Present Darkness Read Online Free PDF Page B

lights faded into the dark at the end of the street and then walked quickly to the rear of the house. If he stopped to think about what he was doing, he might reconsider.

3.
    Dr Daniel Zweigman, grey hair askew and reading glasses halfway down his nose, stitched the wound with precision and knotted the cotton thread. A circle of policemen held torches to light the outdoor surgery, including the folded sheet upon which lay the disinfectant, bandages and morphine syrettes used for the operation. Emmanuel told the German doctor to bring everything and he had.
    “The wounds are closed and the bleeding has stopped,” Zweigman said. “That is all I can do with what I have.” He pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. “It might be enough.”
    Emmanuel stood up and stretched. The injured black man had a chance to live. That had to be worth breaking the promise he’d made just a few months previously to keep Zweigman out of danger and away from police business.
    Zweigman removed his bloodied gloves and tucked the wool blanket around the unconscious patient’s shoulders. The doctor’s blue trousers and checked shirt were rumpled. He’d probably dressed in the dark to avoid disturbing his wife, Lilliana, and their adopted son, Dimitri, as they slept in the guest bedroom of Davida’s father’s house. A few months earlier, Davida had given birth to Rebekah at Zweigman’s clinic in the Valley of a Thousand Hills to avoid the complications of bringing an illegitimate, half-caste child into the world.
    “What now?” Zweigman asked.
    “You go back to Houghton. I’ll wait here for the native ambulance to arrive,” Emmanuel said.
    “So, that is it. ‘Thank you, doctor, and auf wiedersehen ’?” The wiry doctor repacked the medical supplies into his leather bag and snapped the lock shut. “Once again it has been a pleasure doing business with you, Sergeant Cooper.”
    “I’ll walk you to your car,” Emmanuel said. Zweigman’s involvement with the Brewer case ended here. There were still nights when Emmanuel woke in a panic at how close he’d come to losing Zweigman on a hillside in the Drakensberg Mountains a few months ago. In Emmanuel’s dreams the spear wound on the doctor’s shoulder refused to heal and he died cold and alone in a cave while Emmanuel watched and did nothing.
    “Put the torches down and take a break,” Emmanuel told the policemen. “I’ll see the doctor out.”
    “Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen,” Zweigman said to the Constables and cut through the dense foliage. Twigs snapped under his feet. Moonlight illuminated the dirt path that led to the back door of the Brewers’ house.
    “I appreciate your help,” Emmanuel said when they emerged from the suburban jungle and onto a patch of grass. “But I can’t drag you deeper into the investigation. Not after last time.”
    “What will you tell Shabalala?” Zweigman ignored the reference to his own near-death experience and ducked under the clothesline. He accepted that life inflicted wounds and life healed them. Surviving the war in a concentration camp had taught him that lesson.
    “If this Aaron is actually his son, then I’ll tell Shabalala the truth,” Emmanuel said. “I just haven’t figured out the right words yet.”
    “There is nothing right about this situation.” Zweigman studied the garden. “No son of Shabalala’s could inflict such a brutal attack.”
    “I don’t know,” Emmanuel said. “I ran wild at the same age and got myself into plenty of trouble.”
    “Drinking and riding in stolen cars with girls,” the doctor guessed. “Nothing involving blood and broken bones, I’m sure.”
    “No,” Emmanuel said. “That came later.”
    A pulse of bright red light blinked from the driveway. Evans, the policeman left to guard the front of the property, broke into the yard.
    “The kaffir ambulance is here, Sergeant,” he said. “It’s in the drive.”
    “Show the attendants through,