There was not going to be another earthquake. One was enough. But I could hear my grandfather’s voice in my head: ‘The truth is in the earth, in the song of the birds, in the rhythms and whispers of the animals. If you want to see and hear it – only if you want to – it is there.’
*
It had been nearly a week from his last visit when we heard from Tony again. Petra knocked on my door one evening to say that he had called and he was coming late that evening. She asked if I could come down at ten o’clock, after Aliki was asleep.
I arrived early and Petra offered me a seat by the fire. I took the same spot on the sofa I had occupied before, and placed my hands on my knees. Petra kept glancing over at me, as if I were a stranger, and I smiled to myself. My hair and beard had grown even more and I was sure I looked something like a bear. A friendly one, I hoped.
‘I’ve stopped the poaching. I should have listened to Nisha from the start,’ I told her, and waited for her reaction.
‘Yes, you should have,’ she said and then seemed to regret her words, the heat of them. They were true, however. Fair and true. I lowered my eyes to the ground.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Petra. ‘I’m sure Nisha will be very relieved and happy when she returns.’
I glanced at her sharply and was about to speak, but the doorbell interrupted us.
A moment later, Petra ushered in Tony. He remained standing for a moment, taking us in, before taking a seat.
‘Can I get you anything?’ Petra offered.
‘No, nothing,’ he replied, bluntly.
‘So,’ he said, ‘I will come straight out and say this. The man they have in custody, the soldier, he has confessed to the murder of Rosamie Cotabu.’
‘Why?’ I blurted out. I wasn’t quite sure what I was asking. Perhaps I needed quickly to see a motive for this murder so that no one could, even for a second, be able to link it to Nisha’s disappearance.
‘Because he is a mad man!’ Tony’s eyes were alight with fury. He looked as though he was about to stand up, grab something and dash it at the wall, but instead he collapsed back into the armchair, and for a moment he seemed deflated, defeated even. Then he took a deep breath, leaned forward, clutching his hands tightly together over his thighs. ‘This monster is apparently devastated by what he has done, as if all he had done is steal something. He has decided to help the police. He said it’s the least he can do.’ Tony’s voice was harsh, it shook with anger, he spat out the last sentence with venom.
He glanced at Petra, then he looked over at me and held my gaze. ‘He has subsequently confessed to the murder of four more women and two of their children. The women were all foreign maids. He met two of these women on dating sites – those two he knew their names, though the police won’t release the other, not yet, not until they have recovered the bodies. The rest he captured as they were walking; for them, he said he never asked their names. He is a lunatic. He needed to kill. He killed foreign maids because it was easier, he knew that nobody would search for them, he thought he would be able to get away with it. What does that tell you, huh? Tell me, what does that tell you about the shitty world we live in?’
Neither Petra nor I seemed to be able to speak.
‘He threw two of the bodies into the mineshaft,’ Tony said. ‘The other two women and the children are in suitcases in the red lake. He put them in suitcases, he threw them away, as if they were not human.’
Tony stopped talking. He pressed his temples hard with his fingers, scrunching up his eyes. I could feel a burning sensation in my chest, fire burning. I couldn’t move. Petra quietly began to recite names, ticking them off on her fingers: ‘Rosamie Cotabu,
Reyna Gatan,
Cristina Maier and
her daughter, Daria,
Ana-Maria Lupei and
her daughter, Andreea.
And Nisha Jayakody.’
Petra stared at her hand, all five fingers stretched wide. She looked over at me, as if still trying to comprehend, put together the pieces of everything she had just heard.
‘The search is beginning tonight,’ Tony said. ‘Soon, everything will be certain.’
27
Petra
W
HEN I WOKE UP, I thought I had blood on my hands. I felt it, sticky and warm. When I opened the blinds, however, and held my hands up before my eyes, they were clean and white in the morning sun.
I remembered the blood of the birds. The way it had felt and smelled, the way it had stuck in my nails.
It was a cold winter Saturday and the house was silent. The dust had gathered. I sat down by an unlit fire.