Let the Dead Lie Read Online Free PDF

block the image of Jolly Marks
lying in the dirt. Collecting evidence was what the police did and Emmanuel
wasn't one of them any more. He was a civilian working for Major van Niekerk.
Still, the crime scene bothered him.
    'Where
was the boy when you first saw him?' he asked.
    Once
a few facts about the murder were in place he'd stop and let the Durban police
do their job. A dead white child was on the top of the 'murders that matter'
list. The detective branch would throw men and expensive overtime into solving
the case.
    'The
boy was lying there,' Parthiv said. 'Blood everywhere.'
    'This
is while you were looking for a prostitute?'
    ' Jâ ,
same like you. We found one, red hair with a shiny purple dress and small
titties, but she wouldn't do it with a charra.' Parthiv was offended again at
the memory. 'I said, "Only one of us. Good money. No police to see
us." This whore said no! We kept going and he was there in the laneway,
dead as anything.'
    'Anyone
come out of the laneway?'
    'No.'
    'You
hear anything? Voices? An argument?'
    'Nothing.
We was quiet because the police, they see Indians more quickly than they see
white people.'
    'Did
you notice any other men in the area?'
    Was
Jolly's murder connected to a bad deal? Did he see something he shouldn't have?
    'No
one,' Parthiv said and fiddled with the dial of the radio despite all the
stations being off air till daylight.
    'But
you knew the boy.' Emmanuel pushed ahead. 'Tonight wasn't the first time you'd
seen him. That's right, isn't it?'
    'You
a cop,' Parthiv said. 'For sure.'
    'I'm
not.' Emmanuel knew he'd pushed too far. 'I was just curious.'
    Parthiv's
voice swelled with panic. 'You're working undercover, isn't it?'
    'I'm
not an undercover policeman,' Emmanuel said. Or any other kind of police, he
reminded himself. 'Once you've dropped me at the freight yards, you and I will
never see each other again.'
    'For
real?' Parthiv said.
    'For
real.'
    The
Cadillac sped through the empty streets and zipped past municipal parks with
deserted swings and scrappy cricket pitches. They soon arrived at the Point
freight yards. A drunk zigzagged along the footpath and a stray dog pawed at
the contents of a toppled garbage can. There were no police wagons, no crime
scene barricades and no guard positioned at the entrance to the alley where
Jolly Marks still lay undiscovered and alone.
    'Thanks
for the lift,' Emmanuel said. Parthiv responded with a humourless snort and
swung a U-turn back towards the city centre. Red tail-lights dimmed and then
disappeared. Emmanuel scooped loose coins from his pocket. The closest public
telephone box was within visual distance of the Point police station. A risky
position for what he had in mind.
    He
flipped his jacket collar up like a second-rate hood in one of Parthiv's
gangster films and ducked into the red and cream circular booth. A tattered
telephone directory dangled from a metal chain. He thumbed the pages to the
list of police stations and fed coins into the slot.
    'Sergeant
Whitlam.' The voice on the other end was gruff. The morning shift and a soft
bed were still hours away. 'Point police.'
    'There's
a body in the alley behind the Trident shipping office.'
    'What's
that?'
    'Listen
carefully, Sergeant Whitlam. This is not a hoax or a joke. Send someone out to
the alley behind Trident shipping. A boy has been murdered.'
    'Who
is this, please?'
    Emmanuel
hung up. It had come to this: anonymous phone calls in the dead of night to
speed the wheels of justice. He retreated into the shadows and crouched across
from the entrance to the alley, like a thief. Five minutes ticked by and then
ten. Every second magnified just how ludicrous the situation was. He was a
grown man hiding in the dark, with no option but to watch and wait. The
sensible thing was to get up and walk away.
    A
gangly foot policeman with sleep-tousled hair turned up to conduct the search a
quarter of an hour later. Twenty years old at most, Emmanuel figured, not
cynical yet but