Dee gets up and heads for the door.

“Wait! Don’t open that. We have no idea what it is.”

“We have to,” Dee says, reaching for the handle.

“Jesus, wait!” I run to the bedroom and take Da’s old Winchester rifle off the wall before rushing back. Sarie mentioned an increase in farm attacks, and two women alone on a rural property would be easy targets.

“Is that even loaded?” Dee asks dubiously. It dates back to the Anglo-Boer War.

“No idea but it may be enough to scare someone off.”

I’m standing behind Dee with the rifle when she slowly unlocks the door and then pulls it open. I look over her shoulder but can’t see anything. There’s no one on the veranda. “Must just be horny cats,” I say, trying to pull Dee back. The sooner we can close and lock the door, the better.

But Dee won’t step back. She’s staring down at something and I have to nudge her aside to get a better look. When I spot it, I know the booze isn’t making me see things because Dee can see it too.

It’s a big black dog. And it’s guarding something.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Delilah

10–11 May 1994

Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa

Oh my God,” Ruth exclaimed, trying to push past.

The large dog rose up on its haunches in response, the hair on its back raised as it gave a low warning growl, and Ruth froze next to me. The creature was black as tar and looked like a cross between a Rottweiler and a Labrador. It licked its lips, eyeing Ruth warily, before settling itself back down again next to the crying bundle.

I turned from the dog to the little wriggling creature on our doorstep. “It’s a baby,” I said stupidly.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Ruth whispered, staring at it in awe.

I bent down slowly and held my hand out, palm down, for the dog to sniff. It did so cautiously, and then, seemingly deciding that I didn’t pose any threat, it stood up and shook itself before pacing to the edge of the veranda, where it stared off into the darkness, whining softly.

Ruth stepped back inside to put the rifle down and when she returned, she reached out to the bundle with trembling hands, scooping it up as though she was afraid it was an illusion that, when touched, would dissolve into nothing but smoke. The dog rushed to her side but didn’t show any further signs of aggression.

I stepped past Ruth to go outside. Two plastic bags had been placed to the side of the door and I shot a quick glance inside them. They were filled with what looked like baby things and didn’t appear to contain anything sinister. I craned my head around the veranda and the parts of the garden I could see.