The Score. HJ Golakai
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you’hn give me no news yet.” She’s broke. Chlöe knew that. But news about what?
“I say, I nah fix de full report for you. I jes didn’t want talk about it heah.” Lovett shifted uncomfortably in his chair, turning away from Vee slightly. “We found him. But you won’t like it o …”
Chlöe’s ears perked to the ceiling. There was a full report of some kind. That Lovett didn’t want to discuss. Which meant it was private, and Vee definitely wouldn’t want her knowing about it. And there was another ‘him’? Didn’t she have enough problems with phalluses to juggle?
“Wheh he was at? How he doin’? Lovett looka me and tell me how my broduh –”
Brother. Quentin. Vee’s mysterious elder sibling. Chlöe exhaled shakily.
Lovett planted a quick squeeze on Vee’s knee and her eyes flitted around until they slammed into Chlöe’s. Their gazes locked for the longest time until they both looked away.
“Finally, they’re back,” Lovett interrupted, rising to his feet.
The four threaded from the foyer into the dining room, led by the pinch-faced general manager. Clad in a cream blouse with a pussy-bow neckline and a snug black skirt, Samantha Motaung hardly looked like someone who’d been spearheading damage control since daybreak. Taking in the GM’s neat cornrows snaking to curly tips over one shoulder, Vee felt another self-conscious pang as she passed a hand over her own scruffy hair. Motaung did a stellar job of masking her emotions, but her anxiety and shock at the morning’s turn of events bled through. Above all, she looked damn well put out that they’d transpired on her turf.
“Well.” Motaung looked around at Sgt Ncubane, Zintle and the concierge before nailing Vee with a frown. Vee held her eyes until at last she broke, only to turn and find Ncubane drilling her with a scowl of his own. Now that she had a name and rank, and he’d finally succumbed and removed his ridiculous trench coat, the lead officer had lost his looming intensity.
“I’ve located Trevor Davids as you requested,” Motaung darted looks between Vee and Ncubane, “and he’s happy to assist in any way. I’d love to have this cleared up as soon as possible.”
That’s his name … Trevor, Vee exhaled as she regarded the concierge. Sans the dark-blue blazer of his uniform he looked different, unkempt almost, and his curly dark-brown hair had not the neatness of the previous day. They’d likely rushed him away from his morning routine. His vibe came off different too, without the suspicious squint or a cigarette in his mouth. Right now, Vee couldn’t tell if the lilt of his lips was a smile or a smirk. Let’s play nice now, Trevor, she thought with a touch of desperation. No need to turn our small fuss into a big palaver.
“Can you tell us …” Ms Motaung prompted, hands palms-up to indicate the floor was open.
Trevor launched into it, hesitant at first. He gave a vividly accurate description of Gavin Berman approaching Vee as she crossed the lawn at around twenty to one a.m. The group expelled a collective gasp as he gave extra colour to what he termed ‘a somewhat embarrassing altercation’ between the two guests. Vee chewed her lip as Trevor’s fingers stiffened into a vice, depicting the stranglehold she’d put on Berman. Motaung gaped; Ncubane clenched his jaw; Lovett threw her an indecipherable look lightly mixed with admiration; Zintle put a hand over her mouth.
“Did you actually see her off the grounds?” Ncubane pressed.
There was a beat before Trevor replied: “Yes I did. I escorted her to the main gate myself. Sipho, one of the lodge’s night guards, took her from there back to the boot camp where one of the other security guards saw her to her chalet from there. He made very sure no-one left that chalet all night. All of us at Grotto know it’s highly frowned upon for boot campers to fraternise with lodge residents, and we wanted to prevent any more incidents of such. And yes,” he pressed on when Ncubane opened his mouth, “I did see Mr Berman alive when I returned. He was still outside.”
“He was alive?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
“Are you sure?”
Trevor blinked. “I’m confident I can recognise a living person when I see one, Sergeant.” Motaung cleared her throat and clipped her eyes at him in reproach. “He was still lingering on the lawn where this lady herself had been sitting before he cornered her. I left him there and went back to the front desk.”
“And what was he doing there?”
“I can’t say exactly.” Frowning, Trevor shrugged. “Like, he was just standing there. Like he was looking at something in the distance.”
Ncubane sighed. “At what exactly?”
Under the razor eye of his boss, Trevor did his best to bite back a retort. “I really couldn’t say. It was late and very dark; he was by the trees near the boys’ quarters. It could’ve been anything. Maybe he was simply getting some fresh air and calming down after being …” he glanced at Vee with the tiniest of smiles, “woman-handled.”
“Did you see this purple scarf she claims she left behind? On the lawn?”
Trevor thought for a moment before shaking his head. “No, I didn’t see a scarf anywhere nearby. But she didn’t have it with her when she left. I didn’t notice anything like that on her when she left the gate.”
As Motaung shared a quiet word with Trevor before dismissing him, Ncubane turned to Zintle. “Sisi, now I’m going to ask you some questions neh, and I want you to tell me the truth. Don’t try to be clever and just change things nje and think I won’t notice.” Zintle kept her eyes on the ground. Tiny bumps prickled up on the skin of her arms and collarbone. “Do you hear what I’m saying?” Ncubane barked, making Zintle jump. “Don’t bullshit me, my girl, or there’ll be serious consequences. You understand me?”
Lovett, silent and observant with nothing save his usual slight frown, exhaled loudly. Vee narrowed her eyes and put a hand on the maid’s arm. Why did black people in authority still feel the need to treat each other like this, belittling each other publicly to flaunt how inflated their chests were? Trevor the Snide had breezed through his interview burn-free, but clearly he wasn’t black enough to incite such nonsense. Even Motaung grimaced, pivoting on her heels to shoot Ncubane a frosty glare.
“Let’s watch our tone, shall we, Sergeant,” she intoned. “My staff have been very cooperative so far, and we’d like to keep the atmosphere as pleasant as we all can manage during this unfortunate event.”
“Hhmph,” came the policeman’s reply. “Do you know this woman?” He jabbed a finger at Vee so violently she took a step back.
Zintle looked confused. “Yes.” She nodded furiously. “Yes.”
“Eh-hehh. How do you know her?”
Zintle’s confusion doubled. “From the hotel. I met her here. I told you.”
“Nxc! Just answer me what I’m asking. Tell me again what happened this morning.”
Zintle cleared her throat. “I came in for my shift this morning at five o’clock. After I changed into my clean uniform, I dumped the dirty one into the laundry trolley and pushed it outside for the guys who load the laundry truck to find it. While I was outside, I saw Lwazi and Thomas talking between themselves like something was wrong.”
“Those are the two groundsmen?”
Zintle nodded. “They said they found a dead body, a white guy, who was hanging by their quarters. We went to look.” She swallowed hard at the memory. “I didn’t want to but we did. None of us recognised him, but we can’t know all the guests. We started discussing what to do. I told them to go call the police and I would find someone who could help. So then I went across and called this lady, Ms Johnson, and she came with her friend. They waited with me until you guys came.”
“Oh-ho-o-o. So you don’t know this lady from anywhere? Yet of all the people at this hotel, you went all the