The Score

by HJ Golakai

  “I was going to say, so it didn’t just fizzle out?”

  Akhona Moloi shook her head. “It kind of did, but not in the way I hoped. She wanted promotion right to the top, typical. But whatshisname, mmm, Frederick Louw it was, he’d been with us much longer, never mind she was sharper. We couldn’t just fire him, and how could we make them both senior managers? Xoli became confrontational. My impression was behind closed doors the pillow talk turned sour; the aggro was too much and Gavin got fed up. He ended it, thank God.

  “I didn’t know at the time we employed her that she had issues. Real problems. Once, during her time here, she took extended leave of absence for medical reasons, psychiatric reasons. Of course I’m not one to pry, but you do have to get a doctor’s justification for something like that. She grew up in the township, in Gugulethu. Broken home, that kind of thing. Her father was absent and her mother not really …” Moloi circled a finger near her ear followed by a ‘if you know what I mean’ nod. “Her uncle supported her and her siblings, saw her through school and varsity. But that history had to have left an imprint. Hey, she went to UCT, you know how those kids turn out. All that white stuff they do up there to fit in.”

  “Where did you go?” Chlöe practically growled. Once more, Vee slid a foot over and tapped hers. Cool it, it warned.

  “Wits,” Akhona quipped, lips tilted in a slight ‘isn’t it obvious’ sneer. “Yes, I did some postgrad courses in Cape Town, but nothing really … formative. All the same. From working with Xoliswa Gaba I got the feeling she was off somehow. Bipolar, schizophrenic, one of those disorders umlungus label you with when you don’t have much self-control and common sense. That was only my feeling.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “Maybe she just struggled with her own demons, like we all do. It came to light, though, the drug use. She started coming to work messed up, getting in people’s faces, not finishing her assignments, rubbish after rubbish. Gavin and I had words over it. He apologised it had ever started, asked me to be patient until it calmed down naturally. It didn’t and we had to fire her.”

  “Why exactly? Did she flip out at work, hurt someone?” Vee asked.

  Moloi answered with a lazy shrug. “Not per se. Not that her anger wasn’t a physical assault in and of itself. Besides the constant aggression, mishandling a major account. The exact details escape me. I can dig it up for you if you’d like. We’ve kept all our employee files over the years.” She took a breath. “Her termination was all above board if that’s your point. If not, Xoli would’ve had grounds to bring suit against us and she would’ve, given half the chance. But she didn’t. We don’t deal with millionaires here; we consult on family and individual portfolios. Larger business investments now and then, but for smaller outfits. You can’t mess around when it’s so personal. We’d given her written warnings, she kept begging for attention, so she was let go. We didn’t hear from her again.”

  Chlöe and Vee simultaneously leaned a tiny bit forward. It was about to get good.

  “For a long time. Until recently. When we got involved with LEAD and the 2010 legacy company idea, it came with publicity and media attention. Nothing crazy, mostly local press. From absolutely nowhere, Xoli came crawling out of the woodwork like a viper. Talking rubbish, how she’d gotten her act together, we should forgive, she was the backbone of our success. First she wanted her job back. That was only happening over my actual dead body. Then she changed her tune - we at least owed her compensation because her ideas helped to elevate our status, we never could’ve gotten close to LEAD’s nomination for the financial category if she hadn’t sunk her genius into us.” Moloi made a gesture that almost passed as a frivolous eye-roll. “I wasn’t entertaining it but Gavin felt sorry for her initially. He asked me to see what we could do.”

  “What was she angling for?” said Chlöe.

  “Money.” Moloi’s voice shook, snagged on the word like the demand had driven a spear through her heart. “What else? Crazy money. After we told her to go to hell, we needed every dime we had, it got worse. She sent threatening emails, she would call … all to Gavin. I guess because they had history.”

  “Did you keep any of these emails?”

  “They went to him personally. He let me read a few, naturally, since his problem had escalated into ‘our problem’. But no, I didn’t, don’t, have access to his email account. We told the police everything –”

  “When? When did she resurface?” Vee asked.

  “This past December. We informed her of our telling the cops too, so she backed off again. For good so I thought; I mean it looked that way, but now he’s dead. Now the cops are slightly more willing to look seriously, but they ‘don’t feel such brutality can be the work of a woman’.” Even Moloi’s air-quotes dripped sarcasm. “Oh, they’re checking out his ex-wife, old girlfriends, but only to clear the law. Their main suspects are debtors and business partners, me even …” she flicked her eyes over to Vee. “Gaba should be locked up immediately. Since the murder I do know they’ve questioned her, but,” she gave a disappointed shrug, “she’s still walking around, so. I suspect she has a wonderful alibi, all her chommies from e’loxion will vouch for her. Meanwhile their top suspects are the participants from the conference. Us! They think, with Gavin’s background, his murderer was amongst us. Are they crazy?”

  “The police must be crazy to think that,” Chlöe quipped, eyes narrowed to slits.

  Vee gave her another stern look. “You’ve really been helpful. Do you happen to know where Gaba works, or where we can find her? Balanced perspective, you understand.”

  “Sure, sure. I wrote it all down before you arrived, and also have here her personnel file for the entire time she was with us. She’d better have something sensible to say for herself, although I doubt she’ll talk to you. If she was responsible for this,” Moloi looked down at her desk, “she’ll rot in hell.” She pushed a stack of thin folders across the desk, including fresh business cards, at the back of which she scribbled her personal contacts.

  “That’s a lot to swallow,” Chlöe blurted. The traffic in central town roared around their ears as they descended onto the pavement. “A lot.”

  “Mm-hmm. Oh look, we near the Home Affairs office! You go down like so for two streets, turn left … it’s right opposite central police station. Ah, Home Affairs, the biggest thorn in my backside. I wonder if Ezra Mthobeli’s around. At central police, I mean. We should drop in on him.”

  Chlöe snorted. “I doubt Sgt Mthobeli ever wants to see us again. It’s been awhile, no? He probably doesn’t remember us.”

  “Oh, he remembers us,” Vee said under her breath. Everyone who’d been even remotely entangled in the Paulsen affair was stained by it, of that she felt certain. Returning to the present, she angled the Nikon, the office camera, at the maroon-and-white awning that crowned the building’s entrance, stepping off the sidewalk and into the road to get a better shot. She got off a one-click rapid-fire series before scuttling back onto the pavement as the light changed and traffic surged.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Our article. Photos to spice it up,” Vee replied. “The web version should be eye-catching and interactive.”

  Chlöe sighed. “Since you started this digi-techy stuff, you’re going nuts.”

  “Print media is dead, Bishop. Or dying.” Genuine sadness clouded Vee’s eyes. “I love it, will miss it, but I’m not romantic enough to stay on a sinking ship. You looked at jobs lately? Some level of web or multi-platform writing skill is almost compulsory now. The ones that require real skill offer a lot more freedom with your column, they pay better, and sorry to say, they’re kinda more exciting in a world where everybody and their Granma lives on their phone or computer. It’s now, it’s enjoyable, and I’d also prefer not to end up clueless and jobless to boot.” She threw an arm around Chlöe’s shoulders and squeezed. “To stagnate is to die, finegeh. I’m sure there’s more you’d like to be doing to ramp up your CV.”

  Chlöe shrugged, n
oncommittal. “Eh. I’m fine where I am, doing what I’m doing. Sjoe, half the time I’m reminded I practically just got this job. No need to start going crazy already.”

  Vee opened her mouth to counter, then closed it. “Look, my point is comfort is the enemy of progress. Plenty of courses floating around, maybe look into them sometime. And don’t worry. I’m a long way from turning into Richie Fish.”

  Hands on hips, she lingered under the awning, expression doe-soft in contemplation. Chlöe watched her, guilt bubbling in her chest.

  “What’d you think about that, though?” she interrupted Vee’s reverie, jerking her thumb upstairs.

  “Moloi?” Vee tipped her head from side to side. “Solid, but no Oscars will be handed out tonight. I believe her alright, but something’s niggling at me, like there’s a ‘more-ness’ to it she left out. She says Gaba’s off; hell, her story’s off. Who gets fired and pops up five years later raging hell like a Bruce Lee sequel? Blackmailing, strangling folks, housebreaking and beat-downs.”

  “What, like there’s no Xoliswa Gaba?”

  “Oh, she exists. Akhona’s ass was on fire to hand these over,” Vee patted the files underarm, “like a proud mama ’cause she knows she’s got cause. I’m just saying, if Nico axed either of us –”

  Chlöe cringed. “Oooh, I’d be so broke. I’d have to save, eww, and miss out on all the end-of-summer sales … but I get you. I’d seethe for a while, get another job and move on. If I’m as half as talented as this chick sounds, done and done before I miss one salary. Geez, I’d even take a holiday in between.”

  “Exactly. She can downplay how much bad press would hurt them, but I’m pretty sure what she gave us on Gaba is way more comprehensive than what she’s told the police. Because she wants us at the forefront of this, on her side. Yet she’s still holding out on us. But never mind for today. Let’s allow the false sense of security to lull.” She twiddled her fingers like she was pushing magical waves up to Moloi’s office. After another meditative silence, she cocked her head with a grin: “Now the porn makes sense. What we got subjected to through Berman’s window at the lodge, with all the black sistas in it.”

  “‘Ahhh, touch me there, sexy white master’,” Chlöe moaned, and they guffawed, both of them giving an exaggerated shudder. “Men. Was it me or did you also get the vibe she and Berman were …”

  “Yep. But nah. The lady had a bad case of itchy panties that she wanted him to relieve, Lord knows why, but I doubt he ever did. When he started chomping from another woman’s bowl right under her nose, a subordinate at that, it really pissed her off. Come on, all those years ‘making this beautiful thing ours’, him mentoring her? Psssh. But I don’t see her as the affair of the heart, passionate type. She’s not killin’ nobody for love, or anything else for that matter. It fits in with – Oh! I forgot to tell you! The second call, from Richie. Well, third, if you count the other two.”

  What’s up with all the calling and spewing of information today? Chlöe chewed her lip.

  “Last night I had a hunch and put Richie on it. You know how he’s always bragging about that facial recognition software he’s developing to counter-attack the Illuminati when they try to take over the planet or whatever.”

  “His what now? I thought we agreed to stop entertaining Richie. Hackers feed off fantasy.”

  “We did.” Vee pulled Chlöe to the side to allow a stream of hurrying pedestrians past. “But it pays to listen occasionally. The fragments are useful. I sent him background info and pics of Rhonda from The Grotto’s website, asked him to do a deeper internet search of her life, activities she was involved in, anything criminal if he could find it, and,” she shook two fists of victory, “jackpot.”

  “She was an underground drug lord.”

  “Think smaller. He didn’t find much that was relevant or interesting, but some was. For quite a few years back, up until about very recently, most of Rhonda’s extra-curricular activities revolved around getting cleaned up. She was in AA, support groups, she took part in charities and sporting events all in aid of kicking the booze. She really wanted to stay clean, she was clean, and she surrounded herself with people with the same mindset.” Vee pierced her with her eyes, clearly expecting her to follow.

  “I …” Chlöe shook her head and shrugged.

  “Addiction, Bishop. She attended support groups and outings for addicts. What did Moloi just tell us? Xoliswa Gaba was a druggie. Yes, the groups are specific to the problem, but sometimes their paths cross. The healing principles are similar. Richie the Wonderful found what connected Greenwood and Gaba, a group for professionals reclaiming their careers after addiction. There was an online attendance sheet that showed they had at least two meetings together, one at a conference hall and the other at a chapel. I’m guessing Gaba moved on, maybe it was boring or a waste of her time. Greenwood must’ve fallen off the wagon pretty recently. Job stress.”

  “Greenwood lived in Oudtshoorn. Why the hell is she all the way in Cape Town if she needs a support group?”

  “Why not? Who wants everybody in a small town up in their business, their highly personal and darker habits for that matter? She was the public face of a well-known establishment, she’d never risk it. Plus, I now know she had a bad patch and she moved here with her sister for a while. Took a leave of absence, ‘worked from home’. Richie even dug up how and where I met Rhonda. Last year, workshop for journalists at The Portswood Hotel, Waterfront, she was there. Not for the journalist thing obviously, there was training in hospitality management during the same time. Remember, I told you how shocked I was that she remembered me?”

  “You’ve done a lot of digging into this woman’s life. It’s disturbing,” Chlöe muttered regretfully. She was going to have to come clean soon – no, now – about what she and Richie had uncovered. And when she did, Vee, the most inquisitive person ever, would flip out. The same dedication to meddling Vee readily applied to much success in their investigations would go over far less swimmingly now that Chlöe had used it on her personal life. Chlöe swallowed, the slight tightening in her chest growing stronger.

  “It needed to make sense. Now it does. Rhonda remembered me, who she met on one occasion for what, two hours total, tea and lunch. And she had that mind trick of hers, for enhancing recall. Whether that nonsense works or not, she did have a kickass memory.” Vee’s gaze got lost in the distance. “Imagine she bumped into Gaba at Grotto, the evening before the party. Definitely Gaba was keeping a very low profile, she was there to snoop on Berman and Moloi, neither of whom expected her there. But bad luck, Rhonda booked her, said ‘hey, we’ve met before’. That’s what Mamelo from housekeeping saw and mistook for an argument, her boss insisting she knew this woman with dreads and that woman insisting just as firmly that she didn’t. Rhonda probably walked away and forgot about it, but Gaba didn’t.” Vee blinked back in to reality. “Murdering Gavin was premeditated. She must’ve known once she was there that she wanted him dead, and it had to be squeaky clean, no link to her. She didn’t check, didn’t linger publicly, stayed incognito. Rhonda messed with that. She’d remember after Gavin’s death the skulking guest, who would later turn out to be a resentful ex and ex-employee … She had to go.”

  “Mamelo saw them talking. Where’s her comeuppance?”

  Vee puffed. “I have an idea why: Mamelo didn’t work that night. She finished her shift and left. If she hadn’t, who knows. And anyone can tell in a heartbeat she’s a dunce who’s not worth bothering with. Chlöe, as unhinged as we’re meant to assume this girl is, none of this has cold forethought, like a ‘let’s kill off any and everything that stands in my way’ aura. It’s more reactive and frenzied, like someone who had a plan targeted at someone specific, but keeps tripping over nosy parkers.”

  “If she offed Gavin, we still don’t know why. How psycho or drug addict-y is that, stalking your old bosses to an out-of-town conference, flipping your shit and killing two people? I mean,” Chlöe threw up her hands, “come on. We j
ust put a name and possible motive to this woman, and suddenly she’s the one? Maybe she didn’t kill him. Maybe no-one killed Greenwood.”

  “Gaba killed them both,” Vee replied firmly, softly. “We need the why.”

  “Whatever. Everybody’s telling fables, it’s all upside down …” To her own dismay, Chlöe shot her leg out and landed a vicious kick to a green City of Cape Town waste bin attached to a pole.

  “Ah-ah! Finegeh take time o.” Vee shook her head in bewilderment. “Usually we both love this part. We had a great morning, great day, now you all suspicious and snippy. This is one of the fastest we’ve ever been on track with a case.”

  “Exactly. It’s kinda too easy. Either the story won’t be worth jack interest-wise by the time we connect all the dots and motives, or we’re missing something.”

  “Fine, both could be true. But it could also be that for once, or at least once in a long time, luck’s on our side. Come on. When I’m negative, you love to pour your perkiness all over it. Now I’m being positive –”

  “And I’m pissing all over it. That’s our thing. We balance each other out.”

  “What’s going on with you? Right now?” Vee crossed her arms.

  “What? There’s no problem. Nothing.”

  Vee turned and pointed, finger aimed right at the cheerful green-and-white storefront of a Fruit & Veg City outlet. “Let’s go. March. Mixed fruit bowls with all the ice cream or blueberry yoghurt you want. In exchange, you get this off your chest. You’re stinking up my high.”

  “Don’t want ice cream.” Chlöe shuffled her feet. “Well … I-I do, but …” Her eyes softened, cool blue pools with a weird, plaintive darkness shifting under the surface.

  “Wait … what have you done?” Vee dropped her hand. “Chlöe. Am I ever going to want to buy you ice cream again after this?”