Devil's Peak by Deon Meyer Read Free Book Online Page A

wasn’t going to hit him. All the way out here for a childish lesson in morality. For a moment he loved the big man. Then he grasped something else, turned back and asked: “Were you a policeman?”

“Do I look like a fool to you?”

“What were you?”

“A health inspector in Milnerton.”

“A health inspector?”

“Help a hungry man, pal. Two rand.”

“A health inspector,” said Griessel. He felt anger ignite inside him.

“Oh hell,” said Swart Piet. “Are you the guy from Saddles steakhouse?”

Griessel spun around and set off after Joubert. “He was a health inspector,” he shouted.

“Okay, one rand, my friend. A rand between friends?”

The senior superintendent was already behind the steering wheel.

Griessel was running now. “You can’t do that,” he shouted. Right up to the window. “You want to compare me with a fucking health inspector?”

“No. I’m comparing you with a fuck-up who can’t stop drinking.”

“Did you ask him why he drinks, Matt? Did you ask him?”

“It makes no difference to him anymore.”

“Fuck you,” said Griessel, the weariness and the thirst and the humiliation working together. “I won’t be compared with the cockroach patrol. How many bodies has he had to turn over? How many? Tell me. How many child victims? How many women and old ladies beaten to death for a cell phone or a twenty-rand ring? You want the old Benny? Are you looking for the fucker from Parow who was scared of nothing? I’m looking for him too. Every day, every morning when I get up, I look for him. Because at least he knew he was on the right side. He thought he could make a difference. He believed that if he worked long enough and hard enough, we would win, some time or other, to hell with rank and to hell with promotion; justice would triumph and that is all that mattered because we are the white hats. The guy from Parow is dead, Matt. Dead as a doornail. And why? What happened? What’s happening now? We are outnumbered. We aren’t winning; we are losing. There are more and more of them and there are less of us. What’s the use? What help is all the overtime and the hardship? Are we rewarded? Are we thanked? The harder we work, the more we get shat upon. Look here. This is a white skin. What does it mean? Twenty-six years in the Force and it means fuck-all. It’s not the booze—I’m not stuck in the rank of inspector because of the booze. You know that. It’s affirmative action. Gave my whole fucking life, took all that shit and along came affirmative action. Ten years now. Did I quit, like De Kok and Rens and Jan Broekman? Look at them now, security companies and making money hand over fist and driving BMWs and going home every day at five o’clock. And where am I? A hundred open cases and my wife kicks me out and I am an alcoholic . . . But I am still fucking here, Matt. I didn’t fucking quit.”

Then all his fuel was burnt and he leaned against the car, his head on his chest.

“I am still fucking here.”

“Hey!” shouted Swart Piet from the trees.

“Benny,” said Joubert softly.

He looked up slowly. “What?”

“Let’s go.”

“Hey!”

As he walked around to the other door, the man’s voice carried clear and shrill: “Hey, you! Fuck you!”
    8.

    Y our father abused you,” said the minister with certainty.

“No,” she said. “Lots of call girls say that. The stepfather messed with me. Or the mother’s boyfriend. Or the father. I can’t say that. That was not his problem.”

She checked for disappointment in his face but there was none to see.

“Do you know what I would wish for if I had only one wish? To know what happened to him. I wonder about that a lot. What did he see to make him change? I know it happened on the Border. I know more or less which year, I worked it out. Somewhere in South West Africa or Angola. But what?

“If only I could remember more of how he was before. But I can’t. I only remember the bad times. I think he was always a serious man. And quiet. He must have . . . They didn’t all