Free Let the Dead Lie by Malla Nunn

Zulu
lips, a long thin nose dusted with freckles and woolly brown hair. Mixed race,
no doubt about it.
    ' Ja ?'
The narrow eyes were hard.
    'Jolly
Marks get his orders from here last night?' Emmanuel said.
    'Who
you? A policeman?'
    'No.
Just curious.'
    'Well,
you and your curiosity can fuck off.'
    The
short-order cook called out two boerewors rolls with onion and tomato
sauce. Emmanuel pressed Jolly's notebook against the glass.
    'Recognise
this?'
    'Nope.'
    'Take
a good look,' Emmanuel said. 'It belonged to Jolly Marks. He was here last
night. What time?'
    'I
told you,' the man said. 'I've never seen that book before.'
    He
was defiant. Even with a detective's ID slammed against the window, Emmanuel
knew the man would not talk. Silence was the only weapon he had against
authority.
    Emmanuel
returned to the front of the Night Owl intent on questioning Nestor about the
time of Jolly's last order. A police car was parked at the kerb, engine idling
while the uniforms ate sausage and onion rolls. Maybe another time. He peeled
to the left and bumped into a wiry man setting up a wooden crate on the
sidewalk. A stack of religious tracts illustrated with a lurid drawing of a
scantily dressed woman engulfed in towers of flame fluttered to the pavement.
    'Do
I know you, brother?' the evangelist from the dock asked. 'Have we met before
on the Lord's highway?'
    'Don't
think so,' Emmanuel said and kept moving. The roll of car wheels sounded. He
glanced over his shoulder to confirm what he already knew. The patrol car was
driving towards him. A flashlight aimed out of the passenger window sprayed
bright light into doorways and down side streets.
    The
entrance to the Harpoon Bar, a watering hole for dockworkers and merchant
seamen, was right on the corner. Emmanuel fought the urge to sprint for the
doorway. Jolly's notebook was still in his pocket. He'd have a hard time
explaining that to the police.
    The
bar entrance was just a few feet away. The front fender of the police car drew
almost level with him now. Emmanuel dropped slowly to his knee and retied his
shoelace. The beam of the torch moved across the pavement and flickered into a
doorway two yards ahead. The patrol car was on a door-to-door street search for
something or someone.
    Emmanuel
heard the accelerator push the cruiser further down the street and away into
the night. Relief sucked the moisture from his mouth. He needed a drink. Maybe
three or four.
    The
dim interior of the Harpoon Bar reeked of smoke and beer. Three dark-skinned
merchant seamen murmured to each other at a corner table. The Separate
Amenities Act, which designated places like this into either European or
non-European facilities, was being ignored. Some places were beyond classification.
    Emmanuel
sat down at the bar and his heart rate slowed. A spotlight search twice in one
night meant the uniforms were on the lookout for someone in particular. He
wouldn't want to be an Indian man out in this part of town tonight.
    The
younger of the barmaids approached and leaned an elbow on the counter. She was
dark-haired with pale skin and dark almond-shaped eyes. A scooped neckline
revealed the top swell of her breasts. Emmanuel remembered her from the last
time he had been to the Harpoon with another shipbreaker, an ex-corporal of the
3 Commando Brigade.
    'Thirsty?'
she said.
    Emmanuel
cleared his throat. 'Double whisky, thanks.'
    He
slid a pound note onto the wooden surface. The scene with Giriraj and the
prostitute had him stirred up. The scare with the police cruiser had set the
adrenaline pumping and his body was awake. Memories of Davida's mouth on his
had reignited a desire to touch and to feel, to lose himself in the tangle of a
lover. A tumbler of whisky appeared close to his hand.
    'Anything
else?'
    He
risked an upward glance and a moment of eye contact sent a jolt to every nerve
ending. Heat burned his neck. With a penny from every man who wanted her, she
could own the bar and a big slice of the