The Protector, page 19
‘Yes, but this reporter . . .’
‘Tato Buthelezi.’
‘OK, Tato didn’t wake up this morning and think, “I’m going to do a hatchet job on Professor Denise Rado”, and nor did she have to pound the mean streets of Johannesburg working her network of sources to find out you’d lost a pangolin and that Graham had sadly been killed.’
Doc listened and nodded. ‘She was fed.’
‘Yes,’ Ian said, ‘by someone who’s hungry.’
‘Fed by someone who’s hungry?’
Ian raised his eyebrows. ‘For power, maybe?’
‘Shit.’
‘You’ve known about the missing pangolin – which is not actually missing any longer – for how long now?’
‘Since late yesterday.’
‘And Moses excused himself from the game drive this morning, and then you get a call from a journalist.’
‘Exactly,’ Doc said. ‘You think Moses called the reporter?’
Ian shrugged. ‘Would she know him?’
Doc thought about that. ‘Yes. There was a feature article in The Star a month ago about under-representation of African professors in the country’s universities. Tato wrote it. The basis of the story was that there were still too many white or coloured people in senior academic and management positions. It was clear Moses was positioning himself as the answer.’
Doc had been so surprised, then angry, over the call that she hadn’t had time to process Tato’s questions in the way Ian had. He knew next to nothing about her and the situation she was in, but he’d brought a fresh, incisive perspective.
And he was cute.
‘You said the journo’s also inferring that your project, researching pangolins, is somehow less important than investing in people – safe spaces for vulnerable students or whatever.’
‘Yes,’ Doc said. ‘It’s an old argument, that our institutions, universities, national parks care more about wildlife than people. It’s a hangover from the apartheid days when people of colour were banned from national parks, and safari tourism was seen as the preserve of white people. That is changing in South Africa.’
‘So, don’t accept the premise of the question.’
‘That’s a good point. She’s loading up her questions with negativity, but why should I fall for that?’ She was impressed. ‘Did you think all this stuff up, about not accepting the premise of a question?’
‘No.’ He smiled. ‘I got that from watching The West Wing.’
She laughed. ‘So, what do I say?’
‘Nothing?’
‘No comment? Won’t that look bad?’
Ian stood up and started pacing back and forth across the room. He seemed to be thinking while walking. ‘Do you have a laptop, or can you type on your phone?’
She reached for her daypack, which was beside her chair. ‘I’ve got my iPad.’
‘Fine. Start typing – please.’
She took out her tablet and powered it up. ‘OK, ready.’
‘In a successful operation, police today recovered a living pangolin, which had been taken by poachers from the Balule Nature Reserve.’ Ian paused. ‘You got that?’
Doc finished typing. ‘Yes.’
‘OK.’ He kept pacing as he spoke. ‘This followed the tragic passing of a dedicated anti-poaching ranger who was volunteering with, but not directly employed or funded by, Tshwane University of Technology’s research program. Is that correct, Doc?’
‘It is. It was Graham’s idea to come and be our escort in the bush. There was no extra money in it for him – he’s paid by the reserve.’
‘Good.’ Ian stopped walking. ‘We need to address the human versus animal issue. How about this: South Africa’s wildlife is a major drawcard for international tourism, which contributes millions of rand . . .’
‘Billions,’ Doc corrected him.
‘Cool,’ Ian said. ‘Contributes billions of rand annually to the economy. Financial benefits aside, South Africa has the moral obligation to lead the continent, and the world, in the conservation of endangered species such as the pangolin, and I make no apology for that.’
‘Wow,’ Doc said. ‘Did anyone ever tell you that you’re very good at . . .’
‘Bullshitting? Yes. My ex-wife, Katrina, in particular, and often.’
She laughed, but she meant it. ‘No, you’re really good at this.’
‘Now, you need to drop a grenade.’
‘What do you mean?’ Doc asked.
‘You told us that on the tour we’re going to be visiting several pangolin rehabilitation places, with a view to getting them to cooperate with each other. Is that right as well?’
She looked up from her screen. ‘It is, yes.’
Ian stopped pacing and looked up at the roof of the tent. ‘Then we need a name.’
‘A name?’
‘Yes, for whatever it is you’re trying to do. Something that catches people’s imagination, makes them sit up and pay attention while they’re eating their Corn Flakes.’
‘Their what?’
‘Never mind. How about PWB?’
‘What does that stand for?’
Ian projected each word onto a different part of the ceiling with a sweep of his hand. ‘Pangolins. Without. Borders.’
She frowned. ‘You can’t be serious.’
He stared at her. ‘I am always serious. Type this: Today we have announced the official launch of PWB, Pangolins Without Borders, a South African–inspired world-first initiative, designed by Tshwane University of Technology, aimed at coordinating the worldwide conservation and protection of this flagship endangered species.’
Doc bit her lower lip. ‘Ian, you’re laying it on a bit thick here.’
‘So too was whoever gave this shit-stirring yarn to that journo from The Star. This isn’t the time to be faint-hearted, Doc. This is the time to take the fight to the enemy, to fire a shot across his bows, and to sink him with clichés.’
She laughed and nearly dropped her iPad. When Doc composed herself she finished typing up what Ian had dictated. ‘What now?’
‘Email it to the journo.’
‘What? I shouldn’t call her?’
‘No.’ Ian waved a hand in the air. ‘If you call her, she’ll just keep asking you more questions, and, with respect, she might steer you into a corner you can’t get out of. If you email her what you’ve written, then that’s all she can print. Of course, she mightn’t print any of it, and she might still do a number on you, but all you can control in this business is what comes out of your mouth, or from your iPad.’
‘I have her email address somewhere. She did a story on pangolins about three years ago. I stayed out of the limelight because of my undercover work.’
Doc found the address, copied and pasted what she had written into the body of the email and sent it to Tato. When she had finished, she looked up and saw that Ian was still standing, looking down at her.
‘What?’ she said.
‘You’re amazing.’
She felt her cheeks flush. ‘You said the words, I just typed them and sent them.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘They’re just words. You were undercover. You put your life on the line, to protect an endangered species and to bust criminals. That is incredible, Doc. Amazing.’
Now she felt doubly embarrassed. ‘It was nothing. We saved a few animals.’
‘A few?’
‘All right, two hundred or so.’
‘That’s something to be proud of.’
She shook her head; the sadness washed over her like an incoming tide, drowning the spark. ‘That’s one per cent of what we lose every year. It was a drop in the ocean.’
‘And if you’d done nothing, if you’d just sat in your classroom or lecture hall, or whatever you call it at uni, as worthy as that is, then those two hundred pangolins would have been dead. You have to say that what you did was worth it, was something, Doc.’
Doc rewarded him with a small smile, but Jurie, and the memory of him dying in her arms, came back to her again. Was any of it worth it? She started to cry.
Ian dropped down beside her chair and put an arm on her shoulder. ‘Hey.’
She lifted a hand and tried to sniff away her sorrow. ‘It’s OK.’ Doc pressed her eyelids closed, then felt his arm around her. There was nothing intimate or sexual about it; she just needed contact with someone right now. She laid her head against his chest and the tears flowed out of her as he held her tighter.
*
Geoff tried to recall the exact chain of events at the party as the police detective, Thomas Mdluli, asked his questions.
‘Graham and Professor Rado were talking at one point, yes?’ Mdluli said.
Geoff nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘What about?’
‘I’m not a hundred per cent sure. I was near them, but there was music playing, people dancing. I think he might have been trying to hit on her.’
‘Really?’ Thomas said.
‘She’s only a few years older than Graham . . . was. I think there’d been something between them in the past.’
‘Really?’ Thomas wrote in his notebook.
‘I went to see them, at one point, to see if she needed anything, if she was OK.’
Thomas looked him in the eyes. ‘Why?’
Geoff shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I heard from the girls, my fellow students, that Graham had a bit of a reputation as a ladies’ man – self-styled. He seemed to be monopolising Doc – Professor Rado – and I wanted to make sure that she was, well, comfortable.’
‘And was she?’
‘Um, yes, she seemed fine. I got her another drink, a glass of wine. By the time I was coming back to her she had finished talking to Graham and he was on the dance floor with a girl, one of the other students from the wildlife college. I’m sorry, I don’t remember her name.’
‘I see,’ Thomas said. ‘How would you characterise your own relationship with Professor Rado?’
‘Me? With her? She’s my lecturer, my supervisor for my doctorate. That’s all.’
‘She’s a very attractive woman,’ Thomas said.
Geoff ran a finger around the collar of his bush shirt. ‘I suppose. What are you suggesting?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything. Have you ever asked the professor out, like on a date or something, outside of your working or studying hours?’
‘No!’ Geoff did not like where this was heading. ‘Never. That would be . . . inappropriate.’
‘Yet you’re all adults, over twenty-one,’ Thomas said, smiling, ‘and don’t tell me there’s never been a relationship between a student and a member of the academic faculty.’
Geoff couldn’t help but glance over at Zola, who was sitting at a table having breakfast with Professor Khumalo. He now suspected the academic was the sugar daddy Sue had been teasing Zola about. Thomas noticed, and followed his eyes, but said nothing.
‘It’s frowned upon. We get talks about what is appropriate and what isn’t, and it’s university policy that relationships between undergraduate students and faculty who have anything to do with them of a supervisory nature are not allowed.’
‘Yes, but you’re not undergraduates, are you?’ Thomas said.
‘No, but it’s the same thing.’
Thomas made a note. Geoff leaned forward, to try and see what he was writing, but the detective drew his notebook closer to him.
Geoff looked around the dining area again. Sue was sitting at another table, with Jason Chow, and it seemed the lodge staff had brought him coffee, even though he wasn’t staying with them. Zola and Dr Khumalo were sitting a little further away. The other tourists, Eva and Pär, had left, presumably to go back to their room. Doc had disappeared with the Australian, Ian.
‘Who are you looking for?’ Thomas asked.
‘Me? No one.’
Thomas fixed him with a stare again.
Geoff swallowed. He waited for another question, but the silence unnerved him. ‘Look, I was a bit worried about Doc – the professor – as I thought Graham was coming on a bit heavy, that’s all. I went and spoke to them and I got her a drink, and then Graham left. That’s it.’
Thomas nodded, then flicked slowly back through a few pages of his notebook until he found a page he was obviously looking for. ‘Professor Rado told me that Graham came to speak to her again, just before he left the party.’
Geoff looked up. ‘Um, yes, now that you mention it, I do remember seeing that happen.’
‘So there were very few people left at the party by that stage?’
Geoff was confused. ‘No, it was still quite busy.’
‘But you were still watching the professor.’
‘Um, yes, I suppose so. Or, I happened to see her talking to Graham again.’
Thomas flicked back to where he was writing.
‘Where is this headed?’ Geoff asked.
‘Two men that Professor Rado worked with, and with whom she was close friends, have been violently murdered.’
‘And you think, what, that I did it?’
Thomas shook his head. ‘No, but I wanted to find out about Professor Rado and her personal relationships. She’s told me certain things, but I wanted to find out how much other people knew about her personal life.’
‘Then I suggest you ask her. Do you want anything more from me?’ Geoff asked.
Thomas closed his notebook. ‘No, that will be fine for now.’
The detective walked over to Zola and Dr Khumalo, said something to them, and then joined them at their table. Sue Oliver excused herself from where she and Jason Chow had been sitting and walked across the deck to Geoff.
‘How did it go?’ Sue looked back over her shoulder at Jason, who smiled at her.
‘Creepy is how it went,’ Geoff said. ‘I need a coffee.’ He headed for the kitchen and Sue followed him.
Sue leaned her bottom against the edge of the kitchen bench as Geoff filled the kettle.
‘What do you mean “creepy”?’ Sue asked. She raised her arms over her head, stretching, so that her T-shirt rode up, revealing her smooth pale skin and the jewelled ring in her belly button, which he’d seen when they’d been in the camp swimming pool together.
‘He was asking about how I felt about Graham, and even Jurie, like I was jealous of Doc or something like that.’
Sue grinned and pointed at him. ‘Well, you probably were.’
‘Sue. No. It’s not like that.’
She shook her head. ‘Uh-uh. I’m not buying that. You’ve got a massive crush on Doc. It’s clear. Everyone knows it.’
‘Who’s everyone?’
‘Every. One. As in all the PhD students and half the undergrads in Doc’s classes. We can all see the way you stare at her with those big dark eyes of yours, how you’re always hanging around after lectures asking questions, and how you’re the first to arrive.’
‘No.’
‘Come on, Geoff. I’m only teasing. Well, sort of. The detective was probably just grilling you because you’ve been studying under Doc –’ She giggled at her own joke, then composed herself. ‘– I mean, as one of her students, for longer than any of us. Wasn’t it you who told me about Graham and Doc?’
Geoff was taken aback. ‘Well, maybe. I was just, like, trying to warn you about Graham the first time you met him, when we started the monitoring studies out here, to be careful of him. I know Doc had been burned by him.’
Sue put her hands on her hips. ‘Listen, boet, Doc Rado doesn’t get burned by anyone. If she had a fling with Graham, or Jurie, for that matter, then it’s her business and she would have ended it, or not, on her own terms. She doesn’t need saving from men, and neither do I.’
Geoff held his hands up. ‘Point taken. You’re all strong, independent women, I get it, but forgive me if I can spot a sleazebag.’
‘And Jurie? Do you think he was a sleazebag, Geoff?’
The kettle boiled and Geoff made his coffee, grateful to escape Sue’s gaze for a few moments. ‘I don’t know why everyone is asking me about this stuff.’
‘Everyone?’ Sue said.
‘You, the cops . . .’
Geoff sipped his coffee, but it was too hot and it burned his tongue. He wanted to back away from Sue, go to his room and his laptop to work on his thesis, to not think about murders and crime, and Doc and her boyfriends.
‘What do you think about Doc’s relationship with Jurie?’ Sue pressed.
‘It’s none of my business, even if something was going on.’
‘Oh, something was going on all right,’ Sue said. ‘I saw them, when we walked in on them in that café in Eastgate Mall, on the day Jurie was killed. They were holding hands and touching each other under the table when we walked in. They quickly stopped, but I could see it.’
‘They were good friends.’
‘Not that good. They were having an affair, Geoff. I’m sure of it.’
Geoff looked out the kitchen window. A family of warthogs – a mother with two juveniles from last summer’s litter – trotted self-importantly out of the bush and paused at the edge of the waterhole now that the giraffe had left. A grey go-away bird called, echoing Geoff’s thoughts towards Sue right now.
‘That didn’t mean that Jurie deserved to die, because he was unfaithful,’ Geoff said.
‘I never suggested it did,’ Sue said. ‘But maybe someone’s targeting Doc, for some reason that we or the cops don’t know about yet.’
‘Because of the men she’s . . .’
‘The men she’s fucked?’ Sue spat the word. ‘Is that what you mean?’
‘I don’t know, Sue.’ He felt his cheeks burn. ‘What do you want me to say?’
Sue finally backed off. She took a step to the side, shifting herself further along the kitchen counter, and looked over her shoulder towards the waterhole. ‘I don’t mean to upset you, Geoff. It’s just that, well, we’re all concerned about what’s happened. I still can’t really believe that Graham was also a poacher, but the evidence against him is pretty damning.’
