Read Online Deon Meyer by Dead Before Dying (html) - Free Book Online

someone in the process of drowning. He had struggled on the surface of his consciousness, too frightened to dive into the dark water. He could remember dreams that had come back to him during the safety of daylight. But he’d kept them deeply submerged while he drifted on the surface. But now he could plunge his head below the waterline, keeping his eyes open, and look at his dream because Lara had been no part of it. Yvonne Stoffberg was there. How clearly he’d seen her body.
     
     
Would he be able to?
     
     
If dreams became a reality and she stood in front of him, an open invitation. Could he do it? Would the tool of love, so dulled, be able to function? Or was its blade too blunt to prune the past, allowing new growth?
     
     
The uncertainty lay like a weight, low in his abdomen, gripped like fear. His neighbor’s eighteen-year-old daughter. Or was it seventeen? He forced his thoughts to the other characters in his dreams. What was Bart de Wit doing there? With the hole in his head. And Margaret Wallace? He was amazed by the mystery of his subconscious. Wondered why he hadn’t dreamed of Lara. Wondered whether she would come back that night. The old monsters found their way into the pool of his thoughts. He sighed. And shot back to the safe surface.
     
     
    * * *
The woman who opened the door had to be Margaret Wallace’s sister. Her hair was short and redder, her skin lightly sprinkled with freckles, her eyes pale blue, but the resemblance was unmistakable.
     
     
Joubert asked to see her sister.
     
     
“This isn’t a good time.”
     
     
“I know,” he said and waited, uncomfortable, an intruder. The woman gave an annoyed sigh and invited him in.
     
     
There were people in the living room speaking in hushed voices that stopped when he stood in the entrance hall. They looked at him, recognized the Law by his clothes, his size, and his style. Margaret Wallace sat with her back toward him but followed the others’ eyes. She got up. He saw that she had traveled a long way on her road. Her eyes were sunken and dark. There were lines around her mouth.
     
     
“I’m sorry to trouble you,” he said, made uncomfortable by the silence in the large room and the reproachful looks of all those present.
     
     
“Let’s go out into the garden,” she said softly and opened the front door.
     
     
The southeaster was ruffling the tops of the big trees but down below it was almost still. Margaret Wallace walked with her arms folded tightly across her breasts, her shoulders bowed. He knew the body language so well, the label of the widow, universally recognizable.
     
     
“Don’t feel bad. I know you have a job to do,” she said and tried to smile.
     
     
“Did you see the newspaper?”
     
     
She shook her head. “They hide it from me.”
     
     
“My superior . . . There’s a theory . . .” His mind sought desperately for euphemisms, looked for gentle synonyms for death. He wished Benny Griessel were there.
     
     
“In Taiwan organized crime uses the same methods . . . in their . . . work. I have to pursue the possibility.”
     
     
She looked at him and the wind blew her hair over her face. She wiped it away with a hand, folded her arms again. She waited.
     
     
“Your husband might have done business with them, perhaps indirectly . . . With the Chinese. Would you know?”
     
     
“No.”
     
     
“Mrs. Wallace, I know this is difficult. But if there could be some explanation . . .”
     
     
“Haven’t you found anything?” she asked, no reproach in her voice, as if she already knew the answer. Her hair blew over her face again but she let it be.
     
     
“Nothing,” he said and wondered whether she would ever find out about Lizzie van der Merwe and the other women with whom James J. had shared a night or two.
     
     
“It was a mistake,” she said. “An accident.” Her arms unfolded, a hand comforted his upper arm. “You’ll see. It has to be.” Then she folded the hand away again.
     
     
He walked