For a moment he felt sorry for Yvonne. Then he remembered the firmness of her back muscles, the texture of her breast in his mouth.
Yes, set against the doctor she was common, ordinary. But she had made Mat Jouberts blood race.
Ferdy Ferreira hated his wifes two dogs.
Especially now at twenty to six in the morning, the sun barely up.
One reason was that in his view their mobile home, the Plettenberg, was too small for two adults and two corgis.
Another reason was the attention and love that Gail Ferreira gave the dogs. When she came home, late in the afternoon from the coal companys offices where she was the bookkeeper, she greeted them first. Their names were Charles and Diana but she called them her angel faces.
The main reason, however, for Ferdys hatred, was that he had to take the dogs for a walk on the beach every morning. Before six, Ferdy, so that I can say bye-bye to them before I get the bus. This, then, was the pecking order in the Ferreiras Plettenberg in Melkbosstrands Old Ship Caravan Park: first Gail, then the dogs, then Ferdy.
Ferdy, the dogs, Gail said, busy dressing in front of her cupboard. She was a woman of average height and build, in her midforties, but her voice and her decisive attitude created the illusion of a big woman.
Ferdy sighed and got out of his single bed, divided from Gails by a bedside table. He knew it was useless to argue. It only made things worse.
And the corgis sat moodily at the bedroom door, as if they, too, werent looking forward to the walk.
Ferdy dragged his left foot every morning.
Dont drag your foot like that.
Its sore, Flash, Ferdy said in a whining voice. Gails nickname at school, derived from Jack the Flash, referred to her speed and adroitness on the hockey field. He still called her that occasionally.
Theres not a thing wrong with it, said Gail.
Ferdy Ferreira had contracted polio as a child. His left foot was affected but only insofar as it needed a slightly thicker sole to his shoe and gave a subtle list to his walk. But Ferdy had learned to use it as a weapon, with only qualified success.
Ferdy sighed, as he did every morning, and got dressed. He took the dogs leads out of the broom closet in the kitchen and walked back to the bedroom, the list heavily emphasized in a useless play for sympathy. The dogs were still sitting in the bedroom, their eyes fixed on Gail. Ferdy clipped the leads to their collars. Charles and Diana growled.
Ill be going now. He sounded hurt, his voice martyred.
Be careful with my angels, was Gails reply.
He walked down the mobile home parks tarred road to the main gate on the west side. He greeted old Mrs. Atkinson, who lived in the park permanently on site seventeen with eleven cats. The corgis strained toward the cat smell. Ferdy jerked them back with satisfaction, using more force than was necessary. The corgis growled.
He walked them through the gate. The black gatekeeper was probably still sleeping in the little wooden hut. They walked across the tarred road, over the empty piece of land that lay next to the Little Salt River, which flowed into the sea there.
He didn't see the orange of the eastern horizon or the blue-green of the Atlantic Ocean in front of him or the long stretch of white beach or the car parked on the empty piece of land. Because he was thinking of other things. George Walmer had acquired three new videos. Pure porn. He was bringing them later.
Between the brown soil of the informal parking area and the stretch of beach there was a low dune an irregular sandbank a meter or two high with occasional clumps of Port Jackson bushes or vygie ground cover.
Ferdy aimed for his usual route to the beach, a pathway worn through the dune. The corgis wanted to smell a plant. He jerked them back. They growled.
Ferdy saw the figure coming toward him but didn't find it odd. There were people on the beach at that hour quite often. Some jogged, some walked, some stared at the sea.
Ferdy only really saw the figure when the Mauser appeared from under the blue windbreaker. He assumed that it was a joke and wanted to laugh, but then the big pistol was aimed at him and he saw the face and fear gripped his guts in a painful grasp.
Im a cripple, he said, his eyes wild.
The corgis growled at the figure in front of them.
The Mauser, gripped in both hands, was aimed at his head. He saw the tension in the trigger finger, the set of the killers jaw, the purposeful eyes, and knew that he was going to die. Ferdy dropped the corgis leads and sprang forward in an effort to save his life.
The shot thundered across the beach, an echo of the waves. The lead bullet broke his bottom right incisor, tore through his palate, just above his upper teeth, punched through the lower bone of his eye socket, and broke through the skin just in front of his left ear. He staggered back, then dropped down into a sitting position. Pain shot through his head. The blood dripped warmly down his cheek. His left eye wouldn't focus.
But he was alive.
He looked up. His left eye. There was something seriously wrong with his left eye.
But with his right eye he saw the big pistol in front of him again.
Im a cripple.
He didn't see the trigger finger tightening again. But he heard the mechanical metal sound.
Jammed, he thought. The thing wont shoot. Its innards have seized up. And Ferdy Ferreira thought he was going to live.
The Mauser disappeared in front of him. He saw another pistol. Toy pistol, he thought, because it was so small.
He saw the strangest thing. The corgis stood with trembling upper lips and bared teeth, growling at the executioner. Then Charles rushed forward. Ferdy heard a shot. Another shot.
The dogs wanted to protect him, he thought, and he was overcome with emotion. The little pistol was in front of him, but he didn't hear the last shot.
Joubert drove to work from the swimming pool in his own car, a yellow Cortina XR6, one of the monuments to the days when he still competed with Gerbrand Vos. He worried about the fact that after exercising for a week, he still couldn't swim more than four lengths before he was forced to rest.
Perhaps Im in too much of a hurry, he thought, and lit a Special Mild. His diet also had to get off the ground. On the seat next to him was a blue-and-white Pick n Pay plastic bag. In it was his lunch, which he had made himself that morning: whole wheat bread with low-fat spread, lettuce leaves, tomato, and cucumber slices. No salt.
He stopped at Murder and Robbery and Mavis came running out. He knew there was trouble before he even heard what she was saying.
The news editor at the SABC offices in Sea Point heard from the crime reporter of the radio team that the Mauser murderer had claimed a third victim.
The news editor read the newspapers. He knew this saga had the local newspapers on the hop. He could just imagine what they would do with number three. Now there was irrefutable evidence that the Cape could boast a serial killer. And that was good enough for national television. So the news editor telephoned the television reporter at home and the cameraman at his flat. He gave them their orders.