Just a Dead Man by Margaret von Klemperer Read Free Book Online

voice panicky.
    â€œLaura! The cops are here. They’re taking me in! Dhlomo wants to take me to the Loop Street police station. So I’m phoning you, but they may take my phone. Verne and Chantal are out – I need some help here.”
    â€œ What? Why are they taking you in?”
    â€œThey want to question me about the murder. Dhlomo seems to think I killed that guy. Please, Laura. Can you do something?”
    Oh God. What on earth could I do? Why would they take Dan in? They couldn’t have any evidence, surely? I thought about lawyers, bail. There had to be something. “Okay, Dan. Hang in there. I’ll see what I can do. Loop Street?”
    â€œThat’s what he said. God – he’s coming.” Dan cut the connection. I felt sick. He could not be a killer. But the cops seemed to think they could tie him to Ndzoyiya. What the hell was I to do?
    My brother is a lawyer, but in a big corporate kindof firm in Johannesburg. He wouldn’t be much help in trying to get bail in Pietermaritzburg for an impecunious Zimbabwean immigrant artist, accused of killing an elderly and seemingly respectable schoolteacher. Put like that, it wasn’t going to be easy to find anyone queuing up for the job.
    Then I thought of Robin Watson. He is a lawyer in town who asked me out a couple of times not long after my divorce, or his. We got on fine, but there had been no spark, and while we’re still friends and occasionally help the other out when one of us is asked to something that would be more palatable with a partner, romance is not part of the deal. He had, however, been involved in all kinds of human rights and political cases in the old days, and still did various what he referred to as “public interest” cases. Even if Daniel’s problem wasn’t the kind of thing he dealt with, he could perhaps suggest someone who could help.
    Time was important. Lawyers, like the rest of the world, would be knocking off around now. If we wanted to get Dan out, I had to move quickly.
    I phoned Robin, and cut through the pleasantries. “Robin, I’m afraid I’ve got a problem, and I’m hoping you can help. I know it’s a cheek, but I need a lawyer fast.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong – what have you done?”
    â€œNot me. A friend. He’s been picked up by the cops … they seem to think he’s murdered someone. And Robin, he isn’t a killer. It’s all a horrible mistake. What can we do?”
    â€œSlow down, Laura! Who’s he supposed to have killed? And where is he?”
    I took a deep breath, and began to explain. It was a long story, and Robin kept stopping me, asking questions and, presumably, making notes. When I got to the end of mysaga, I asked whether Dan would be granted bail.
    â€œWell, it all sounds a bit thin, but if they charge him, murder’s a big one, a Schedule 6 offence. And you say he’s been in some trouble in Joburg, for some vigilante group? For sure, we wouldn’t get bail tonight if they do charge him. At least it’s only Tuesday: people who get picked up on Fridays have to sit in the cells until the following week – the cops have 48 hours to get them to court, but weekends don’t count. So he should be in court tomorrow or Thursday – possible Friday morning, depending on when they book him.”
    â€œOh God, poor Daniel. But Robin … can you do this? It’s a helluva thing to ask you. It’s not as if you even know him.”
    â€œI know you and – most of the time at any rate – I’d trust your judgement. You believe he’s innocent?”
    I’m ashamed to admit that when Robin asked me that, I had a hideous qualm. Can we ever really know anyone? Really know what makes them tick? Even my own children as they have grown up have become less predictable, less obvious , doing and saying things that seem to me to be out of character –  or at least