Water Music Read Online Free PDF Page A

voice.
    Oupa. Theres trees outside. Get me help, Oupa, Oupa, come. Please.
    A scream, high-pitched as a cats.
    Oupa. Find me, Oupa. Find me please. Hes
    The phone fell from the mans hands.
    Clare picked it up and checked the log.
    The call came at five this morning, said Clare.Its eleven now. Thats six hours ago. Since then theres been nothing?
    Nothing.
    Theres no number, said Clare, handing the phone to Ina. Can you get a trace on this, Ina?
    No problem, she said. Whats her name?
    Rosa Wagner. Im Alfred Wagner. His voice was rough with pain. Im meant to protect her and I didnt hear her calling. I was asleep.
    Does Rosa have a daughter? asked Ina Britz.
    Rosas hardlymore than a child herself. A tear in the clouds; sunlight slanting through, the golden light mocking the mans anguish.

8
    Alfred Wagner stopped in front of the map with the forest of pins that Clare had placed there over the past six months. She looked at her map through Wagners eyes: a chart of horror that covered one whole wall of her office. On the adjacent wall shed pinned up photographs of the little girl on the bridle path. Alongside it were pictures of the fallen tree, the leather restraint, the black plastic,the dark rag shed been wrapped in. It was pitifully little: the only source of real information was the little girls mute, injured body.
    What do the red pins mean? he asked.
    Places where injured children have been found.
    And the black pins?
    The ones that didnt make it. Clare closed the door behind her, shutting out the hubbub of the rest of the Section 28 office. Uniforms coming in and out,phones ringing, dog handlers wanting coffee for themselves, water for the dogs.
    Youre going to put in a red pin for Rosa, he said, a catch in his voice. Not a black one.
    Clare guided Wagner to the table in her office. He followed, obedient as a child, the weight of his desperation too heavy for him to stand any longer.
    I went to the police. Helpless fury in his voice. An officer said nothingcould be done unless shes been missing twenty-four hours. I asked him to listen. He did, said she sounded like she was on drugs.
    As soon as we get the number traced, said Clare, well have somewhere concrete to start. How old is Rosa, Mr Wagner?
    Nineteen, he said.
    This unit is for children.
    The law might say she is no longer a child, Dr Hart, he said. But Im her grandfather. My son died, hermother followed soon after. I am her family, he said. Theres Rosa, theres me. Thats it. Look at her.
    Mr Wagner placed a photograph on Clares desk.
    Rosa Wagner. She lay there between them, an accusation. An ethereal girl in a red velvet dress. Tawny skin, her hair a black cascade around a delicate face. Her knees were parted, a cello cradled between them. She clasped the instruments slender neckin her arms, rapture in her upturned face. Clare looked at the old man his face was lined with anxiety and loss, his hands knotted with arthritis and a life of labour. It was hard to imagine how this girl was connected to him.
    Shes a musician? asked Clare.
    A student at the Cape College of Classical Music. Here in Hout Bay, he said. I phoned them. The secretary told me that she had withdrawn.

    You didnt know?
    I had no idea.
    Clare pulled her notebook out of her bag, found a pen. Youd better tell me what you do know about her.
    Shes a gifted cellist and she won a music scholarship. She left me and she came to Cape Town.
    When last did you see her?
    She came home for the weekend. It was a Friday. The twenty-fifth of May was the date. Mr Wagner picked up the photograph of his granddaughter.

    Todays the fifteenth, said Clare. So thats three weeks ago. How was she?
    Quiet, but thats how she is.
    And you havent spoken to her since?
    He shook his head.
    How often do you usually speak to her on the phone? asked Clare.
    When its essential, he said, touching the hearing aid tucked behind his left ear. Its not easy for me, the phone.
    Did anything happen between you? Clare was making