreaking at this stage. All the newspapers are publishing just what the police give them. The authorities won’t reveal more than we need to know. A mechanism to stop the media from hampering investigations. We just need one lead to crack this.”

  “This is a high-profile case. They have to work with care. If they knew what we have up our sleeves, then the house of cards would tumble. The policemen who were in your office to discuss the proposed assignment are taking a risk. But I like risks.” Feriyal, the fearless, formidable reporter. The risk-taker. “Do you know if there is going to be a media briefing?”

  “Nothing at the moment. As soon as I hear, I’ll call you. Stay close to your phone. I prefer speaking to you instead of your voicemail.” He winked at her. Shane was a man in love. His feelings were genuine.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  There was a media briefing scheduled for 8am at the police headquarters on Friday.

  “Hey Feriyal. A top cop is briefing the media on the serial killer case. I’m sending one of my staff as a decoy. But it’s important for you to be there as well. Can you make it?” Shane’s voice was pumping like a rapid heartbeat.

  “Yes, I’ll go. Aneel will be there too. His favourite beat is crime. You know that. What will I say if he asks why I’m there?”

  “I thought about that. Why do you think I’m sending someone from my team? I know you’re smart. You’ll think of something. Don’t let me down. I’m counting on you, babe.” He hung up the phone.

  Babe. Babe! What was the man thinking? She closed her eyes. There was no time to dissect that word; to study the word and its roots.

  Her mother’s presence was still in the flat. She felt it covering her like a fur coat. It made her warm like golden syrup pouring over malva pudding. When she opened the window in the morning, the spring breeze kissed her cheek.

  It was her mother’s touch, she believed. Checking in on her. Letting her know her love was still around. An intelligent girl thinking such unfounded things. It was weird. She knew it was, but it was a struggle for her to close the chapter. To move on. To bury that which served no purpose anymore.

  Today, she needed guidance. Her mother was going to give it to her. She called out to the woman who never let her down, softly at first, then with a pleading voice. “Ma, I know you haven’t left me to work this out on my own. You’re still here. I can feel your presence, yet my eyes are like shrouds blocking you out. Can I do this, Ma? Am I brave enough? Will I be able to help the police with this dangerous man?”

  There was no answer. No calm voice reassuring her it was going to be all good. “Give me a sign, please. You have all the answers. Please hear me.”

  Her eyes shut tight. She felt stupid; like a fool. To think her mother could hear her. Everyone let her down. Aneel. The One above. Life. Now her mother too. A tear forced its way through the lids, like a newborn forcing its way into this harsh world to take its first breath, hoping for the best.

  There it was. Something brushing against her long eyelashes. She was too scared to open her eyes; too hurt to bother. There it was again.

  This time, it cradled her face, like feathers on either cheek. It made hercalm, safe and at peace. What was it?

  Whoosh. Her eyes opened just in time to see a flash of gentle white escape through the window. That was the sign she needed.

  ***

  Dawn came without warning. It was a big day. She scrambled around in the darkness; her way of saving on the escalating costs of electricity.

  She gathered her thoughts, filed the notes she had drafted on the serial killer, then shoved her pen and paper into her bag. On the bus. On the road again.

  Cameramen scrambled to get the best shots. Reporters from the broadcasting field and the print media milled around like flies, cigarette in one hand and notepad in the other. Pens were secured in handbags or pockets or hung around necks secured by corporate lanyards.

  Seven minutes. Six minutes. Tick. Tick. Tick. Communications personnel ushered everyone into a large conference-type room.

  Nothing glamorous. The basics were available: a projector; PA systems; flipcharts; jugs of water; glass tumblers.

  A register was passed around. His name was on it. Aneel Simha. Editor. Daily Voice. Why? He should have rested his big bottom on his leather chair back at the office. No need for him to attend such meetings.

  After all, he was an editor; a strange man who liked to stick his finger into all pies, like he had tried to stick his log into women’s fireplaces! Aneel’s roving eye zeroed her out. “Now tell me something. You’re either working for a paper not worth mentioning. Or you are holding onto a dream you will never have.” The short, fat man. The one who enjoyed standing on people; jumping on them until they were buried deep within the ground.

  “Oh, hello Aneel. Nice to see you.” Feriyal cursed under her breath.

  Lied too. It was never nice to see him. Not after the way he had humiliated her.

  “No. I’m not working for anyone. Just came through to hearwhat is going on. Plan to freelance and send stuff to whoever wishes to publish. I have the skills. So why not put it to good use, right? You never know what could happen out there.” Those beautiful brown eyes winked. She felt brave, free and not afraid to stand up to him anymore; to make him feel like dog shit.

  He dragged himself back to his seat, his pride punctured like the tyre on a sports car. Pummelled into a pulp; defeated; destroyed.

  The room hushed. Director Carolyn James took her place at the head of the table. She was a petite coloured woman who controlled an industry once run by men. She was known to make the big boys cry. She commanded respect. Her mission was to get the job done. Period.

  “Good morning, everyone. Thank you all for coming here at such short notice. I’m Director Carolyn James and I’ll be heading the serial killer case together with my team.” She cleared her throat and sipped some water from a tall glass, hands on her hips. She strolled around, fixing her gaze on each person. “Ladies and gentlemen. We have a serial killer on our hands. He has to be stopped before he kills again. Before he kills our mothers; sisters; daughters.” She stopped. The details had to sink in.

  “My job as a civil servant is to stop him. Bring him to book. To face the full might of the law. Remember the words. Full. Might. Of. The. Law. I’ll not allow you to incite your readers. To encourage them to hold a kangaroo court situation if they apprehend him.”

  Hands shot up in the air. They had questions. They needed answers to write articles before deadline. Each one in that room was chasing a fresh story angle. News that sold papers.

  Her raised hand silenced everyone. “I haven’t finished. We can’t give away too much at this stage. We can’t take the risk of jeopardising this case. This is an intelligent man. He’s p
laying cat and mouse.” A piercing gaze shot across the room. She nodded at a woman seated at the far end.

  “This is Dr Michaela Pieters. She will be assisting us in this case.”

  Dr Michaela Pieters was a renowned psychologist with the South African Police Services. She had helped to track notorious serial killers in the past. Feriyal knew the name. She had heard Aneel talk about her once before.

  “I’ll take questions now. Five questions.” She was only going to answer if she believed it was going to add value to the meeting.

  Aneel was first. “Director, what sort of women is he targeting? What is his race group; age, perhaps?”

  Next. Shane’s reporter raised her hand. “How many has he killed so far? Does he have a modus operandi?”

  Someone in the back of the room asked if the killer targeted women in a specific area.

  Feriyal was nervous, but she had to know. “Do we know if anyone managed to escape? When did the killings start?”

  The director scribbled on a state notepad; the one with light blue pages and the police emblem on the bottom left side. “For three months now, detectives have been working on separate cases involving women who were raped and strangled. Intense research was done and it showed the person behind it all was the same. The killing patterns were a straight match.” She stopped.

  A uniformed policeman whispered something in the director’s ear.

  The expression etched across her face gave it away. Something terrible must have happened. Has he struck again?

  “Sorry about that. Now back to the briefing. He has killed only Indian women. A total of seventeen that we know about. The bodies were found in the sugarcane fields in Phoenix and Mount Edgecombe. There could be other dumping grounds, but we don’t want to speculate. At this stage, we do not know if he rapes and strangles them in a different area before dumping the bodies. There are no known cases of women escaping from him yet. It will take a bit of time before we know if anyone survived the ordeal. Their statement could help with the investigations.”