Requiem in E Sharp

by Joan De La Haye

“Do you think this fucker is going to play fair and stick to the rules? Can you trust these two idiots to do your job for you?” Pete asked, jutting his thumb in the direction of Laurel and Hardy.

  “Who are you calling idiots?” Laurel and Hardy asked in unison.

  “Would you all just shut up and stop your shit. A woman, who I loved, has just been murdered,” Nico said, as he pulled himself up using the railing. “The longer we stand out here and argue, the longer her body deteriorates and the more evidence we lose. So, is it asking too much for you pathetic excuses for human beings to put your problems aside and fucking-well do your jobs?”

  A slow, triumphant smile crept on to Pete’s face. “So ... does this mean you’ll work the scene with me?”

  “Wipe that smile off your face and I will, but we’re missing a photographer.”

  “No, you’re not,” replied a voice whose body was hidden behind Laurel and Hardy.

  “Thabiso, where the hell have you been?” asked Pete as Thabiso’s head emerged from between the shoulders of Laurel and Hardy.

  “I’ve been here the whole time. I didn’t want to interrupt the cockfight.”

  “Well, now that everybody is present and accounted for, can we please just get this over and done with?” Nico could feel his resolve starting to crumble. He wanted to run and hide. He still wanted someone to knock him out so that when he woke up, Janet would be standing over him, alive and well.

  Nico followed Thabiso into Janet’s flat. Pete instructed Laurel and Hardy to wait outside and told them that they could have the scene once he was finished. Laurel and Hardy threatened to report him to Molwedi. Nico didn’t pay any attention to the rest of the insults being flung around; all he could see was Janet’s blood on her clean carpet. Bile rose up from his now-raw gut. Thabiso’s camera flashed, illuminating the dark room. The room spun around him. A hand steadied him, and he could breathe again. The air smelt of blood, Janet’s blood. It mingled with the fragrance of her perfume. It was a strangely sweet smell which made him feel the loss of her even more keenly.

  Tears flowed down his cheeks. He hadn't cried since his mother's funeral and hadn't thought he'd ever cry again. This wasn't the way things were supposed to be. He'd had a picture of his life with Janet, of what their wedding would be like, of what their children would look like. He'd imagined that they'd look like their mother.

  He looked around at Janet's flat, at where she'd died, and those dreams of their future together evaporated.

  There was no sign of struggle. Nothing had been overturned. All her ornaments were still perfectly displayed, just the way she always insisted on having them. Nothing was out of place.

  “Looks like he caught her by surprise,” Pete said; he seemed to be reading Nico’s mind as always. “My guess is she knew the guy. What do you think van Staaden?”

  Nico only managed to nod his head. He couldn’t think. The walls were closing in on him.

  They walked from the lounge down the passage into her bedroom. Seeing her bed with the clean white sheets brought back painful memories of falling asleep to the sound of her breathing, her blonde hair strewn across the pillow and creamy-white eyelids fluttering as she dreamed. He remembered lying awake next to her, watching her sleep, guarding her. The failure of unspoken promises hit him hard. He felt as though he had been driven over by a bulldozer and the bulldozer was reversing for another shot at him. Each memory hit him harder than the last one. Each hit from the bulldozer sent him spiralling into another memory. He felt a hand guide him out of the bedroom and into hell.

  “Overkill,” Pete muttered to himself as he leaned over Janet’s body. “Our boy was a tad frustrated and worked it out on your girl. I’d say she was already dead when he beat her face to a pulp.”

  The sight of her body floating in the bathtub, suspended in time, brought him out of the whirling memories. Reality hit him with a force he hadn’t felt since he found his mother’s body. At that moment he hated Pete for making him go through that. It was cruel.

  “Oh, god! I can’t do this. Not again.” Blood pounded in his ears in time with his feet as he ran out of the bathroom. The light from the corridor blinded his eyes as he emerged from the darkness of Janet’s tomb. He shielded them from the glaring brightness of the lights and the flashes from press photographers who somehow got wind of another murder.

  He heard a voice calling his name; it sounded as though it was coming from afar. For all he knew it was from another world. He looked, unseeing, in the direction of the voice. Another flash from a camera distorted his vision. Through a haze of spots in front of his eyes, he could see a woman standing in the crowd trying to attract his attention. For a few seconds, he thought it might be Janet. His vision cleared and he recognised the woman. It was Helen. He had loved her almost as much as he loved Janet. He would never understand why she had betrayed him for the sake of her career. He would never have chosen his job over the person he loved.

  Her suit was tailored and looked expensive. Her hair was the same blonde as Janet’s, but hers was long, straight and sleek. So unlike Janet’s short wavy hairstyle that she said made her look like a young Meg Ryan. Helen always managed to look composed and serene when everything around her was in chaos, whereas Janet was always flustered but tried so hard to control things going on around her. They looked so much alike but were so different. He tried to ignore Helen’s insistent voice. She was the last person he wanted to deal with right now. He turned his back on her and ended up facing Laurel and Hardy’s sour faces. Their eyes judged him. He changed his mind. Laurel and Hardy were the last people he wanted to deal with.

  He turned around once more and tried to find somewhere to hide from Helen, as well as everybody else’s accusing eyes. Helen had moved her way forward, dragging her cameraman with her. She was now pushing against the yellow crime-scene tape and arguing with a constable who was trying to get her to stand back and pushing the camera out of his face only to find the microphone where the camera had been. She'd always been pushy. Up until now, he’d managed to avoid her and other journalists since their break up, but now he was her main target. She smelt blood and would go in for the kill. She always did. It made her good at her job, but a lousy human being.

  THE INTERROGATION ROOM was cold and the atmosphere hostile. The overhead bulb didn’t give off much light. The shadows played like ghosts in the corners of the room. It was the first time he had been on this side of the desk. The plastic chair was uncomfortable, and he felt as though it was going to collapse beneath him at any moment. The air was heavy with the smell of bad body odour. Pete came in with two cups of coffee and placed one in front of Nico. He removed a pack of Camels from his jacket pocket and offered one to Nico. Nico took one without thinking and put it between his lips. Not noticing where the match came from, he inhaled deeply. The nicotine felt good as it entered his exhausted body.

  “Have there been any new developments on the case?” Nico asked Pete, after taking a sip of his hot, black coffee.

  “Not until now.”

  Nico took a deep drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly.

  “I see,” he said, squinting across the dimly-lit room at Pete who had retreated into a corner on the other side of the room. “Can you please tell me why not?”

  “You know I can’t, and besides you know the answer to that one already.”

  “True. No leads, no case. It just ended up at the bottom of the pile, and now that he’s killed Janet, the wheels are moving again.”

  Pete touched the tip of his nose with his index finger and nodded his head.

  “There’s just one problem,” Nico continued. “Janet doesn’t fit the victim profile, and she wasn’t killed on a Sunday.”

  “That’s correct. So you aren’t such an idiot after all.”

  “And I bet no one’s looked into Louis Gouws?”

  “Nope. Laurel and Hardy felt he didn’t have enough of a motive and didn’t fit the profile. Plus his girlfriend gave him an alibi for all the murd
ers.”

  “You have got to be kidding me: he fits the profile to a fucking T. And Natalie's lying. She wasn't with him those nights. I’m telling you – he’s our guy. What about the missing wire in his mother's piano? Did they just forget about that?”

  “They're incompetent idiots. I don't think they even bothered to follow up.”

  “I just can’t shake the feeling that he’s ...” He was interrupted by the door opening. Laurel and Hardy walked in.

  They both had smug grins on their faces. If he were a betting man, he would have bet a month’s salary that they had wanted to put him through hell for quite some time and they were going to enjoy this opportunity. The thought that they were deriving pleasure from his misery made his skin crawl. He refused to let them break him. Who the hell did they think they were? Did they think they could just waltz in and take advantage of his tragedy?

  “So, Van Staaden,” Hardy said as he pulled a chair out from under the desk and parked his ample rear. He pressed ‘record’ on the tape recorder in front of Nico. It was the first time Nico had noticed it was in front of him. “Do you want to tell us about your relationship with the deceased?”

  “Not particularly, no. Besides, you know exactly what my relationship with her was.” Nico said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of rattling him.

  “Van Staaden, there’s no need to be defensive,” Laurel said, sitting next to Hardy and picking at his fingers. He seemed to be bored by the proceedings.

  “I’m not being defensive.” Then he turned to Pete and asked. “Am I being defensive?”

  “I don’t think so. He asked a stupid question,” Pete replied, examining his fingernails and deciding that they needed to be cleaned; he removed his penknife from his shirt pocket and proceeded to clean his fingernails.

  “Doctor, you know as well as I do that we need to establish the relationship between the deceased and Captain van Staaden for the record,” said Hardy, turning around in his chair and facing Pete, who shrugged his shoulders in reply. Hardy turned back to Nico and took a deep breath.

  “Captain van Staaden, would you state, for the record, the nature of your relationship with the deceased?”

  “She was my girlfriend.” The words came with difficulty and reminded him that she was gone. Antagonising Laurel and Hardy provided him with a brief respite from reality but having to talk about her, to these men who delighted in his grief, brought him back to the reason for him being in the small, dark room and he remembered that Janet was lying on a slab in the mortuary, with her throat slit.

  “Van Staaden! Are you still with us?” Laurel’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

  “Umm, sorry.” His voice sounded hollow to his own ears.

  “So you and the deceased were involved intimately?” Hardy asked

  “Isn’t that what I just said and her name was Janet Shaw, not the deceased or the victim. Her name was Janet Shaw. For fuck's sake, what is wrong with you people? She was a human being, not some piece of meat. She had a name.”

  “Calm down, Captain.”

  “I will not calm down. I lost someone very important to me, and you’re acting like she was nothing, like she was just another victim.”

  His hands were shaking as he took another drag from his cigarette. Pete appeared at his side and squatted down on his haunches.

  “Calm down, Nico. These arseholes want to see you lose it,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t let them get to you.”

  “Hey, who the hell are you calling an arsehole?” Hardy asked, his paunch leaning against the rickety table as he leaned forward to hear what Pete was saying.

  “That would be you,” Pete said. “Now drag your gut off the table before you break it.” He turned back to Nico.

  “Watch your step, Doctor, or you’ll find yourself sitting outside,” Hardy said, his face turning red.

  “I need you on this.” Pete ignored Hardy. “I need you to keep your head. Can you do that for me?”

  Nico nodded his head and with shaky hands took his cigarette to his lips for another, long, drag.

  “To you, Janet’s not just another victim, but to everybody else, she is. She also needs you to keep calm and keep cool. Okay?”

  “I’m okay, Doc. You don’t need to give me another pep talk. I’ll be fine. I just want to get this over with, so I can get out there and find this bastard.”

  “You won’t be getting anybody,” Hardy said with a glint in his eyes that Nico realised was pure pleasure. The bastard was really enjoying this.

  “What do you mean I won’t be getting anybody?”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, Molwedi threw you off the case,” Laurel said and smiled. “Oh yes, I almost forgot ... you’re also suspended. And here’s the real kicker ... we don’t think your girlfriend was killed by the Bathroom Strangler.”

  “What the fuck?” Nico turned to look at Pete, who was examining his shoes. “Doc?”

  Pete took a deep breath before answering.

  “Look, Nico, the fact is, she doesn’t fit the victim profile, which you also stated. Plus the severe beating and it wasn’t a Sunday. This could be a copycat killing.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “You see, van Staaden, this is what we think happened.” Hardy bristled with excitement. “We think you got there when she was still very much alive. You got into a fight which turned really nasty. Am I getting warm, Captain?”

  “I don’t believe this.” The realisation that they thought he'd killed Janet felt like a million knives slicing into him. “Doc, please tell me you aren’t buying this load of crap?”

  “You know I don’t, but it’s out of my hands. You’re not the only one off the case. I crashed this party.”

  “You’re off the case?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did that happen?”

  “About twenty minutes ago.”

  “Sorry to interrupt your little discussion, but Doctor, you have overstayed your welcome,” Laurel said, obviously relishing the situation.

  “Fine, I’ll leave.”

  “No! Wait a minute, Doc,” Nico said, standing up. “Are you arresting me?” he asked, looking at Hardy.

  “We’re just having a little chat, Captain.”

  “Well, since you’re not arresting me I’ll be leaving too, then.” He pulled his jacket on and turned to Pete. “You coming, Doc?”

  “Right behind you.”

  “Van Staaden,” Hardy said as they reached the door. “Don’t leave town.”

  “You know,” Nico said, smiling for the first time in hours. “You watch too much TV.”

  15

  Leaning against the white TV van and squinting at the entrance to the police station, across the road, Helen watched him walk out of the main entrance. The light above the door illuminated his scowling face. Her reporter’s nose told her something was happening and she had to know about it. Helen's cameraman, Kyle, was sitting enjoying his coffee in the driver’s seat.

  “Hey, Kyle, grab the camera,” Helen instructed.

  “Why?” he asked, startled, trying not to spit his coffee out all over the dashboard.

  “Because I said so; Captain van Staaden and Dr Papenfuss have just walked out, looking seriously unhappy.”

  “What did you expect? The dude just lost his girlfriend.”

  “I know that. I may be blonde, but I’m not stupid,” she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “There’s something else going on. Now stop messing around and get your arse in gear.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He picked up the camera from the seat next to him and slid out of the van.

  They ran across the road, dodging cars, while Kyle’s camera bounced against his thigh. Headlights from the oncoming cars flashed at them. They reached Nico and Pete, who were standing next to Nico’s Datsun, just as Nico was about to unlock his car door. Kyle’s camera was hoisted on to his shoulder and placed strategically in front of Nico’s face.
Helen, holding her microphone as though it was an extension of her arm, placed herself to the right of Kyle and his camera, so that he could pan between her and Nico easily and still be able to get a shot of Pete.

  “Captain van Staaden, could we just ask you a few questions?” she said, placing the microphone in front of him. She was always the professional journalist no matter what her personal involvement. Nico had never been able to understand that about her.

  “No comment,” Nico said and opened his door.

  He always was a cold bastard when cornered, she thought.

  “Fuck off with that camera,” Pete said while putting his hand in front of the camera and pushing it out of the way.

  “Hey, that’s expensive equipment,” Kyle said, moving his camera out of the way of Pete’s large hands. He held the camera down next to his thigh with the lens tilted upwards so that he could still film and covered the red recording light with his thumb. “Relax the camera’s off.”

  “It better be,” Pete said, standing with his legs slightly apart, pointing an angry finger at Kyle.

  “At least talk to me off the record.” Helen tried for her sincerest smile.

  “Why on earth would I talk to you, on or off the record?”

  “Because whether you talk to me or not, you are going to be headline news. If you talk to me, you get your side of the story across. If you don’t ... well, then you can’t blame me if you get crucified on the news. Nico, I still care about you. That hasn’t changed, and I can’t bear to see you like this. Please let me be here for you. Let me help you,” she pleaded.

  “Helen, you are incapable of caring for anybody except yourself, and right now I couldn’t care less about what you people have to say about me. I have probably lost my job, my girlfriend is dead, and I’m officially the main suspect in her murder,” he said, getting into his car. As he turned the key in the ignition, he turned to her and looked straight into Kyle’s camera and said, “Now you have your footage for the late news.” He closed the car door.

  Helen watched him drive off. Pete was blustering about the freedom of the press being the eleventh plague on humanity and that the Media Tribunal wasn't such a bad idea after all if it meant putting a muzzle on overly zealous journalists who didn't practice due diligence.