Blood Rose by Margie Orford Read Free Book Online Page A

The bounty that had followed the retreat of the South African army, itself leaving a gaping hole in the town’s coffers, was gone.
    Walvis Bay still wasn’t much to look at. The town huddled around the harbour, ready to suck what it could from passingships. The Walvis Bay police station faced a black coal-heap that waited to be loaded onto increasingly intermittent trains from the uranium mines deep in the desert. The gaunt cranes were sinister against the leaden sky. A seagull startled when Clare slammed her car door, its cry harsh on the raw air.
    ‘Not as nice a view as you have in Cape Town, Dr Hart,’ said Van Wyk, his gaze a lazy trawl across her body as she walked ahead of him. The fine hairs on Clare’s neck rose.
    The station was a low, featureless building with grenade mesh on all the windows. Someone must have thought that swimming-pool blue would make it more cheerful, but the coal dust had settled on every available surface. Two outlandishly pink pots marked the entrance, but all that flowered in them were cigarette butts. A few lipstick-stained, most not.
    A stocky man was putting out a cigarette as they walked up the steps.
    ‘Sergeant Elias Karamata, this is Dr Hart,’ said Tamar. ‘Elias is also working with us on the case.’
    ‘Welcome to Namibia, Doctor.’
    ‘Please call me Clare,’ she said. Karamata looked like a prize-fighter – bull neck, broad shoulders – but his handshake was gentle, his smile warm. ‘It’s good to be back.’
    ‘You’ve been here before?’ asked Karamata, pleased.
    ‘A couple of years ago,’ said Clare, filling in a visitor’s form. ‘I made a documentary about the fishing industry.’
    ‘All that corruption business is cleared up now.’
    ‘Elias would be better off working for the Walvis Bay Tourism Board,’ Tamar interjected. ‘He spends his spare time trying to persuade me that it’s heaven on earth.’
    ‘People cry twice in Walvis Bay, Captain,’ said Karamata, shaking his head. ‘Once when they get here, once when they leave. You’ll grow to love it too.’
    Clare followed Tamar down the dim passage. Right at the end, a tattered sign saying ‘Sexual Violence & Murder’ was sticky-taped to the door.
    ‘Welcome to S ’n’ M.’ Tamar gave the door a practised kick and it swung open, revealing a surprisingly spacious office. There were four new desks, each with a plastic-covered computer.
    ‘This is where Van Wyk and Elias work,’ Tamar said. ‘You can use that computer by the window.’
    ‘It looks brand new,’ said Clare.
    ‘It is,’ said Tamar. ‘I got Elias after the marine-poaching unit was closed down, because there’s nothing left to poach. Van Wyk was transferred from the vice squad.’
    ‘Why was he moved?’
    ‘Gender-based violence is the government’s flavour of the month, so in theory it was a promotion.’
    ‘Someone should let him know,’ said Clare.
    Tamar led the way to her own office. It was private and painted a sunny yellow. One corner of the room was covered with children’s pictures. There were toys and two red beanbags next to the blue sofa, and a low table was covered with paper and crayons.
    ‘The kiddies’ safe corner,’ she explained. Her soft mouth hard as she picked up a drawing and handed it to Clare. It was of a child’s idealised house – red door, cat on the window sill, yellow sun smiling in the corner, smoke curling from the chimney. The family stood on green grass. A little girl, her head haloed with ribbons, with panda eyes. A mummy with bruises to match. A suited daddy with bunched fists, his groin scored out with black crayon. Someone had written ‘Joy’ at the bottom of the page.
    ‘Her name,’ said Tamar. ‘I went to her funeral last week. Her stepfather beat her to death. Said she was cheeky.’
    ‘How old was she?’ asked Clare.
    ‘Six.’ Tamar’s voice wavered.
    On the wall were framed photographs of a laughing boy of eleven and a dimpled little girl dressed in Barbie