The Chief Inspector gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. ‘In my long life I have learned that it never helps to carry someone else’s burden.’

‘Chief Inspector—’

‘Decisions were made that affected you, but none of them were your decisions. You are not directly responsible for anything that has happened here.’

‘But surely you must see that if I hadn’t paid that visit to Emil Coetzee … if I hadn’t wanted to tell him the truth, she wouldn’t have … She has absolutely no idea that what she did was wrong – then and now. She’s too far gone, you see. Has always been. And I … I have always been alone. And empty.’

‘Empty?’ the Chief Inspector said.

‘Chief Inspector …’ Saskia said, wanting to be understood and not merely placated. ‘I know how I feel … what I am inside.’

‘You can only be what you choose to be.’

For some reason, those words allowed Saskia to begin letting go of what she had long been holding on to. ‘You are really not going to arrest my mother for Tom Fortenoy’s death?’

‘Secret Intelligence has seen to your mother’s continued freedom.’

‘She deserves some form of punishment,’ Saskia said, feeling guilty and defeated at the same time.

‘And you?’ the Chief Inspector asked in that restrained way of his. ‘What do you deserve?’

Saskia had no idea.

Spokes

SPOKES

The paper’s decision to place the photo of a happier time – a father and son out fishing together – next to Emil Coetzee’s obituary had proved to be more than the right choice. For many people, all that Emil Coetzee had ever been was contained in that one photo. He was remembered as a devoted husband, a loving father, a hero when his country needed him most – and, above all, a true patriot. Saskia Hargrave might as well have written a hagiography. For many weeks, condolences poured in from all over the country, filling in pages upon pages of the newspaper. Even without a public funeral, no one seemed to doubt, not even for a moment, that Emil Coetzee was dead, or that he had been killed by Golide Gumede. There were no questions, just a lot of emotions – the way the Secret Intelligence boys liked things.