Read Online Just a Dead Man by Margaret von Klemperer - Free Book Online

whatnot held a dusty display of Zulu beer pots. They were good ones, not the sort sold to tourists around the entrance to the Zululand game reserves or at beach resorts, but works of art in their own right, combining the traditions of the form with clever detailing in incised and raised patterns. He saw me looking.
    â€œI know, I know, they need to be dusted. But there are some real beauties there, aren’t there? I did a case – a land dispute – for one of the potting families up Msinga way.They were short of cash, and so I told them not to worry. But they brought me these pots. I thought of taking them home, but I spend much more time in the office than I do there, so I decided to leave them here. I find them soothing to look at when I’m pondering a problem. It’s something about the shape.”
    I looked at him with affection. He really was a great guy.
    He shuffled some papers on his desk, and began to talk about Daniel. He told me where to be the next morning, and when, and explained that it would be a purely formal remand. Daniel wouldn’t say anything, and the matter would be referred to the Regional Court for a bail hearing. Robin had spoken to the prosecutor, a Ms Bhengu who, he said, was very reasonable and competent. “That’s a plus, but it looks as if the cops will want to oppose bail. He’s a foreigner, and that’s always a problem. Still, we’ll see what we can do.”
    I asked if I could see Daniel, and he said he would try to take me down to the cells to talk to him tomorrow morning. I then began to explain that I wanted to talk to the murdered man’s son, the one who had identified the body. “He must know something. I mean, did his father have enemies? Apart from seeing Daniel, had he come up from Durban for anything else?” I stopped. Robin was looking at me with an expression of alarm.
    â€œLaura, the man was murdered. Keep out of it. This is not a place to play amateur detective! The police are investigating, and so am I. We’ll look at all this, don’t worry. But don’t get involved. Anyway, you could be a witness.”
    â€œWhat? What was I a witness to? It was my dog that found the body, but that’s all.”
    He shook his head at me, but nevertheless handed overa phone number for Paul Ndzoyiya, the dead man’s son. Inspector Pillay had told him Ndzoyiya wanted to see the place where his father’s body had been found, so if he came to look, maybe I could speak to him. “But for God’s sake, be sensible,” he said firmly.
    We agreed to ask Daniel who had put him onto Phineas Ndzoyiya in the first place, and see whether there could be any leads there. “But the murder could have been for all kinds of reasons, nothing to do with Dan at all. If the police are confident they have solved it with Dan’s arrest, they are going to have to come up with some kind of substantive evidence,” said Robin. “And I don’t see how they can.”
    I headed home, the cheerfulness induced by Vanessa’s gossip and the coffee long since dissipated. I knew Robin was right: this was no cosy, Miss Marple-style murder with room for amateur involvement. We live in a country where life is worth less than the cost of a cellphone and racial, tribal and gender hatreds run cold and deep under a skimpy veil of tattered rainbow and sunshine. I am a coward at heart, anxious to avoid confrontation at all costs – except of course with Simon – but I simply had to try to do something to help Daniel. And I couldn’t believe he was involved in this.
    I phoned Verne, catching him in his office at university. I told him what Robin had said, and when and where the hearing would be and he promised to be there. I then told him that I wanted to speak to Paul Ndzoyiya and see if he had any idea of who might have had a motive to kill his father.
    â€œBut, Laura, it could have been a simple robbery. And the