Water Music

by Margie Orford

  Rosa didnt see anyone while she was staying here, youve said. But did she perhaps speak to anyone on the phone?

  He closed his eyes. The light from the window shone through the old mans hair, gleaming on his skull. Its the pills. I forget things. The phone. Of course. I heard her whispering, it was something about music.

  The dog came inside, wet paw prints patterning the polished floor.

  Shed just come in, brought sand inside. It was on her feet, like when she was a child. She stopped talking when she saw me, but when I went out again she said it again, I heard the word music, I heard it clearly. Her voice, he said. She was pleading.

  Who was she talking to? asked Clare.

  I dont know, he said. But the number will be on the bill. It just came. Let me fetch it.

  Can I have a look at her room too? asked Clare.

  Come this way, he said. Its off the stoep.

  The door was painted a cerulean blue. Inside, a narrow metal bedstead, a white bedspread with a grimy rag doll propped against the pillow. A paraffin lamp and a box of matches on the bedside table. A small table and a bookshelf. Old Penguin classics; another pile of childrens books Beatrix Potter, The Hobbit, the Narnia books.

  You can see her books, he said, picking up The Wind in the Willows. The characters in them were her friends, this faraway England that she could close her eyes and imagine. You can take a look, my dear, he said replacing the volume. Ill go and find that bill.

  Clare looked through drawers, under the mattress, flicked through the books.

  Nothing.

  She opened the faded blue curtains. The lagoon, the colour of pewter, lay before the house like a bolt of unfurled silk. An interregnum of silence before the tide turned, the water flowing back towards the Atlantic. For a moment it felt as if time had stood still. Flamingos called to each other, a melancholic pleading that carried across the expanse of water. Clare closed the door on Rosas bedroom.

  The petrol gauge flashed red when Clare was half-way back to Cape Town. She pulled over at the 1-Stop. The high that comes with caffeine on an empty stomach had long since passed, and so had the early-morning nausea. It was close to lunch time, but she ordered the breakfast: bacon, eggs, tomatoes, toast, coffee.

  She phoned the number that Alfred Wagner had given her. It rang until a recorded voice said: Katarina is probably rehearsing so please to leave a message.

  Clare stared out at plastic bags caught on a fence: they writhed in the wind. She wondered why Katarina Kraft had lied to her.

  43

  The music college was filled with Sunday-afternoon ennui; apart from sounds of a single cello, the building was silent. Clare went up the stairs to the rehearsal room at the end of the corridor.

  May I come in, Katarina? Clare was already closing the door behind her. Katarina Kraft was seated at the window.

  Hello. Sorry, I have to practise, she said. But she let her bow drop.

  You dont feel comfortable if youre not busy? said Clare. You thinking about Rosa?

  Ive told you all I know.

  Why did you lie about Rosa? There was a metronome on the piano. Clare touched it, setting off a rhythmic tap-tap-tap. She phoned you from her grandfathers house two days before she disappeared.

  Really? Katarina closed the score in front of her. I mustve missed that. My phone, its weird sometimes.

  And you phoned her back.

  Katarina avoided Clares eyes.

  She said something to you about music, Ive been told. Clare leaned forward, her gaze unwavering. Look, Im curious about some of the people Rosa knew. Places where she may have been paid to play.

  Katarina shifted a little; this time she didnt look away.

  Did Rosa ever talk about money?

  All of us talk about money, said Katarina. None of us have any, thats why.

  Did she suddenly need money?

  Dr Hart, Katarina was pleading, we played together. We practised. Shes not my best friend.

  Clare put her hand over the metronome. The silence was a relief.

  Its not my fault.

  People keep on telling me that, said Clare. She paused and softly asked, What happened, Katarina?

  I dont know. You keep on asking me questions as if Im hiding something.

  Why did you lie to me? asked Clare.

  Look, Dr Hart, said Katarina. People make this mistake about Rosa. They think because shes so quiet she doesnt know anything, but its not true. Rosa is quiet because shes listening. Shes figuring out what other people dont see. She knows people, she knows how to make a plan out of nothing. She knows how to fix things. Wherever shes gone, shell make a plan.

  Katarina plucked at the sleeves of her cardigan. A mans cardigan, leather patches at the elbow.

  Youd better tell me what you know, Katarina. I will find out eventually. So, either you help me or you dont. If you know something and youve said nothing, it will be your fault, said Clare. Either you live with guilt or with fear. Its up to you to decide. I can tell you one thing, though: fear passes. But guilt will be with you for the rest of your life.

  Katarinas eyes gleamed with tears.

  Rosa phoned and said she needed money, a lot of money, and she said shed be coming back. She asked if Id help her.

  And you did help her, didnt you, Katarina? But how?

  Katarinas chin sank to her chest.

  So, what did you say to her?

  Rosa is beautiful: her face, her body, said Katarina. Not like me. So she had options.

  What options, Katarina?

  Theres someone at the school. He, ah hed played with Rosa. He liked her. He always said he wanted to play with her again.

  Jonny Diamond?

  Katarinas mouth a small, silent oh.

  And you, said Clare. You like him?

  She shrugged.

  You played with him?

  I did, she said, but Im nothing on Rosa.

  But you slept with him? And afterwards he stopped talking to you?

  Katarina looked away, her silence an answer.

  And Rosa?

  She wouldnt, said Katarina.

  So he made her life difficult?

  Rosa didnt seem to care, she said. And anyway, she wouldnt sleep with anyone. He told me that if I could get her to play with him again, hed She glanced down, her neck turning pink.

  Hed what, Katarina?

  He said hed be pleased with me.

  A flush crept up her neck again.

  So what happened?

  He kept his word. He was really nice to me.

  Thats all?

  She shook her head. He bought me these, she held back her hair, revealing two jet beads dangling from her earlobes. He bought a bottle of wine too. We drank it together.

  And then he slept with you again?

  He hurt me. Katarinas eyelids flickered. But what could I say? Afterwards he didnt kiss me, nothing. He just went to sleep. I didnt know what to do, so I got up and went to the bathroom. Then I heard his phone beep. I dont know, something made me look. It was from Lily. She wanted to know how it was, riding rodeo on the fat cow, asking when was she going to see the pictures.

  She was silent, and Clare didnt press her.

  I started looking then, said Katarina. For other messages, for photographs. Thats when I saw Rosa again.

  Clares shoulder blades tensed.

  What did you see?

  A video clip. Katarina stared at her fingers twisting in her lap as if they were snakes. Not that clear, you know how those things are. But it was definitely her.

  Katarina, what was going on in the clip? Clare took the girls chin and turned her face towards her. Tell me.

  Someone was fucking her, said Katarina. A lot of people were fucking her.

  Who were they? asked Clare.

  I couldnt see their faces, she said. I didnt know them. Men. Big men.

  How many?

  I dont know, she sobbed. They stood around her, their legs were like a forest. It was horrible.

 
Where can I find him?

  Katarina looked Clare in the eye, held her gaze.

  Jonny will be at Joplins tonight.

  44

  Clare crossed the empty lot to the Section 28 offices. Not much overtime happening. The security guards were huddled inside their hut; a vagrant was sliding past the fence, hunting through the bins. It was a relief to be outside, away from Katarina Kraft. Clare felt dirty. Dirty and panicked that if Rosa Wagner was alive and she played this wrong, the girl would die.

  The temperature inside the converted shipping containers was several degrees colder than outside. It was late Sunday afternoon and Ina Britzs desk was clear. Shed be finishing lunch at the Italian Club in Rugby with Paula, the diminutive personal trainer who had Ina Britz wrapped around her pinkie.

  Clare had a sudden pang of longing the company, the wine, the platters of melanzane parmigiana. Instead she stopped in front of her murder map and ran her fingers across its forest of pins. The vulnerable, most of them women and their children, caught in the crosshairs of poverty and rage.

  She turned and walked to the window when she heard the bike. She leaned her head against the cool pane, watched as he approached.

  Riedwaan walked in with two brown paper bags, handed her one, opened the other. Chips, fried fish and a Coke for him. For her, a salad, a piece of grilled fish.

  Sorry about last night, is what she should have said right off, but the moment passed and he put the food down.

  You find something? he asked.

  I had a chat with Rosa Wagners friend, Katarina, said Clare. Now shes saying she saw what sounds like a rape tape on her boyfriends phone. Rosa is the star performer.

  This girlfriend know who was in it? he asked.

  She said she didnt recognise any of the men, but therell be more tape somewhere. Well find it, and then well find them, said Clare.

  Whats the boys name?

  Jonny Diamond, said Clare. He was a student at the college for a while but didnt finish.

  What happened?

  Nothing I can pin down, said Clare. Some rumours of drug dealing, but whatever it was he still hangs out there. He was with a girl called Lily at the concert I went to on Friday night.

  Riedwaan opened the bag and flaked his perfectly fried fish.

  Clare sprinkled some vinegar over his chips.

  Take them, he pushed the bag towards her. Youre going to eat them anyway.

  Clares phone rang. Tracy Darke from Records.

  Find anything? asked Clare.

  Diamond has a conviction for assaulting a girl, said Tracy. He was sixteen at the time. The girl was thirteen.

  What did he do to her? asked Clare, her appetite gone.

  He took her home, gave her his fathers Johnny Walker Blue and filmed her having sex with some of his friends, said Tracy. The judge said he was young and gifted, so he gave him community service.

  Clare spun round on her chair, looked at the map of the valley. I think we should pay Jonny Diamond a visit.

  45

  Joplins was small, a speakeasy wedged into an old warehouse near the Yacht Club.

  How do you want to play this? asked Riedwaan.

  Ill go in and talk to him, said Clare. You go round the back. Its the only other exit.

  Clare walked up to the entrance. Perched on a stool at the front door was a man with a crew cut, his steroid-built muscle bulking up his black suit. He opened the door for Clare. Riedwaan watched it swing shut behind her.

  The lighting inside Joplins was dim. There was a double bass, a cello, violins, a singers mike on the small stage, but no musicians. The restaurant was half full. Dim lights, a fireplace, red wine gleaming, plates of food coming from the kitchen.

  A sign on the wall: The food is good, the music better, the girls the best! One of them, armed with a menu, came towards Clare.

  A table for one? A silver cross dangled between her breasts.

  Im looking for Jonny Diamond, said Clare. Wherell I find him?

  Hes on a break, she said. You want to wait at the bar?

  No, said Clare. Where will I find him?

  Out the back, she said. Near the rubbish bins.

  Clare went through the swing doors at the back. Beyond some tables out of reach of the rain, yachts were restless on the choppy water. A young man with a cigarette cupped between his hands had his back to her.

  Jonny Diamond, said Clare. Allow me to introduce myself properly. Im Dr Hart, Section 28.

  He turned towards her, his beautiful eyes as blank as the water in a quarry at night, an iPhone on a table in front of him.

  You again.

  Wheres Rosa, Jonny?

  What are you talking about? He ground his cigarette under his boot.

  Where is she?

  Look, we played together a couple of times. Thats all I know.

  When was the last time, Jonny?

  Two, three weeks ago, maybe, He rubbed his temples, working his fingers into faux dreadlocks. Why you asking?

  No ones seen her since, said Clare.

  Clare allowed the silence to stretch between them until he broke it.

  Maybe she just needed some time out.

  And why would she have needed that? said Clare.

  Nina Simones voice drifted in, advising against smoking in bed. Jonny Diamond lit another cigarette.

  The last time I saw her, said Jonny, she played, she left. If somethings happened to her, its her own fucking fault.

  Dyou always blame the woman? Clare leaned closer.

  The acrid tang of adrenalin in the air. He was less good-looking close-up. Sallow skin, dark circles under his eyes, scarlet veins in the whites of his eyes.

  Make it easier for you to sleep at night?

  I did nothing to her, said Jonny. She did what she was asked to do. Then she left.

  His band mates had returned to their instruments, a cacophony of strings being tightened or loosened.

  Ive got to get back to work.

  Not till Im done with you, Jonny, said Clare. You keep saying she played, she left, said Clare. I want to know where she went.

  How the fuck should I know? he said. Im a musician, shes a musician. She played. She was paid.

  What did she do it for, Jonny?

  Money. He sat back. Why else does anyone do anything? Rosa, me, you. Whats the difference between us?

  Tell me, why did you get Rosa to come here?

  Its a gig, isnt it?

  I heard nothing about her playing music, Jonny, said Clare. Jonny Diamond reached for his phone, but she was quicker.

  Thats my fucking property, you bitch, he said.

  Glad to hear you confirm that, said Clare. Its on this, I imagine?

  She asked for it, he said.

  Asked for what? Menace in her tone.

  He was up, eyes on Clare. Behind him was the alley. A row of bins, a gate. On the other side the marina, yachts jostling in the rough waters. He backed towards the exit.

  You going somewhere, Jonny boy? Riedwaan had his arm around Diamonds neck.

  What the fuck do you and this bitch want from me?

  Some answers. Riedwaan pushed him back onto the chair.

  Youre fucking with me, said Diamond. You dont have a warrant, you cant take my stuff.

  Report it, said Clare. Id like to see what the judge will say. Especially when we tell her what Katarina saw on your phone.

  That jealous little cunt, he spat.

  Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, said Clare. And you shouldve paid more attention in class.

  Ill fucking kill her. He tried to twist out of Riedwaans grip.

  Threats to a woman, said Riedwaan. Preventative detention for domestic violence; thats in the rule book, isnt it Clare?

  If it isnt, it should be, said Clare.

  You cant arrest me, said Jonny Diamond. I havent done anything. She signed. There was consent.

  You know your stuff, Jonny, said Clare. Im impressed. But Id be far more impressed if I could ask Rosa Wagne
r for her version of events.

  I dont know where the fuck the little bitch is. Circles of sweat stained his tight white shirt. Whatevers happened is fuck-all to do with me.

  Clare was scanning the archived video clips.

  Diamond lunged; Riedwaan tightened his grip.

  But she had found what she was looking for. She opened the first clip. The screen flickered to life. Rosa, picking up her cello. Her nails were clipped short, exposing the rosy tips of her fingers. Her red dress was pulled up high as she parted her thighs and drew the instrument towards her. Her chin pressed against the instrument. Her eyes downcast, lashes fringing her cheek, the back of her neck arched. Rosa closed her eyes, surrendering to the music that flowed from her deft hands. A man stepped into the frame. A livid scar on the back of his neck. Clare froze the frame for a moment, trying to place him. Her throat was tight with apprehension.

  Rosa did not look up when he said her name. The man took the cello from her, holding it as tenderly as if it were an infant, then laying it to one side. Exposed, vulnerable, Rosa raised her eyes.

  Clare opened the next clip.

  Men circling a petite figure spread-eagled on the floor. The nausea that gripped Clare had nothing to do with the secret she carried. It had everything to do with the man whose hands scuttled over the girls skin. The rhythmic thrusts over the girls inert body nauseatingly familiar from the internet: the disposable body, dulled eyes resigned to a million hits when this was over.

  It was Rosa the girl pinned under the pumping buttocks, the muscular back. Her arms were splayed, her face slack, her body jerking like a kicked dolls. With the rough concrete floor and grey prison blanket, the scene was clearly staged. The camera did not show the faces of the pack of men waiting in a circle. Predators with their prey. Rosas eyes were open throughout, her gaze seeming to turn inwards, as if trying to unhappen what was happening to her.

  Clare stopped the clip, freezing it on an image that caught her eye. Electrical cords, snaking out of the shot.

  These Lolita tapes: are they the next big thing, Jonny? Or are they just a sideline? Clare asked.

  Its not a fucking rape video. She signed, she got fucked sideways, she got her money. Thats the deal. Shes a fucking musician. How else is she going to make money? His dark eyes were slits as he hissed, Its not what you think.