Glittering Gallows

Chapter 62

353 C Chapter 62 t dusk, Regis quickly walked down a nameless street in a shanty slum settlement in the southern part of Soshanguve, turned, sprang over a rivulet of raw sewage flowing by the roadside and entered Agnes Lamola’s shack. He found her leaning on crutches and lighting a homemade paraffin lamp. He entered as the wink caught fire, but his entry startled her stiff. She was in an old dress and a hand-sewn apron. Regis thought she looked old and hopeless. The sitting room was cluttered with worn-out resin sofas, a backstreet set of wooden dining chairs, a rickety, old coffee table, a battered single-door refrigerator serving as a kitchen unit, and other pieces of furniture that wouldn’t be accepted in a pawn shop. A pace into the room, he stopped on realising that she was shocked to see him. He believed she had reason to be shocked; he was in a white golf T-shirt, a Lee jacket, a matching pair of jeans trousers and suede shoes. The items were new. “What happened,” she asked as soon as she recovered from the shock, gesturing at his clothes. She was slightly stooped and her weight rested on the crutch pads under her armpits. “I came here to ask you the same question. What happened at Randlord?” “You don’t get it into your head, don’t you?” The anger in her voice was palpable. He recalled the day she appeared in court for the first time, and saw her father and a police officer wheeling her into the courtroom. Her legs were in plasters, a sling held her right arm, under her larynx and across her neck were several stitches. On the evidence desk, the miniskirt and top she wore on the tragic day spoke of the gore that prevailed in the premier’s mansion. She avoided looking at him. The public prosecutor’s voice and accusing tone were still vivid in Regis’ memory. The prosecutor told the court that she had a total of twelve stab wounds in her bosom, belly and thighs, that her attacker A 354 tried to slit open her neck, that both of her femurs snapped in the attack, and that he would prove that the defendant, Regis Makgunda, the sole accused, was responsible for her injuries. After a calculated pause, he added that the prosecution team had seven witnesses and the premier of Gauteng to back its claim. “We must talk, Agnes. I’m not your enemy.” “I knew you’d return.” She dropped her right crutch, turned and drew a machete behind a cloth-draped table holding the lamp. Her face a fiery mask of fury, she wobbled forward to attack him. “Today I put an end to your madness.” He pulled the Luger from the back of his trousers and held it pointing downwards. Sight of the pistol halted her. “You came here to shoot me, Regis... to finish me off?” Her chest heaved. “Noah!” She called. “Noah!” “Your husband isn’t here. I saw him leaving a while ago with two empty bottles of beer. I came to hear what happened.” “What’s the gun for?” “Guns are for killing. I should’ve flown to Miami or Port Louis in Mauritius on holiday, but I shelved the idea until I hear from you what happened. What happened at the mansion, Agee?” He raised the pistol and pressed the muzzle against his right temple. “I’ll pull the trigger if you won’t tell me.” She pointed at him with the machete. “You ask me as if you don’t know.” “I don’t know. I was drunk, you know it.” He cocked the pistol. “Put the gun down, Regis,” she said frantically and dropped the machete. It clattered against the crutch on the floor. “I’ll tell you what happened.” “Tell me now, Agnes. Who attacked you?” She started to cry. “You were part of the scheme, Reggie.” Wrath bore her words. “Your uncle paid you to bring me to his mansion.” Regis lowered the pistol, his brow furrowing, baffled. 355 “Don’t pretend. You knew, Regis. It’s either you were drunk or you pretended. I never thought you were so ruthless. I thought you loved me.” “I loved you, Agnes. You were my fiancée. Why did I take you to Randlord then?” “To surrender me to a pack of...