Read Online The Water Man's Daughter by Emma Ruby-Sachs - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Emma Ruby-Sachs
Tags: Fiction
Ads: Link
closer.
“Avoiding me, sisi?”
“I wasn’t.” Nomsulwa scoffs.
“You always run out the back way when you are finished?” Nomsulwa doesn’t answer. “Well, you don’t have to worry, something else has made your pipes seem like a bar fight in comparison.”
Nomsulwa looks up, taking a few steps forward. “What has?”
“Look at you taking an interest in police work. And I thought you were only good for breaking laws. Never mind what has happened. Has your cousin said anything about Kholizwe being back in town?”
Nomsulwa frowns. “Why?”
“If he is, my guess is that Mira knows about it.”
Nomsulwa moves the sand with her shoe, swiping back and forth in a surprisingly graceful movement. It clashes with her hunched shoulders and baggy pants. Sheruns a hand through her twists, flopping them slightly in the other direction.
“Who says he’s in Phiri?”
“Look, you didn’t hear it from me, but the police are looking into a murder. A white man, a foreigner. I can’t move forward on it if I don’t know the lay of the land around here and Kholizwe always seems to be the missing piece. Mira’s the best connection I’ve got. And if I remember correctly, you owe me a favour or two.” Zembe hopes that divulging this minimal information is the right move, hopes it will convince Nomsulwa to poke around. She is a girl in with the wrong crowd, but she has a moral compass that Zembe respects. She always has. “Could you just get your cousin to call my office tomorrow?”
“Where was the man killed?” Nomsulwa is not exactly volunteering her services.
“Stop asking questions about investigations you have nothing to do with. Just be glad I’m not arresting you. Find me Kholizwe and I promise to leave Mira out of it.”
“Mira had nothing to do with any murder!” Nomsulwa really is ready to run now. Zembe needs her to calm down, be convinced that cooperation is the best – the only – path to take, given their recent midnight escapades.
“Find me Kholizwe, and you won’t have to worry.”
A S THE NEXT WEEK BEGINS , Z EMBE DECIDES TO approach the gang investigation with more vehemence. The national office turned up nothing in Matthews’s roomand there were no hits on any of the hotel employees. No one reported anyone suspicious entering or exiting Matthews’s floor. It seems the entire hotel was populated only by the most respectable visitors in the short time the water man stayed there. The receipt for the beer is tossed under the thick report. Zembe plans to follow it up, but with no correlating leads it is unlikely that she’ll be able to discover anything new.
There is no easy way to access the gang systems in the townships. In prison they are in your face: people wear their colours in discreet ways, a rip in the shirt, a pant leg rolled up, but their declaration of membership is brazen. Out here, the signs are harder to pick up. The whole world knows who to watch out for, but no one is willing to let the police in on the secret.
She decides to make her way to the edge of the informal settlement on her own. She has a hunch that knocking on a few doors might elicit more information than following the elusive thread of the 28 gang and their leader, Kholizwe. She suspects from Nomsulwa’s reaction that the man is in town. But that doesn’t mean he’ll be easy to find.
She checks in with the front desk of the station. “I am leaving. Are there any messages before I go?”
“Yes, one, robbery at the petrol station in Phiri, the taxi drivers are requesting senior attention.”
Zembe nods. The minibus drivers regularly throw their weight around to get the word out that they’re looking for someone in their bad books, but they don’t need police tohelp with a robbery investigation. They do more police work themselves in a week than Zembe’s team has managed in months. Through a system of payoffs and violence, they have created a sub-legal order of their own. Many police units treat
“Avoiding me, sisi?”
“I wasn’t.” Nomsulwa scoffs.
“You always run out the back way when you are finished?” Nomsulwa doesn’t answer. “Well, you don’t have to worry, something else has made your pipes seem like a bar fight in comparison.”
Nomsulwa looks up, taking a few steps forward. “What has?”
“Look at you taking an interest in police work. And I thought you were only good for breaking laws. Never mind what has happened. Has your cousin said anything about Kholizwe being back in town?”
Nomsulwa frowns. “Why?”
“If he is, my guess is that Mira knows about it.”
Nomsulwa moves the sand with her shoe, swiping back and forth in a surprisingly graceful movement. It clashes with her hunched shoulders and baggy pants. Sheruns a hand through her twists, flopping them slightly in the other direction.
“Who says he’s in Phiri?”
“Look, you didn’t hear it from me, but the police are looking into a murder. A white man, a foreigner. I can’t move forward on it if I don’t know the lay of the land around here and Kholizwe always seems to be the missing piece. Mira’s the best connection I’ve got. And if I remember correctly, you owe me a favour or two.” Zembe hopes that divulging this minimal information is the right move, hopes it will convince Nomsulwa to poke around. She is a girl in with the wrong crowd, but she has a moral compass that Zembe respects. She always has. “Could you just get your cousin to call my office tomorrow?”
“Where was the man killed?” Nomsulwa is not exactly volunteering her services.
“Stop asking questions about investigations you have nothing to do with. Just be glad I’m not arresting you. Find me Kholizwe and I promise to leave Mira out of it.”
“Mira had nothing to do with any murder!” Nomsulwa really is ready to run now. Zembe needs her to calm down, be convinced that cooperation is the best – the only – path to take, given their recent midnight escapades.
“Find me Kholizwe, and you won’t have to worry.”
A S THE NEXT WEEK BEGINS , Z EMBE DECIDES TO approach the gang investigation with more vehemence. The national office turned up nothing in Matthews’s roomand there were no hits on any of the hotel employees. No one reported anyone suspicious entering or exiting Matthews’s floor. It seems the entire hotel was populated only by the most respectable visitors in the short time the water man stayed there. The receipt for the beer is tossed under the thick report. Zembe plans to follow it up, but with no correlating leads it is unlikely that she’ll be able to discover anything new.
There is no easy way to access the gang systems in the townships. In prison they are in your face: people wear their colours in discreet ways, a rip in the shirt, a pant leg rolled up, but their declaration of membership is brazen. Out here, the signs are harder to pick up. The whole world knows who to watch out for, but no one is willing to let the police in on the secret.
She decides to make her way to the edge of the informal settlement on her own. She has a hunch that knocking on a few doors might elicit more information than following the elusive thread of the 28 gang and their leader, Kholizwe. She suspects from Nomsulwa’s reaction that the man is in town. But that doesn’t mean he’ll be easy to find.
She checks in with the front desk of the station. “I am leaving. Are there any messages before I go?”
“Yes, one, robbery at the petrol station in Phiri, the taxi drivers are requesting senior attention.”
Zembe nods. The minibus drivers regularly throw their weight around to get the word out that they’re looking for someone in their bad books, but they don’t need police tohelp with a robbery investigation. They do more police work themselves in a week than Zembe’s team has managed in months. Through a system of payoffs and violence, they have created a sub-legal order of their own. Many police units treat
Similar Books
