when youse is by the house and I’m not here, you must look nicely after the plants, okay?”
Matt nodded, earnestly. “I’ll water them.”
“Ja. Nicely. No matter what they say about water restrictions. A plant must get its water.”
Mrs. Dollie grabbed a bucket and a mop and headed to the tiled dining room, Matt trailing after her. Burn watched as she attacked the tiles energetically, her thin arms pumping as she mopped the area where the bodies had lain. He felt a moment of panic. Had he cleaned the blood properly? Had some of it caked in the grout between the tiles? But Mrs. Dollie noticed nothing. She never stopped chatting to the boy as she mopped, and he heard Matt laugh.
Burn walked away from the conversation, out onto the deck, sipping the beer. His son seemed okay, but how could he be? His world had been upended; he had been dragged across the planet and had witnessed something last night that he wouldn’t be allowed to watch on TV.
Burn stood drinking his beer, watching the sun sagging down toward the ocean. Unbelievably, it was less than twenty-four hours ago that those men had come.
The door buzzer sounded, startling Burn. He hesitated, instinctively wanting to ignore it. Then it sounded again. Whoever was down there kept his finger on the buzzer.
Burn walked across to the wall-mounted intercom monitor. On the screen he saw a huge man crowded into the street door recess. Burn picked up the phone.
“Yes, can I help you?”
The man held up an ID to the camera. “Police. Can I talk to you, please?” He had a guttural accent, hard to follow through the intercom.
Burn hesitated. “Okay. I’ll be right down.”
Burn felt sick in his gut.
He walked across to Mrs. Dollie and Matt. He ruffled his son’s hair. “I have to talk to somebody outside. You stay here, with Mrs. Dollie, okay?” Matt nodded.
Burn locked the front door to make sure that Matt couldn’t follow him and walked down the pathway.
Was this it? Was this where the whole thing ended?
He opened the street door.
C HAPTER 7
Burn felt as if he were confronting a Table Mountain of fat. The cop was massive, tall and obese, and he stank, a mixture of acrid body odor and something vaguely medicinal.
“Can I help you, officer?”
“I’m Inspector Barnard.” The man’s body odor became a sweet memory when the force of Barnard’s halitosis hit Burn took an involuntary step backward.
Burn tried not to breathe. “Is there a problem?”
Barnard was squinting at him. “You American?”
“That’s right.”
“On holiday?”
“Yeah, I guess. We’re renting for a couple of months.”
“Nice part of town.” The cop smiled, showing yellow teeth beneath a mustache as bushy as a skunk’s tail.
“It is, yes. Look, Mr. …?”
“Barnard. Inspector.”
“Inspector, is there something I can help you with?”
“Just routine, sir.” Barnard had a notebook out. “Can I have your name, please?”
“Hill. John Hill.”
“Mr. Hill, there have been a couple of break-ins in the area over the last few weeks. You notice anything out of the ordinary, maybe?”
Burn shook his head. “Nothing. No. This is a very quiet street.”
“Last night? You didn’t hear anything, or see anything unusual?”
“No. Sorry.”
Barnard was pointing at the red BMW. “You maybe see who was driving that car?”
“Sorry. Can’t help you.”
Barnard nodded, sucked his teeth. Then he fixed Burn with a stare. “You live here alone?”
“No, with my wife and son.”
“Okay. Can I maybe talk to your wife? See if she maybe heard something?”
“She’s in hospital.”
Barnard was looking interested. “Oh? What’s wrong?”
“She’s pregnant. A complication. We had to get an ambulance for her last night, in fact. I was pretty preoccupied with that, as you can imagine.”
“Of course, of course. Well, I hope she is going to be okay.”
“Thank you. She’s fine.”
“Okay, good.”
Burn stepped back, ready to shut the door.
Matt nodded, earnestly. “I’ll water them.”
“Ja. Nicely. No matter what they say about water restrictions. A plant must get its water.”
Mrs. Dollie grabbed a bucket and a mop and headed to the tiled dining room, Matt trailing after her. Burn watched as she attacked the tiles energetically, her thin arms pumping as she mopped the area where the bodies had lain. He felt a moment of panic. Had he cleaned the blood properly? Had some of it caked in the grout between the tiles? But Mrs. Dollie noticed nothing. She never stopped chatting to the boy as she mopped, and he heard Matt laugh.
Burn walked away from the conversation, out onto the deck, sipping the beer. His son seemed okay, but how could he be? His world had been upended; he had been dragged across the planet and had witnessed something last night that he wouldn’t be allowed to watch on TV.
Burn stood drinking his beer, watching the sun sagging down toward the ocean. Unbelievably, it was less than twenty-four hours ago that those men had come.
The door buzzer sounded, startling Burn. He hesitated, instinctively wanting to ignore it. Then it sounded again. Whoever was down there kept his finger on the buzzer.
Burn walked across to the wall-mounted intercom monitor. On the screen he saw a huge man crowded into the street door recess. Burn picked up the phone.
“Yes, can I help you?”
The man held up an ID to the camera. “Police. Can I talk to you, please?” He had a guttural accent, hard to follow through the intercom.
Burn hesitated. “Okay. I’ll be right down.”
Burn felt sick in his gut.
He walked across to Mrs. Dollie and Matt. He ruffled his son’s hair. “I have to talk to somebody outside. You stay here, with Mrs. Dollie, okay?” Matt nodded.
Burn locked the front door to make sure that Matt couldn’t follow him and walked down the pathway.
Was this it? Was this where the whole thing ended?
He opened the street door.
C HAPTER 7
Burn felt as if he were confronting a Table Mountain of fat. The cop was massive, tall and obese, and he stank, a mixture of acrid body odor and something vaguely medicinal.
“Can I help you, officer?”
“I’m Inspector Barnard.” The man’s body odor became a sweet memory when the force of Barnard’s halitosis hit Burn took an involuntary step backward.
Burn tried not to breathe. “Is there a problem?”
Barnard was squinting at him. “You American?”
“That’s right.”
“On holiday?”
“Yeah, I guess. We’re renting for a couple of months.”
“Nice part of town.” The cop smiled, showing yellow teeth beneath a mustache as bushy as a skunk’s tail.
“It is, yes. Look, Mr. …?”
“Barnard. Inspector.”
“Inspector, is there something I can help you with?”
“Just routine, sir.” Barnard had a notebook out. “Can I have your name, please?”
“Hill. John Hill.”
“Mr. Hill, there have been a couple of break-ins in the area over the last few weeks. You notice anything out of the ordinary, maybe?”
Burn shook his head. “Nothing. No. This is a very quiet street.”
“Last night? You didn’t hear anything, or see anything unusual?”
“No. Sorry.”
Barnard was pointing at the red BMW. “You maybe see who was driving that car?”
“Sorry. Can’t help you.”
Barnard nodded, sucked his teeth. Then he fixed Burn with a stare. “You live here alone?”
“No, with my wife and son.”
“Okay. Can I maybe talk to your wife? See if she maybe heard something?”
“She’s in hospital.”
Barnard was looking interested. “Oh? What’s wrong?”
“She’s pregnant. A complication. We had to get an ambulance for her last night, in fact. I was pretty preoccupied with that, as you can imagine.”
“Of course, of course. Well, I hope she is going to be okay.”
“Thank you. She’s fine.”
“Okay, good.”
Burn stepped back, ready to shut the door.
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