Free Just a Dead Man by Margaret von Klemperer Page B

– and I quiteunderstand – will you tell Inspector Pillay? But if you feel you can, will you tell me too?”
    He looked straight at me, for the first time. “Maybe I will. I believe what you have told me.” I scribbled my cellphone and landline numbers down, and gave them to him. He offered me his hand, and then he was gone.

13
    I RECEIVED A TEXT MESSAGE from Robin just as I was climbing out of bed on Thursday, telling me to be at his office at eight sharp – early for my holiday timetable. I had just enough time to grab a cup of coffee and a slice of toast, and promise Grumpy a proper walk later. He subsided with a sigh, his whole being exuding offence as he mooched off to his kennel. I would phone Philippa, and we could walk together this afternoon. I was suddenly nervous about being alone in the plantations.
    Robin was waiting for me. He picked up a gown that was greening with age, and had a jagged tear in the hem. I wondered if I should offer to mend it, except that I don’t really do mending. But maybe I could swing it as part payment.
    â€œWe can go down to the cells and see Daniel before he comes to court. He knows this will just be a remand, but I need to talk to him.”
    â€œWill he get bail?”
    â€œWe’ll get him a bail hearing. I’ve spoken to the prosecutor, and she’s agreed to get that set down for next week.” I started to say something, but Robin interrupted. “No ways we can get it before then. I think she’s a bit concerned about the lack of evidence she’s seen so far, but we have to apply for bail in the Regional Court. If we get adate next week, we’ll be doing well.”
    A little nervously, I told Robin about Paul Ndzoyiya’s visit and that I had asked him if his father had enemies. I also told him what I had remembered as I walked down the road, and he suggested I should talk to Inspector Pillay about it.
    â€œHe’ll be in court this morning. What you remember is pretty vague, but it might help. But keep in mind, Laura, that this is a murder case. Leave it to the police – don’t do anything stupid.”
    I actually thought that that was rather offensive, but said nothing. After all, Robin was helping Daniel, and if he thought I was a pest, well … so be it. Then, again, maybe I was?
    I don’t suppose – apart from the day I got divorced, over which my mind has drawn a comforting veil – I had ever set foot in a courtroom before. The divorce must have been in the High Court anyway; maybe marginally less unpleasant than the magistrates’ end of the process. There was a guard who eyed us with disfavour but let us in when Robin said we were going down to the holding cells to visit his client. The place smelt of stale urine with a curious metallic tang that made me think of railway stations but was probably no more than the odour of institutions. There was another smell that took me a moment longer to identify: dagga. Everything seemed to be covered in a layer of grime so ingrained that no cleaning could ever remove it: it had become part of the fabric of the building. As Robin led the way down to the cells, we passed a series of battered benches, the floor beneath them scuffed by thousands of waiting feet, and I felt myself cringing away from the people we passed, the walls and the whole experience.
    A policeman let us into a room and went off to fetchDaniel. There were hard plastic chairs, but I didn’t want to sit down. Coward that I am, I didn’t want to be there at all. To my surprise, Daniel looked calm when they brought him in. He was wearing clean jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and I realised guiltily that Chantal, practical and organised, must have brought him a change of clothes, something that had not even crossed my mind. I supposed she was used to dealing with people who found themselves at the mercy of the police, but even so, I should have thought of it.
    Daniel gave me