back of her calf, fighting the urge to run. The red-haired woman gave him a cursory glance and slammed the boot shut, raising dust.
“Detective Sergeant Cooper. Marshall Square CID.” Emmanuel offered his hand in greeting. “You must be Cassie’s aunt from north of Pretoria.”
“Delia Singleton from Rust de Winter.” She shook hands quickly and checked the tyres, already focused on the challenge of navigating Johannesburg’s busy main roads and then the lonely dirt trails that would take her home again. “Cassie tells me you got the kaffir boys who made this mess.”
“With her help we have one of the boys in for questioning,” Emmanuel said. “We’ll need to double-check the details of Cassie’s story before laying charges.”
“The man who called last night said everything was settled. Cassie’s got the case solved and I should pick her up and keep her for a while.” Delia was brusque. “I’ve got six small ones at home and only half the fruit canning’s done. I can’t stay.”
“One question for Cassie,” Emmanuel said. “Then I promise you’ll be on your way.”
“Make it quick, Detective.” Delia crouched by the worn front tyre and touched a patch pressed into the rubber. She ran her fingers back and forth over the surface, making sure the repair remained intact.
Emmanuel motioned Cassie in the direction of the rear of the Land Rover. She complied, reluctantly.
“Did you see Shabalala and Nkhato from where you hid behind the wardrobe or did you hear them?” he asked.
“I … um, I heard their voices,” Cassie mumbled. A vein on her forehead pulsed blue beneath her freckled skin.
“And you’re one hundred per cent certain it was those two boys who came into your room and turned it upside down?” Emmanuel asked. Puffy-eyed and with a swollen bottom lip from where she’d bit through the skin yesterday, it was clear the teenager had passed a rough night.
“ Ja . Sure. Completely.” Cassie moved back and pressed her palms to the dusty surface of the Land Rover.
“Last chance to tell the truth,” he said. The stark terror on the girl’s face as she stood framed in Mrs Lauda’s window had been real. She was lying to protect herself or someone else. “I give you my word that I’ll do everything I can to find out who hurt your parents and why.”
“I already told you. I said how it happened.”
“Time to move.” Delia finished the tyre inspection and lifted the driver’s door handle. “Get in, girl. We haven’t got all day.”
“Where can I reach you if I need to?” Emmanuel asked before the aunt climbed behind the wheel and sped into the hinterlands. He wondered if she’d ever known the pleasure of lying in bed until noon. Probably not.
“Clearwater Farm,” Delia said and gave instructions of major turn-offs and minor farm roads. “You can dial through to the farm on the party line. Don’t use it unless it’s urgent. Everyone listens in and the whole district knows your problems. I’ve got enough on my plate.”
“I understand.” Emmanuel wrote down the phone number and instructions. Cassie stood by the Land Rover’s rear bumper with her arms laced around her waist. She looked younger than her years and exhausted. He could understand why Mason and the rest of the Marshall Square detectives wanted swift justice for this fragile white girl.
“If that’s all you need we’ll make tracks, Detective Cooper.” Delia motioned Cassie into the decrepit vehicle. “No more tears, girl. Crying won’t change anything. The doctors will fix your parents up and you’ll be back to school in no time. Come, let’s go.”
Cassie scurried into the passenger seat and wiped dusty palms on the front of her skirt. Tears wet her cheeks, despite Delia’s warning against crying.
“Safe travels,” Emmanuel said when the Land Rover engine coughed to life and Delia mashed the gear stick into first. Between the farm, six children and the fruit canning, Cassie could expect
“Detective Sergeant Cooper. Marshall Square CID.” Emmanuel offered his hand in greeting. “You must be Cassie’s aunt from north of Pretoria.”
“Delia Singleton from Rust de Winter.” She shook hands quickly and checked the tyres, already focused on the challenge of navigating Johannesburg’s busy main roads and then the lonely dirt trails that would take her home again. “Cassie tells me you got the kaffir boys who made this mess.”
“With her help we have one of the boys in for questioning,” Emmanuel said. “We’ll need to double-check the details of Cassie’s story before laying charges.”
“The man who called last night said everything was settled. Cassie’s got the case solved and I should pick her up and keep her for a while.” Delia was brusque. “I’ve got six small ones at home and only half the fruit canning’s done. I can’t stay.”
“One question for Cassie,” Emmanuel said. “Then I promise you’ll be on your way.”
“Make it quick, Detective.” Delia crouched by the worn front tyre and touched a patch pressed into the rubber. She ran her fingers back and forth over the surface, making sure the repair remained intact.
Emmanuel motioned Cassie in the direction of the rear of the Land Rover. She complied, reluctantly.
“Did you see Shabalala and Nkhato from where you hid behind the wardrobe or did you hear them?” he asked.
“I … um, I heard their voices,” Cassie mumbled. A vein on her forehead pulsed blue beneath her freckled skin.
“And you’re one hundred per cent certain it was those two boys who came into your room and turned it upside down?” Emmanuel asked. Puffy-eyed and with a swollen bottom lip from where she’d bit through the skin yesterday, it was clear the teenager had passed a rough night.
“ Ja . Sure. Completely.” Cassie moved back and pressed her palms to the dusty surface of the Land Rover.
“Last chance to tell the truth,” he said. The stark terror on the girl’s face as she stood framed in Mrs Lauda’s window had been real. She was lying to protect herself or someone else. “I give you my word that I’ll do everything I can to find out who hurt your parents and why.”
“I already told you. I said how it happened.”
“Time to move.” Delia finished the tyre inspection and lifted the driver’s door handle. “Get in, girl. We haven’t got all day.”
“Where can I reach you if I need to?” Emmanuel asked before the aunt climbed behind the wheel and sped into the hinterlands. He wondered if she’d ever known the pleasure of lying in bed until noon. Probably not.
“Clearwater Farm,” Delia said and gave instructions of major turn-offs and minor farm roads. “You can dial through to the farm on the party line. Don’t use it unless it’s urgent. Everyone listens in and the whole district knows your problems. I’ve got enough on my plate.”
“I understand.” Emmanuel wrote down the phone number and instructions. Cassie stood by the Land Rover’s rear bumper with her arms laced around her waist. She looked younger than her years and exhausted. He could understand why Mason and the rest of the Marshall Square detectives wanted swift justice for this fragile white girl.
“If that’s all you need we’ll make tracks, Detective Cooper.” Delia motioned Cassie into the decrepit vehicle. “No more tears, girl. Crying won’t change anything. The doctors will fix your parents up and you’ll be back to school in no time. Come, let’s go.”
Cassie scurried into the passenger seat and wiped dusty palms on the front of her skirt. Tears wet her cheeks, despite Delia’s warning against crying.
“Safe travels,” Emmanuel said when the Land Rover engine coughed to life and Delia mashed the gear stick into first. Between the farm, six children and the fruit canning, Cassie could expect
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