Deon Meyer by Dead Before Dying (html) Read Free Book Online Page B

Schutte didn’t get up when Joubert and Griessel were escorted in by the secretary. “Sit down, gentlemen.” He swung a jovial arm at the modern leather and chrome chairs in front of the big desk with its sheet of glass. “Tea or coffee? I’m having something so please don’t hesitate.” The pale uncertainty in the mortuary had disappeared.
     
     
They both chose tea and sat down. The secretary closed the door behind her.
     
     
The morning wasn’t far advanced but Schutte’s beard already cast a shadow over his cheeks. His teeth flashed white when he gave a quick, bright smile. “Well, in what way can I assist you?” Then the smile disappeared like a light that had been switched off.
     
     
“We’d like to know more about James Wallace, Mr. Schutte. You must’ve known him well?” Joubert asked.
     
     
“I met James for the first time two years ago, when Promail appointed me here. He was a wonderful man.” Schutte’s voice was loaded with veneration.
     
     
“Is that what you called him? James?”
     
     
“Most of us called him Jimmy. But now it sounds so . . .” Schutte flashed a gesture and a smile.
     
     
“What were his relations with the people at work?”
     
     
“We all liked him. Oh, hang on, I see what you’re driving at. No, Captain, you won’t find his murderer here.” Schutte waved both hands in front of him as if warding off an evil spirit. “We’re like one big family, I always say. And James was a part of the family. A much loved part. No, Captain, look for your murderer somewhere else.”
     
     
“Do you know whether the deceased had any other business interests?”
     
     
“No . . . I don’t think so. Jim . . . James told me that all his money was invested in unit trusts because he didn’t want to worry about it. As far as I know he only had Quickmail, his cricket, and his family.”
     
     
“Has your firm done any business for Chinese firms?”
     
     
Schutte frowned. “No. What has that—”
     
     
Griessel interrupted him. “Have you seen this morning’s Burger ?”
     
     
“No.” Schutte was off balance.
     
     
“The way in which Wallace was murdered, Mr. Schutte— it’s similar to the modus operandi of the Chinese drug dealers. Did he have any contact with people from Taiwan?”
     
     
“No.”
     
     
“The local Chinese community?”
     
     
“Not that I’m aware of.”
     
     
“Pharmaceutical companies?”
     
     
“There is one for whom we send marketing brochures to the medical profession, but Jimmy never worked with them.”
     
     
“Did he use drugs?”
     
     
“Never. It’s an absurd idea. Jimmy wasn’t the sort.”
     
     
“Mr. Wallace’s politics. Did he have strong political opinions?”
     
     
“Jimmy? No . . .”
     
     
“Did you do business with any political group?”
     
     
“Not at any time.”
     
     
“Do you know how he and his wife got along?”
     
     
Schutte sat even straighter in his tall chair. “You’ll find nothing there, either, Captain.” His voice was reproachful. “James and Margaret were the perfect couple. In love, successful, beautiful children . . . young Jeremy plays a fantastic game of cricket. No, Captain, you won’t find anything there.”
     
     
Joubert realized that the time had come to free Schutte of his excessive respect for and protection of the dead.
     
     
The secretary brought in a tea tray with three cups and put it on the desk. She poured and they thanked her. When everyone had stopped stirring, Joubert asked: “Do you know why the deceased went to the Holiday Inn in Newlands yesterday?”
     
     
Schutte moved his shoulders as if the question was obvious. “James often had a beer there with his cricketing friends.”
     
     
“Mr. Schutte, how did the deceased get along with the women working here?”
     
     
“Very well. He got along with everyone.”
     
     
In the good old days, when Mat Joubert still performed his day’s work with the zeal of the newly converted, he developed a technique for reluctant witnesses like Walter Schutte— the