“I’m sorry, I’m down at the yacht club—”
“Which one?”
There was more than one? “The Royal Natal.”
“Whereabouts at the Royal Natal?”
“On a yacht called Sea Scout.”
“International or local jetty?”
Sergeant van Heerden knew his yacht clubs quite well. “Local.”
“Right. We’ll be there soon.”
“Right,” David echoed, finding new respect for Sergeant van Heerden’s interrogation skills as the policeman hung up.
David took a break to walk to the jetty gate and tell the security guard he was expecting visitors. The security guard, whose name badge said Blessing, assured him he would allow the guests entry. David thanked him and returned to Scout. He climbed back down into the saloon, only to be accosted by a clearly hungry Stowaway.
“Okay, okay,” he told her as he scooped a dollop of kitty food into her bowl. “And just because I’m getting to like you, you can have another roach for pudding.”
He ate his sandwich on deck, enjoying the view of the marina from the poop deck and watching Stowaway work her way through her roast turkey and rice. He took his time with the sandwich, delaying the inevitable job of cleaning the toilets.
Both bathrooms were still in a state. He pulled on the gloves, tied a hankie over his nose and mouth and began cleaning. He finished on the main toilet and was about to start on the en suite bathroom when a call came from outside.
“Mr Roth? Permission to come on board?”
David pulled the hankie down from his face. “Come inside,” he called back and went up to meet the police.
Inspector Govender was still in his light-brown suit and blue tie.
Sergeant van Heerden had his jacket over his arm. He still had his tie on, but it was loosened at the collar. They both looked like they had been up all night. David watched as they climbed into the wheelhouse. Two uniformed policemen waited behind them on the walk-on. They didn’t board, but stood, imposing, beside the boat. David didn’t like their brooding presence or the threat they symbolised.
“Inspector,” he greeted warily. “Sergeant.”
“Mr Roth,” Govender looked him up and down with a grimace. “I thought you were a businessman, not a boat cleaner?”
David looked down at himself. He had been sweating from the heat in the cabins below, and the pink latex washing-up gloves he wore were smeared with foul-smelling grime.
“It’s therapy,” David told him with a forced smile as he stripped off the pink gloves and set them aside. “Someone recommended fresh air and sunlight.”
To David’s surprise, Inspector Govender laughed. “Sunlight? I’ve seen inmates freshly released from prison with darker tans than yours.”
David frowned at him. The reference to prison had an edge to it, and David didn’t like where the conversation was going. Inspector Govender gazed around at the pristine deck and neatly covered sails. “Nice boat.”
David nodded, glancing at the two uniformed policemen who still waited on the walk-on. “She’s getting there,” he said, pointing to the several refuse bags waiting to be hauled off the deck.
“She yours?” Govender asked, straightening slightly and narrowing his eyes.
David knew that look and sighed. “Unfortunately not. She’s my uncle’s. I’m just overseeing some work that needs doing.”
“Ah,” Govender said. “Pity.”
David “hmmed”, not quite sure if he agreed or not.
“Sergeant van Heerden said you had some questions?” he reminded the inspector.
Inspector Govender got back to business. He gazed around the wheelhouse, searching for a place to sit. He indicated for David to do the same. Sergeant van Heerden stood at the cockpit with his notebook ready.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a criminal record, Mr Theron?”
There it was. They knew his real name, and now they knew what he had done. “I wasn’t aware I needed to give you that information, Inspector,” David told them carefully. “I’ve served my time and the courts allowed me to change my name, legally. I prefer Roth, thank you.”
“As a parolee you are expected to notify the police of all your movements. Why didn’t you report to us when you arrived in the city?”
David frowned. “My parole is over, Inspector. I’m a free man, unless you suspect me of something.”
Govender sat up straighter, a strange expression on his face. David suddenly realised the real reason for Govender’s visit. “The fire wasn’t an accident, was it?” he asked. “Peter was murdered.”
Govender nodded. “The preliminary coroner’s report on Peter Calder’s death came in last night, Mr Roth,” he said. “At first the arson investigator suspected accidental death due to smoke inhalation, but there was something that indicated otherwise.”
David just looked at him, waiting.
“We suspect Mr Calder was asleep when the perpetrators broke in,” Govender told him. “There were no lights on in the house and he was still in his pyjamas.” He waited to see David’s reaction.
“Oh?” David said with a blank expression on his face.
“Whoever it was that killed him covered their tracks quite well, Mr Roth. There’s no sign of forced entry and no apparent cause of death. Except for one small thing.”
David suspected that one small thing would somehow fill up his life.
“He drowned,” Inspector Govender told him.
David stared at him in disbelief. “He drowned? How does a man in a burning house drown?”
“We were hoping you could tell us that, Mr Roth.”
“Why ask me? I have no idea.”
Govender watched him for a moment. “Whoever it was held him underwater,” the policeman went on. “Repeatedly. Probably trying to get information out of him. The glue and abrasions and ripped hair on his wrists confirm that. Our medical examiner was able to ascertain they tied his hands together with duct tape.” David glanced away, imagining the scene. Peter must have suffered greatly. Attacked. Tied up. Half drowned. Only, whoever was questioning him must have gone too far, held him underwater too long. They must have set fire to the house to get rid of any evidence.
“I’m sorry I have to ask you this, Mr Roth,” Govender said. “Standard questions, you know, but where were you the night before last, around the early hours of four or five in the morning?”
David’s attention was brought abruptly back. He stared at the policeman, speechless. He had been expecting it, but having just heard how Peter died and the accusation the question itself posed was almost too much. He had to physically control himself, force himself not to react. “I was at home,” he told them in as controlled a tone as possible. “Asleep.” Or trying to, he thought through the anger.
“Was anyone with you to corroborate that story?” the inspector asked meaningfully.
He was referring to Kathy, and this time David couldn’t help but frown. “No,”he said firmly. He felt his anger rise but kept it in check. He didn’t mention that last night she had in fact spent the night.
A look came into Inspector Govender’s eyes; it was as if he were weighing David up, as if he had come to an eventual decision. “I did a little digging on you, Mr Roth, about what happened