Free Pale Horses by Jassy Mackenzie

OK?’
    She climbed off and walked up to David. For a moment he thought she was going to hug him and he felt his heart leap into his mouth as he imagined how she would feel in his arms, wondered whether he’d be able to stop himself from letting his hands clasp her body, pressing his lips against hers …
    But Jade simply squeezed his hand briefly before letting go.
    ‘Nice seeing you again,’ she said, before turning away and jogging up the stairs. A few seconds later he heard the front door slam behind her. And then she was gone.
12
    Jade wasn’t finding it at all difficult to understand why Michiel van Schalkwyk, Sonet’s ex-husband, was in fact an ex. More confusing to her was why on earth the woman had married him in the first place.
    Van Schalkwyk lived in one of the suburbs surrounding the small town of Bela-Bela. To get there, she had to take the N1 highway north, drive for well over an hour, and go through two toll gates. The route took her through miles and miles of flat, brownish farmland. At this stage of winter, nothing was growing and nothing was ploughed.
    Once she had reached the town itself she turned off and followed the directions he’d very reluctantly given her. They led her down a zigzagging road and through narrow blocks of identical-looking small houses.
    Van Schalkwyk’s was notable for having an unkempt garden, an unwashed and ancient Mazda parked in the driveway, and a doorbell that didn’t work, which forced Jade to hammer on the front door with her fist. After several minutes, it was finally opened by a dark-bearded giant of a man who glowered down at her as if she was selling something that he not only didn’t want but actively disapproved of.
    ‘You the P.I.?’
    ‘Yes, I’m Jade de Jong.’ She held out her hand but he didn’t shake it; he just turned and walked through the rather dusty hallway and into a cramped and surprisingly warm living room. He settled himself in an old leather armchair, his blue-jeaned backside fitting perfectly into the two deep dents in its seat.
    He hadn’t offered her a seat but Jade perched herself on a wooden chair surrounded by piles of magazines and newspapers, letters and pamphlets, some opened and some still in their envelopes. CDs as well as old-fashioned LPs littered the threadbare carpet. An old guitar waspropped in a corner and Jade noticed two empty bottles of Captain Morgan rum half covered by a discarded blanket.
    Van Schalkwyk let out a long, frustrated-sounding sigh that fluttered the edges of the discarded papers lying near him in the stuffy room.
    ‘What do you want to know?’ he asked. ‘I’m sorry she’s dead, of course, but I don’t have much time. And to be honest, I don’t really want to discuss this.’ She guessed he was naturally an Afrikaans speaker, because his English sounded thick and accented.
    Jade sensed a smouldering anger inside this man – a deep resentment that left him unwilling to show her even the most basic politeness. Was this caused by his ex-wife, or something else? Who knew. She had a long list of questions to ask but, for the time being she put them aside and found herself asking something that was, in essence, a variation on the question uppermost in her mind at that stage – namely how on earth the two of them had ended up married.
    ‘What brought you and Sonet together?’ Jade said.
    Blindsided by a question he clearly wasn’t expecting, Van Schalkwyk blinked rapidly before clearing his throat.
    ‘Music,’ he said.
    ‘Music? In what way?’
    Van Schalkwyk’s gaze slid towards his guitar and his hard expression softened slightly. ‘We met at a Steve Hofmeyr concert when I was twenty-one.’
    ‘How old was she?’
    ‘Sixteen, but she told me she was older.’
    ‘Steve Hofmeyr – is he a favourite of yours?’
    ‘Not really. But back then in the platteland, the countryside, you know, we didn’t get much choice. In that little out-of-the-way dorpie where I grew up, the only other choice