Silent Valley Read Online Free PDF Page A

white farming town and its citizens would have the traditional expectations of blacks: that they work hard, say little and recognise the order of things.
    ‘Oh . . .’ The commander seemed surprised. He bent down and said to the eldest girl, ‘Go inside and tell Mum that I’ve got work but I’ll be in just now. Okay, my sweetheart?’
    ‘ Ja , okay, Daddy.’
    The girls retreated slowly, clearly fascinated by Shabalala. Their town was populated with the familiar: European parents, European friends, black house servants, and a handful of brown and Indian children they were not allowed to speak to or play with. How rare and exciting to see a Zulu man in a suit standing side by side with a white man.
    ‘Constable Desmond Bagley, station commander of the Roselet police.’ Bagley came down off the veranda and squeezed Emmanuel’s hand once, hard. Shabalala got a courteous dip of the head. ‘You’re a long way from home. What brings you all the way out here, Detective?’
    ‘You didn’t get the message,’ Emmanuel said and looked over at the station entrance. The handwritten note was still pinned to the door. That meant he’d have to tell Bagley, face to face, about a murder committed in his own district.
    ‘One of my police boys is normally here to open the station and take messages but both of them are at a baptism service in the valley,’ Bagley said. ‘I’ve just come in from church myself. Has something happened that I should know about?’
    ‘A murder in the Kamberg Valley,’ Emmanuel said, hoping that Bagley’s feeling of inadequacy at being the last to know would fade in time.
    ‘My god . . .’ Red tinged the constable’s face. ‘Who?’
    ‘Amahle Matebula,’ Emmanuel said. ‘A young Zulu girl.’
    ‘Amahle . . .’ Bagley frowned and glanced off to the station house. A pulse throbbed visibly in a vein on his forehead. ‘The name sounds familiar.’
    ‘She was reported missing on Saturday morning,’ Emmanuel said. ‘By her family.’
    ‘Let’s see . . .’ Bagley dug a pack of Dunhill cigarettes from his jacket pocket and punctured the foil top with his fingernail. The telltale vein throbbed harder. ‘Friday night there was a fight out on the native location, two arrests. Saturday there was a stock theft from Dovecote Farm and then a break-in at Dawson’s General Store. The boys and I had our hands full.’
    ‘Sounds like it.’ Emmanuel was unimpressed by the rural crime wave gripping Roselet. Bagley was lining up excuses for failing to act on the trifling matter of a missing black girl. ‘Is Amahle Matebula’s disappearance listed in the occurrence book, Constable?’
    ‘Forgetting’ to enter a formal complaint was the easiest way to shelve an inconvenient investigation.
    Bagley dug out a cigarette and tapped the cut end against his wrist. ‘I’m just trying to remember the details, Sergeant.’
    ‘Take your time,’ Emmanuel said and waited in silence. Sloppy police work, no matter the case, was inexcusable. Bagley would get no help from him in covering up a failure of duty.
    ‘That’s right.’ The constable fumbled a box of matches from his pocket, struck a match and lit up. ‘A Zulu boy came in on Saturday morning, said this girl Amahle hadn’t come home from work on Friday. The details are in the occurrence book.’
    ‘What time?’ Emmanuel asked. Despite Bagley’s efforts to appear nonchalant, the vein on his forehead said otherwise.
    ‘Around 7 a.m.’ He flicked ash into the garden bed and smiled, apologetic. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Sergeant, I didn’t think for one minute it was serious. Missing girls normally turn up after a few days.’
    ‘Was Amahle known to the police?’ Emmanuel asked. Beautiful black girls with a wild streak inevitably showed up in local police records attached to underage drinking offences or carnal knowledge investigations. ‘A list of previous offences would be a good place for us to start looking for