The Lazarus Effect (11 page)

Chlöe cooled her heels outside Bella Blues, unaware that less than half a kilometre away Vee was being besieged by harried commuters and shoppers. The boutique’s display window was inviting, decorated with the sort of mouth-watering items Chlöe had a weakness for. It took all of her self-restraint not to go in. She knew too well what she’d find: gushing assistants (at those prices, what couldn’t be faked?), plush couches for the weary and credit card machines that were never out of order. Willpower could only be tested so far. She had to face it: her days of relaxing after an exhausting but rewarding expedition, surrounded by a sluttery of shopping, were over. That lifestyle of indulgence was on ice indefinitely. Meanwhile, she was fighting to embrace an inner career girl who stood on her own two feet. In far less expensive shoes.

Chlöe checked her phone again for time. Not that she had anywhere else to be, for heaven’s sake. Driving back to town from Athlone, the manager at Bella Blues called her to say Tamara Daniels was around. Daniels was technically on leave but she was one of their best; committed, liked to pop in from time to time even when she was off. Today was one such lucky day.
Tamara agreed to a chat, as long as it was a quickie and Chlöe could pitch up pronto.

Irksome, then, to turn up only to find Tamara had run out to grab a munchie in Cavendish Square across the road. Chlöe sighed, dragging her eyes from the display windows. The only safe place to poke around in was a lingerie shop. Impervious to the siren call of lacy cups and boudoir knickers, she browsed in fascination. Thank God she’d never had a partner who needed impressing with this kind of stuff. Well, excepting the most recent occasion a couple of days ago, but the Neanderthal in question barely counted as humanoid, much less a consensual sexual partner. Chlöe shuddered. She’d done his memory justice and burned those knickers he’d sniffed without a second thought.

‘Hey!’

Chlöe turned, pasting on a smile. The leggy, cookie-coloured girl, boosted by a pair of weapon-toed boots, eyed her up and down, a box of confectionery and coffee cup from Mugg & Bean in hand. For the second time that day, Chlöe Bishop felt too short and too white.

‘Are you the reporter wanting to talk to me? Don’t know why we couldn’t do this over the phone.’ Tamara Daniels sported a heavy Cape Flats accent, a Model C school inflection in the undertow. Probably came with a big chip on the shoulder, too. Chlöe braced herself.

‘I’m on leave, you know. But I’m curious to know what this is about.’ Tamara perched on a nearby bench with the fluidity of the tall and dextrous, not once jostling her parcels or exquisite handbag. ‘Lenora,’ she indicated her colleague with a nod in the
direction of the boutique, ‘only said you wanted to ask about my old friend, Jacqui Paulsen. Haven’t heard that name in … hoo-oo, it’s been a while.’

‘How well did you know each other?’ Chlöe fought to maintain a professional air and not stare at the doughnuts being devoured. Had she had breakfast? Yes, an age ago. Tamara ate with witchy daintiness, pinching off pieces of doughnut with red fingernails and cramming them down a corner of her mouth so as not to disturb her lipstick. She caught Chlöe’s stare and offered one up, which Chlöe gratefully accepted.

‘We were best friends. We met in high school after I moved to the neighbourhood. My parents relocated from Bellville and I finished my last two years at Rhodes High. Jacqui had already been there a year before me, had a head start in popularity.’

‘What was she like?’

Tamara’s laugh was empty of genuine amusement. ‘Jacqui was Jacqui, you know. Flashy, talkative, tendency to think she was better than everyone else. Her dad was a big deal but she still lived pretty common like the rest of us, so I don’t know what that was about. And he bought her lots of nice things, and didn’t we always have to listen to her talk about it? But we got along well enough, though. She was mostly okay. Just sometimes she really pissed me off. Like, Jacqui just loved being the centre of attention. When she was alive, that was all she was about, and now she’s dead I’m not surprised it still is.’

‘You think she’s dead, not missing? Maybe she left to strike it big somewhere else.’

Tamara snorted sugar. ‘Where else would she be? Jacqui used to go on and on about how she was gonna make it big one day. First she was gonna be a designer, then an interior decorator, then it was theatre and drama. Trust me, if Jacqui ran off somewhere and made it on her own, she’d contact everybody to boast about how well she was doing and what losers the rest of us were for staying behind. If she
hadn’t
made it, she’d be moaning about how horrible her life was, but at least she was trying and who’re the rest of us to talk.’

Chlöe nodded, rearranging her preconceptions. So, this wasn’t a friend – this was a Frenemy. A creature many loathed to admit was central to female companionship, frolicking in its natural habitat. Carried on like a comrade, backstabbed like a burglar. Tamara had more than likely coveted the position her friend had occupied – top dog – but had settled for being as close to the limelight as possible and nurtured some pretty bitter feelings while she was there.

‘What can you tell me about the day you last saw her?’

‘
That
day.’ Tamara shook her head. ‘I don’t know how many times I’ve relived
that day
and told the same story to the police. They harassed me, they harassed my family, they turned the whole neighbourhood upside down and still didn’t find anything. You wanna hear it again?

‘Well, here it is, the long and short of it,’ she replied to Chlöe’s nod. ‘Me and Jacqui went to Newlands Sports Club at around eleven in the morning. We were both on the girls’ basketball team at school, so we liked to play something different on the weekend, mix it up. Tennis was our thing, sometimes we’d mess
around in the pool. Few other girls used to join us. Newlands has great facilities and students get in for free, and we could dump our parents for a while, which was perfect. We played until one o’clock.

‘On the spur of the moment, we decided to go watch a movie at Cavendish, but Jacqui bailed and left the group. She made up some lie about having stuff to do for her mum, blah blah, but we all knew it was that Ashwin idiot she was going to see. She swore she’d dumped him but she was being really shifty that day, so I knew he was somewhere in the mix. We were close, but you know how girls are: we hide our drama when we can’t deal with all the judgement. Anyway, she took off and the rest of us went to the movies, and the next thing I hear she’s missing and Mr Ash is denying everything. But I swear to God, I didn’t see or hear from her again after that.’

‘What time was it exactly when she left you?’

Tamara pondered, shoving another pinch of doughnut into her mouth. ‘We wanted to grab some food and still have time to make the two-thirty show, so we had an hour to hustle. I’d say we got a taxi and left her in Newlands at around one-thirty.’

Chlöe was stumped. Was there something she was missing, a question she was leaving unasked? There were over three hours lost in the ether in between tennis and the last time Jacqui’s missing phone had been on. ‘So she, like, didn’t call you even once for the rest of the day?’ she pressed, hating how lame she sounded. Tamara was already on her feet, impatient to push off.

‘No, not once.’ Tamara spoke quickly, but then she paused, allowing some unspoken thought to knock around in her head a
bit. ‘Like I said, I really didn’t trust or like that Ashwin of hers, but maybe he wasn’t lying about everything. Jacqui had loads of friends and liked being liked, but strangely enough she could keep a secret. Who knew what else she was up to? If anybody can help you out more, try Bronwyn Abrams. In some ways she was closer to Jacqui than me.’

Chlöe explained they were well aware of Bronwyn’s existence but were having trouble getting in touch with her. She reeled off an address and contact number hoping for a nod of confirmation, but all Tamara did was shrug.

‘If you already know about Bronwyn, I can’t really help beyond that. She wasn’t with us that day. Don’t know her number or where she stays or nothin’. She wasn’t my friend per se; she mostly hung out with Jacqui. They used to be tight from their old ’hood when they were kids, then Jacqui moved away, or she moved …’ Tamara arched her shoulders again and shook her hair to indicate the tale was muddled and uninteresting. ‘Some long story. Anyway, we had Jacqui in common, but not much beyond that.’

‘That sounds like an intriguing dynamic.’ Chlöe knew stalling wouldn’t work for much longer and she couldn’t stomach the sound of her fake ‘investigator voice’. ‘Why was it, exactly, that you guys weren’t all that close despite having a best friend in common?’

Tamara looked pained. ‘Look, who knows why some people get along like a house on fire and others can’t stand each other’s guts? Don’t get me wrong; we weren’t enemies, far from it. We just … didn’t gel. Bronwyn had a very sweet, insecure personality. Lots of handholding. I
really
don’t rub shoulders too well with
chicks like that. Sucks up too much energy. Jacqui was great with her. She was always wonderful with that kinda stuff.’

Chlöe wondered how Tamara’s temperament worked in a sales environment where delivery was crucial. But from the look of Tamara’s outfit, the girl clearly let nothing mess with her money. ‘You said Jacqui was good with secrets. Is it possible that that played a part in her disappearance? Maybe she was pregnant, or in some other kind of trouble that led to something worse?’

This time, Tamara’s laugh was a short bark of incredulous scorn. ‘That’s
way
more than unlikely! The only thing Jacqui was better at than starting shit was getting out of it, so no way would I believe she’d let any situation get that far out of control. Okay, I’m not saying she was superhuman or anything, but Jacqui was dead clever. If she was in too deep, she definitely would’ve told me, or her mother, or
someone
, y’know. She wasn’t some stupid
girl
, to go drink bleach or whatever. Pregnancy is so not on. No, she would’ve told me. Jacqui was majorly ambitious, and she wouldn’t be careless enough to screw up all her magnificent dreams on one mistake. Not for Ashwin.’

Chlöe arched her eyebrows, massaging for more.

‘Ag, man,’ Tamara continued, ‘her mum was all worried that they were ‘doing it’ and, sure, I didn’t like his ass, but that whole Ashwin thing was nothing but a high-school fling. A major man upgrade was gonna happen after that. Jacqui liked guys and fooled around as much as the next girl, but unlike the next girl she was no bubble-headed romantic. Beemers and Gucci don’t mix with an old-school coloured guy who wants a goody-goody wife and lots of kids. Like, hello.’

Hello, indeed. So heart-throb wasn’t quite the centre of the universe he was painted to be. Or as much as he’d
believed
himself to be? How confused would he have been about that? Or had Dad found out and taken matters into his own hands?

‘I really have to go.’ Tamara shuffled, looking uncomfortable for the first time. ‘Not that I don’t wanna help you out, but …’

Chlöe nodded, jostling titbits into the right slots between her ears. Maybe she should’ve written stuff down in case Voinjama asked for specifics later. Journalists were supposed to write things down.
Crap
.

‘Look, this isn’t easy for me. I’m not some bitch,’ Tamara said. Her guard dropped for the first time, and sadness and anger frothed to the surface. ‘I really, really do miss her. We both wanted to move on to greater things and leave our old lives behind; that’s all we ever talked about. All this time I just couldn’t believe she’d just pack up and leave without me. Piss off for a
jol
in a new city and not care who she left behind.’ Tamara gulped. ‘It was easier to assume she was selfish and left without saying goodbye. I could be angry with her for that. It was better than … thinking the worst.’

Chlöe nodded some more, unsure of what to say. Tamara would work through things in her own way and time, with or without platitudes from a stranger. Instead, she promised she’d be in touch if there were any more questions.

‘Whatever you find out, can you gimme a shout? So I finally know what happened to her.’ Tamara waved half-heartedly and walked away.

The security guard hardly spared them a look as they passed through the doorway swaddled in a clutch of other shoppers. Vee hung back as the girl behind the parcel counter slid Rosie’s school satchel into a free slot and handed her a beaten, numbered cardboard disc in exchange. The bargain bin store was crowded but Vee wasn’t worried about keeping up in here. Rosie looked intent on being as idle and oblivious as an afternoon would allow. She draped a shopping basket noncommittally over her elbow and meandered through the aisles of bins.

Crunching on an apple, Vee kept the schoolgirl in sight. Dogging people’s footsteps involved a lot more watching than pursuing. The trick lay in maintaining a line of sight at all times, which was easy with so few of the aisles blocking her vision. She retained a wide angle of rotation around Rosie, keeping several warm bodies between them, making sure she was never more than a profile in peripheral vision.

The guard was in plainclothes, which was a relief. Vee didn’t have the energy to deal with a uniformed, walkie-talkie tough guy, should things go sideways. The guard’s attention and hands were thankfully engaged by the giggling parcel-counter
attendant. Burrowing through mounds of ‘Made in China’ with harried mothers, Vee kept one eye on him and the other out for Rosie, sharp elbows and scampering kids.

She held up a ladies’ white tank top, played the fabric around in her fingers. The quality was appalling. Nevertheless, it sang of warm days in clean jeans, of Sunday shenanigans. Her thoughts stole her away for a moment, as some fantasy man caressed the small of her back and murmured in her ear. As Joshua …

Vee tossed the tank top back into the bin and brushed her fingertips over her forehead. She needed to get a grip. She was a little lonely, fine, no shame in that. But there was truth to the saying that shopping (for men) while hungry (desperate? She wasn’t
desperate
) was a bad idea. And with Joshua? Inviting, persistent as hell, but off limits.
Extremely
off. Like, miles offshore of sanity’s dominion to even be flirting with one of her ex’s best friends.

She snapped out of her head and scanned the floor for Rosie. She was gone. Vee’s heart somersaulted.
Shit, woman, focus
. Her head was meant to be in the game and here she was, in heat and trying to drive heavy machinery. She tiptoed to the next aisle, peeped, and exhaled when she saw Rosie, jammed up against a garment rack, her eyes vacant.

Why the hell won’t she just leave?
This dump didn’t have much to offer. Vee frowned. The twitchy look on Rosie’s face was suspicious, and the girl had one hand behind her back like she was hiding something. The arm behind her back darted to a shelf and a flash of colour disappeared up the sleeve of her school
jersey. Rosie pressed her arm against the side of the display shelf, flattening her ‘purchase’ so it didn’t stick out so much.

Well, I’ll be damned, she
is
shopping, Vee snickered. Shop
lifting
, and doing a horrible job of it. Vee switched her phone to video record and angled her palm, filming as Rosie spirited more merchandise into her knee high socks by pretending to tie her laces. The shoelace thing was clearly her go-to ninja move.

It didn’t go unnoticed. The Asian woman behind the till yelped and pointed, sending a male counterpart muscling over. A scamper of children dashed across his path and the sharp-featured man fell, grabbed on to a metal bin and overturned it. The Asian woman bellowed in Mandarin in the direction of the security guard, jabbing her finger at Rosie.

Rosie’s eyes flicked back and forth. Her face folded into childlike confusion and she shot up and stumbled past the other quizzical shoppers. The security guard grabbed her, shoved her against a wall and started to pat her down.

Vee jostled the nearest rack of clothes and the metal rail of print dresses toppled onto a pile of boxes. Everyone turned.

At last, Rosie seized the day. She drove her elbow into the guard’s stomach and sprinted. Vee ghosted in the commotion and slipped out too, before the doors were barricaded, stopping long enough to stretch over the parcel counter and snatch Rosie’s schoolbag while the attendant wasn’t looking.

‘Hey, whoa! Wait up, let me talk to you.’

Out of breath, Rosie turned around and nearly tripped over her feet trying to run faster. ‘I told you to piss off! Don’t you get it? I’m not talking to you!’

‘Hey, hang on, look … Rosie, all I want … hey, will you just
slow the hell down
for one second?’ Vee stopped, and took off running again when the security guard from the shop poked his head through the entrance. She grabbed Rosie’s arm and hauled her around the nearest corner. ‘Jesus. All I need–’

‘I DO NOT HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY TO YOU,’ Rosie spat. ‘So fuck off!’

Vee plucked her cell out of her pocket. ‘Cool. If that’s your stance, watch this.’ The muscles in Rosie’s face did a comic plunge as she watched the video.

‘Aaaand … there.’ Vee hit pause and held the Nokia right under Rosie’s nose, making sure she got a good look at herself, limbs flailing in a mad dash for the door, sleeve stuffed with stolen goods. ‘That’s definitely you. Is it enough to press charges? Who knows? The shop owners might be forgiving. But I know it’s enough to convince your parents that their daughter gets up to no good after school instead of going straight home like she’s supposed to.’

A whimper trickled out of Rosie.

‘Oh, and …’ Vee held up the satchel. ‘Yours, I believe? Now we can have a civil conversation, or we can make this bigger than it needs to be. What d’you say? It won’t take long.’

‘I have to get home.’

‘All right, then. I’ll give you a ride back to Pinelands.’

Rosie nailed her eyes out of the passenger window as Vee drove, determined not to make eye contact or speak.

She’d allowed herself to be led down the street like Marie Antoinette on her way to the guillotine. Vee undid the central locking and pulled her side open. Rosie didn’t budge.

‘What?’ Vee said. Rosie looked stricken, as if she was about to be sick. ‘Look, I know you know the drill about stranger danger and whatnot, and I should know better than to offer lifts to a minor. But hand to God,’ Vee raised her right, ‘I have no intention–’

‘Is this your car?’ Rosie squeaked.

Vee threw up a shrug, kicked a tyre. ‘Yeah. My A to B. Nothing fancy like you’re used to but it’ll get you home.’ Rosie’s expression didn’t change and Vee sighed. ‘If you’d rather …’

‘It’s nothing. I … it reminds me of a model someone I knew used to have. I never liked it.’ Rosie flicked the door open like the handle had teeth, scoured the interior, exhaled and climbed inside.

Now, they worked the highway in silence. Vee felt sorry for the kid – her heart was practically thumping through her blouse like a cartoon. Rosie looked the part of a fighter but wouldn’t say boo to a mouse. Vee decided to go easy on her. Thieving kids were right up her alley, seeing as she used to be one. She’d had flair and lightness of touch to spare, though, laughably lacking in Rosie’s case. A girl her size trying to be deft and inconspicuous at anything was a joke.

‘You did all right back there,’ she lied, easing conversation open. ‘You went wrong trying to take too much. Always gets you noticed.’

Silence.

‘D’you do this a lot? How many stores do you hit in a week?’

Money shot. Rosie whipped around, mouth twitching. ‘No, I don’t ‘do this a lot’, okay? I’m not some fucking thief or something.’

Of course not. You just steal, which is totally different
. ‘Hey, I’m not judging you. For real. And I told you already, don’t worry about me telling your parents about any of this. I was only bluffing to get you to open up.’

‘Yeah, right. And if I don’t?’

‘I know strong-arming you won’t work, Rosemary. But help me out here, for your sister’s sake. This story could go a long way to improving how missing persons cases are handled. It would mean a lot to families like yours, who’ve lost someone. Don’t you care about that?’ Vee stopped. Preaching froze people up.

‘I do care. Why wouldn’t I?’ Rosie said, barely audible. Head bowed, she looked like she did care, deeply, but couldn’t summon the muster to do anything about it.

Vee let her marinate. It would take or it wouldn’t. She could afford to be a little patient.

‘She taught me how to,’ Rosie mumbled at last.

‘Hhhmm?’

‘Jacqui. She showed me how to shoplift. That’s how we used to spend time together sometimes, after school or on the weekends.’

‘Okay.’ Vee straightened behind the wheel. ‘How did it start?’

‘The way things
always
started with Jacqui. We got bored one afternoon and starting messing around to kill time. One of us walked out of a supermarket with a chocolate we hadn’t paid for, and it turned into a thing. We started getting better at it, practising only in small, stupid places, like the one we were
just in. They don’t have cameras or sensors at the doors, or real security or anything. If there was a guard, Jacqui would flirt with him while I took something, but usually she did the lifting ’cause I wasn’t that good at it. I get confused if people look at me, start worrying that they know and it throws me off. We got caught a coupla times, but Jacqui was a sweet-talker. Or she’d pay guys off to not call the cops.’

‘Your parents never found out?’

Rosie shook her head. ‘Don’t think so. We only did it
sometimes
, when it was just the two of us. Lucas and Serena would never go along with it. And anyway, we stopped after a while … least I did. The smaller shops got too easy and Jacqui said the security was way too good in the malls for us to try it there. You ask me, she got bored with it. She got bored with things easily. People, too.’

Rosie released a huge breath and settled more comfortably into the seat, unburdened.

‘Y’all didn’t need the stuff, or money to buy it. It was for fun.’

‘Why not? Jacqui got off on thrills. She’d be into something crazy for a while and then just get over it. My sister Serena says she had a deficit disorder on top of her daddy issues, like, she
really
needed to be the centre of attention so Dad could always be focused on her. Which is nuts, ’cause Dad only pays attention to old, rich guys with dodgy hearts.’

‘And what do you think?’

‘She was cool and fun and she paid attention to me, which no one else ever did.
I think
the real reason Serena got all churchy and dragged Jacqui along was because she got jealous
we were spending so much time together and leaving her out of everything.’ Rosie crossed her arms and made a click in her throat. ‘Like if
they
were hanging out together, Jacqui would have less time for me.’

‘So if Serena brought Jacqui into the born-again circle, why was she still bunking school and stealing?’ And buying condoms to wear out with her gangster boyfriend. Church had really worked its magic. ‘According to Ms Paulsen, Jacqui changed a lot once she got the spirit. You saying it was all an act? Why’d she go that far to lie to her mother?’

‘No, man!’ Rosie rolled her eyes like she was talking to the biggest dunce on the planet. ‘Jacqui really was saved … well, kinda. She used to be full of it but that was all
before
, when we first met her. And the only reason we found out she existed was because the Sean thing happened … don’t know if you know about
that
part …’ Her voice caught. Her eyes strayed out of the window again.

Vee nodded. Act One of the Fourie tragedy had largely played out before a child too young to comprehend much, but Vee assumed Rosie was every bit as affected. Pain and sorrow tended to die hard in families, petrifying into bitter, heritable legacies instead. Rosie likely knew Sean the legend better than the fles-hand-blood brother, but it was clear she cherished him nonetheless.

‘Do you remember him at all?’ Vee asked gently. She had experience with lost brothers, too.

Rosie pulled a contemptuous face. ‘Ja, of course! I was eight when he died.’ She worked her lips around like her words made her mouth sour, as if she had better practice keeping her
memories of Sean in than running her mouth. ‘He was sick most of the time, though. I can hardly remember him not being sick, and doing normal stuff with us.’ She slammed a knuckle to her lips and attacked her nails. ‘It drove Mum crazy,’ she whispered.

Vee changed tack. ‘Go back to how you kids got to know each other.’

‘After the secret of Jacqui being our sister came out, she started coming around to hang out more. Not right away, but gradually, until we got used to her. Mum hated it, but whatever, Dad said it was okay. Jacqui took her time getting close to us, like she needed to make up her mind if any of us could replace Sean. She loved him best of all, even though they knew each other for five minutes, but that was our parents’ fault. Her mum included. The three of them lied to all of us. So anyway, Lucas was her first pick, but, Lucas being Lucas, that didn’t last. Then Serena–’

‘Wait. What’s ‘Lucas being Lucas’ mean?’ This was the second time someone had skirted around Jacqui’s weird relationship with her half-brother.

Rosie looked pained and embarrassed. ‘Look, Miss Johnson, I don’t wanna say something I’m not supposed to. I’m not even meant to be talking to you. All I mean is my brother’s a little strange. He gets … intense. People can take it the wrong way.’

‘Intense
how
, Rosemary? Spell it out for me.’

‘Long as you know I’m not saying my brother’s crazy, or anything else to incriminate him in whatever happened to Jacqui!’ Colour exploded on Rosie’s cheeks and forehead, emphasising an unflattering smattering of acne.

Vee took a deep breath, mentally cursing television crime shows. ‘I’m not a cop, remember? I just need you to clear up a few things so I’ve got a clear picture.’

Rosie fidgeted. ‘Lucas can’t play it cool when he cares for someone, especially female someones. He tends to form unhealthy emotional attachments to the women in his life, especially the role models that are important in his development as a man. Some can go on for quite a while; others he just abandons when he finds another target to obsess over.’