Just a Dead Man Read Online Free PDF

in our lives because no one wants to clean it. And it hardly gets used. Rory isn’t here during the term, and even when he was, he did his serious swimming at school. Mike has never been a keen swimmer. And nor am I. It was the only house, with a pool, and the other things we needed, in your price range when we got divorced. So don’t blame me! And, anyway, it’s bullshit that it’s not safe. This is the only incident we’ve had here in five years. And the cops said the body was dumped there, not killed there. Butt out, Simon.”
    He then had the grace to back down, even if only a little. His reason for phoning was supposedly to see if I was okay, and did I want the boys up there with me? He could put Mike on a plane home early, and stand Rory a round trip, if I needed them. It was a generous offer, although the ungenerous thought did cross my mind that Ms Tits was probably finding two young males in her love nest abit much. So I did my best to refuse graciously, claiming it would be a shame for Mike to have to cut his holiday short and that the boys seemed to be having a great time together. But over all, it was not a happy conversation. I did not send regards to Sonia. She was the ostensible reason for the break-up of our marriage, though things had been going badly long before she undulated onto the scene.

6
    I T SURPRISED ME, BUT I slept that night. Maybe the effects of a large whisky and a row with Simon were soporific. But when I woke, I felt guilty. A man had died, but he hadn’t disturbed my rest, though I had woken once to a night-filled room, thinking of Inspector Pillay’s questions about my afternoon and sure that I had seen something going down the road. But it was like waking after a dream: the more I tried to pin it down, the more it edged away.
    In the morning, I did minimal housework and then dashed out to get some stuff from the supermarket: all I had been able to find for supper last night were eggs and cheese and a part-eaten Woolworths snoek paté whose sell-by date was nearly as long ago as the sinking of the Mendi . Not that I had been hungry, but a cheese omelette had not proved to be an exciting meal and I needed to stock up with some other options. I took Grumpy for a quick walk, taking the hard road that skirted the plantations and keeping him on a lead all the way, much to his displeasure. I didn’t want to go near the scene of yesterday’s discovery. That done, I headed into the studio. I wasn’t in the mood for painting, but I could think about the other pieces I needed for the exhibition. But before I got going I flipped through the morning paper.
    The murder made it onto page three, though therewasn’t a great deal to be said: the victim had not been identified at the time of going to press and all the reporter had been able to go on was the police statement. There were a couple of paragraphs, but all they succeeded in saying was that the body of a man had been found by a member of the public on a popular dog-walking path – the name of our road was misspelled – and that police investigations were ongoing. I was glad that neither Daniel’s nor my name had been mentioned.
    Daniel phoned me mid-morning. I was pleased: he had been angry and upset yesterday and I wanted to talk to him. He asked if he could come round, and said he still wanted to model for my next painting. He turned up at lunch-time, and we had a sandwich together but conversation remained stilted. I remembered he had been about to say something when the police had come into the garden yesterday afternoon, and wondered if I should ask him about it. But I didn’t want to push. He obviously had something on his mind.
    I did, however, ask him about Johannesburg and how things were going there. He admitted there had been some trouble a couple of months ago: a group of Zimbabwean and Somali traders had been beaten up by locals, and he had got involved with a group