Deon Meyer by Dead Before Dying (html)

Joubert’s cigarette was still smoking in the ashtray.
     
     
“Do sit down,” he said but Stoffberg was already seated on the couch. His daughter sat down next to him as if she needed support. Joubert swallowed. The pressure in his chest increased.
     
     
“Mat, I’m sorry to bother you but an unfortunate thing has happened in our family.”
     
     
“Nothing happened,” said Joubert apprehensively and heavily swallowed the excess saliva in his mouth.
     
     
“Sorry?” Stoffberg obviously didn’t understand. Joubert saw Yvonne frowning angrily at him.
     
     
“My sister’s brother-in-law died last night. In Benoni. Heart attack. At thirty-eight. In the prime of life. Tragic.” He looked at Joubert’s cigarette in the ashtray. “He also smoked heavily, you know.”
     
     
A light went on for Joubert. For the first time he understood Stoffberg’s present attitude. It was the man’s professional face. The undertaker on duty. The pressure in Joubert’s chest disappeared.
     
     
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Yvonne’s frown vanished.
     
     
“They want me to bury him, Mat.” Stoffberg was quiet for a moment. Joubert didn’t know what to say. “It’s a great honor for me. Not a pleasant task. But an honor. The funeral is Wednesday. But we have a problem. I need your help, Mat.”
     
     
“I’ll do anything I can, Jerry,” he said feelingly.
     
     
“You see, Bonnie starts at the Technikon on Wednesday.” Stoffberg put his arm around his daughter and looked proudly at her. His voice lost some of its gravity. “Ja, Mat, pa’s baby has grown up. She’s going to study public relations.” Yvonne Stoffberg turned her face into her father’s shoulder like a little girl and smiled sweetly at Joubert.
     
     
Stoffberg’s voice regained its professionalism. “She can’t go with us, Mat. And all her friends are still on holiday. I can probably ask Mrs. Pretorius on the corner if she can stay with her, but that redheaded son of hers . . .”
     
     
Stoffberg pressed the palms of his hands together in a pleading gesture. “Then Bonnie suggested we come over and ask you whether she can stay here, Mat.”
     
     
He didn’t realize immediately what Stoffberg was saying because he was considering the irony of Stoffberg’s apprehension about the redheaded boy. Stoffberg interpreted the silence as hesitation.
     
     
“You’re the only one we can trust, Mat. After all, you’re a policeman. And it’s only for a week. Bonnie said she could cook for you and keep house. And stay out of your way. It’s only in the evenings, really. During the day she’ll be at home. I’d really appreciate it, Mat.”
     
     
“Hell, Jerry . . .”
     
     
“Tell Uncle Mat you won’t be in his way, Bonnie.”
     
     
She said nothing. She merely smiled sweetly.
     
     
Joubert knew what his reply was going to be. But he fought for his integrity.
     
     
“I often work at night, Jerry . . .”
     
     
Stoffberg nodded in grave agreement. “I understand, Mat. But she’s quite grown up, after all.”
     
     
Joubert could think of no other excuse. “When are you leaving, Jerry? I’ll have to give her a key.”
     
     
“Tomorrow morning.” Yvonne Stoffberg spoke for the first time, her eyes chastely fixed on the carpet.
     
     
He gave her a brief glance, saw her looking up quickly and smiling at him. He looked back at Jerry Stoffberg but avoided the man’s eyes.
     
     
     
    11.
T he water was as smooth as glass. Again he was the only member of the business club swimming that morning. He dived in and began with a breaststroke, slowly. He was looking for his rhythm. He didn’t know whether he would ever find that old rhythm again. It was too many Winstons and Castles ago. A lifetime.
     
     
He tired more easily than on the previous two occasions. At least he had an excuse, he thought. A night of tossing and turning. Of wrestling with his conscience, caught between desire and a heavy feeling of guilt.
     
     
With his head on the pillow he could hear the beat of his