Blindside. Wilna Adriaanse

put the pen down and walked to the corner office. She knocked and waited for a reply before she put her head around the door.

      “I’m leaving now. I need to go and see someone in Sea Point.”

      Zondi didn’t look up. “All right.”

      Ellie was closing the door when Zondi called her back. “Did Greyling talk to you?”

      “About?”

      “Never mind. See you later.”

      CHAPTER 7

      Main Road in Sea Point was busy. They’d often gone there on Sundays when Ellie was a child. They’d buy ice cream and walk on the promenade. Her dad never talked about money, but she instinctively knew the people who lived there had more money than they did. These days, the place had two different faces. The seafront still looked expensive and exclusive, but one street back you began to wonder whether you’d been mistaken all those years ago. A few old landmarks were still there, but the people in the streets looked different.

      The child inside you told you the ones with the sea views were the good guys, the hardworking ones, and the back streets belonged to the bad guys – the ones who did their business in the dark. But nothing was that simple any more. She wasn’t sure it had ever been that simple. Children found shortcuts to make sense of a chaotic world, and it was a sad day when you started to question your shortcuts. It was probably what it meant to grow up.

      Ellie found parking in front of a restaurant, and took two notes and a few coins from her purse and put them in her pocket, along with her cellphone. She locked her handbag in the boot and started walking.

      She saw a few prostitutes on one or two street corners. At first glance they seemed to be waiting for a bus, but as Ellie approached, she noticed the body language, the heavy makeup and the ladders in the black stockings one of the women was wearing.

      “Has anyone seen Brenda?” Ellie asked.

      They looked at each other. “And you are?”

      “Her sister.”

      Two of them laughed out loud. “Nice try.”

      “Come on, I don’t have all day.”

      “I don’t know anyone called Brenda,” said a woman with bright red lips. She looked at the others, who all shook their heads.

      Ellie took a hundred rand note from her pocket.

      “Oh, you mean Miss Fassie … why didn’t you say so? At this time of day she’s probably down there, eating.”

      “Where?”

      “The Greek with the bleeding heart. He gives her food.”

      Ellie turned around and walked in the opposite direction. Some distance from the corner she spotted Brenda. She was wearing a short black skirt, gold patent-leather sandals and an eye-catching black-and-green top. Brenda had always been a good dresser. The minute she saw Ellie she started walking away, but Ellie lengthened her strides and fell into step beside her.

      “Come on, Brenda, you owe me.”

      “That’s the problem with you lot. I can never repay my debt. What do you want?”

      “Seen anyone interesting?”

      Brenda kept going. “Aren’t all men interesting?” she asked, wide-eyed.

      Ellie had to smile. “True.”

      “I haven’t heard anything. At least, nothing new. Same old, same old.”

      “You’re an old hand, Brenda. Men like chatting to you.”

      “Yes, but most of the time they’re talking shit. It’s not like they tell me their business. It’s only when they can’t get it up that they brag about the money and the contacts. You know what men are like.”

      “What about the foreign girls? Do you know any of them?”

      “They stick together, mostly, but some of them look for company now and then. Especially the Russians. The local girls don’t like them. The men love those grey eyes, and the only English they know is ‘yes’.”

      “What do they say when they talk to you?”

      Brenda raised her eyebrows. “Do you really think they can describe in full sentences what’s going on where? Shit could be happening right in front of them and they wouldn’t know what it is. They don’t know the context.”

      “But you understand the context. And that’s why I’m asking you … Anything would help.”

      They stopped at a traffic light and waited with the rest of the pedestrians for the light to change to green. “I’ll keep my eyes open, but I can’t promise anything.”

      “Thanks.” Ellie took a two-hundred-rand note from her pocket and pressed it into Brenda’s hand.

      “Don’t come asking around here any more. The girls get ner­vous. If they tell their pimps, it could get dangerous. Give me your cell.”

      Ellie handed over her cellphone and Brenda pushed a few buttons. “Call me at this number if you’re looking for me, but don’t make a nuisance of yourself.”

      “Thanks.”

      Ellie stood watching Brenda’s departing figure. Slender, straight. Too pretty and too smart for the streets. Her ancestors’ divergent bloodlines had given her an interesting face. Delicate nose, intelligent eyes. A full mouth tilting up at the corners, as if she were perpetually amused. A complexion like rich milk chocolate. At their first meeting a year ago Ellie had asked her why she worked on the streets. She had shrugged. “My mother taught me never to beg. It doesn’t matter what job you do … as long as you do it well. But don’t beg.”

      “But you could …”

      “What? What do you think I could do? I didn’t even finish Grade 10.”

      “Aren’t you afraid?”

      “Life is full of risks. If you don’t know that, you’re in the wrong job.”

      “How old are you?”

      “How old would you like me to be?”

      Ellie had shaken her head. “I’m not one of your clients.”

      “Somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five. If I can believe my mother.”

      Watching her walk away now, Ellie had the same feeling she’d had then. Brenda’s body might be thirty, but her eyes were much older.

      “I’m not a child. You don’t have to babysit me.” Her mother stood with her hands on her hips. Her hair was no longer as neat as it had been the day before at the funeral.

      In the recent past Ellie had often caught her dad looking at old photographs. Her mom, smartly dressed, laughing. Well groomed. Over the years her smooth complexion had lost its glow and her eyes had grown weary. Her mouth no longer laughed as often.

      “I need to know that you’re not going to be irresponsible.” As she spoke the words, Ellie felt like laughing at the absurdity of it. What did “irresponsible” mean to her mom? The adult part of her knew her mom had no control, but the child inside her wanted her mom to be able to choose. How hard could it be to decide not to drink today? Rika McKenna didn’t find it hard to say no to food, after all.

      “Are you seriously going to stand here and talk to me about being irresponsible?” Her hands fluttered between them. “To me, who wouldn’t know if he was dead or alive for nights on end! Who begged him not to take risks – did he take any notice at all? And then you came along and joined the police too. As if you didn’t know better.” She gave a brief laugh. “Please, spare me the lecture.” She pointed at her head. “I’m up to here with the two of you.”

      “It’s no use getting angry