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the pallor, its as if shes never been in the sun.
    Sexual assault? asked Clare.
    Nothing visible.
    The rain running down the windows blurred the world outside.
    Have you got any ideayet who she might be? the doctor asked.
    Nothing, said Clare. Youve got to give me something else, Anwar.
    But Ive never seen anything like this, he said. Im thinking maybe shes been poisoned. Ive sent off for every test you can imagine.
    I need those results as soon as you get them, said Clare.
    I should have them this afternoon, said Anwar Jacobs.
    The door opened. Ina Britz was standing there.She had taken her beanie off in deference to the formality of the occasion.
    You ready, Clare? she asked. To be thrown like a Christian to the lions?
    You shouldnt speak of my former colleagues like that.
    Clare closed her laptop, put on red lipstick, brushed her hair, and changed into a dress and a pair of heels.
    Standing on tiptoes helps you concentrate? asked Ina.
    Cant think otherwise, saidClare.
    The press pack is sniffing the bones of a story that could run for weeks, said Ina Britz. Everythings upside down missing child, no reports, half-dead kid, no weeping mother or suspect stepfather. They think were hiding something.
    I wish we were, said Clare. Theres so little to go on and I dont like the feel of what there is. A wave of nausea washed over her again, nausea and a fatigueso deep, so in her bone marrow, that she wanted to lie down and sleep right where she was.
    You go on, Ina, she said, heading for the bathroom. Ill be there in a minute.
    Ina Britz raised an eyebrow, and left. Clare ducked into the bathroom and retched, but there was nothing. She had to eat, but the very thought of it made her want to be sick again. She drank some more water instead. When shelooked out of the window a battered blue bakkie was turning in. A man at the wheel a dog beside him gesticulating to the security guard at the gate.

7
    Jakes Cwele was out of his 4x4. He blocked her path, a lifes worth of anger in his tensed shoulders.
    Clare had to stop herself from stepping backwards. He was too close, right inside her space.
    What can I do for you?
    Im here to help you. He smiled. Its a big thing, this press conference.
    We dont need your help, said Clare.
    Cape Town is my command now. A blaze of anger in Cweles eyes. Butit would be much better if you would cooperate with me while we get this province to focus on the things that matter if you want law and order. Its tough for you. Youre a civilian. Youre a woman. Youre out of your depth. You just tell me when you need advice. About being a cop. I hear that Faizal gives you advice about how to be a woman.
    Rumour mill, the police, said Clare. Some of us preferfacts and evidence, now get out of my way. I have a job to do.
    Dr Hart, Cwele put his hand lightly on her arm. By Monday your captains going to be gone. Then theres no one watching out for you. This is not a place for a lady, and youre not a cop.
    Im not a lady either, said Clare. So that balances things out.
    A taxi boomed kwaito music. It throbbed, then turned a corner, leaving silence in itswake. Clare stepped past Cwele, and then she was in the cramped conference room, corralled behind the podium, no water in the jug. Microphones and flashbulbs and cameras and people saying her name Dr Hart, Clare, Dr Hart. She scanned the crowd. In front of her were bemused Neighbourhood Watch members and others who had tried to stitch connections between the economic gulfs that divided Hout Bay.In front, a group of mothers who campaigned for the right-of-way for horse riders, and at the back three women whose children had vanished in the dunes above Hangberg.
    She knew the journalists; some shed seen that morning. Jakes Cwele came in too, flanked by a trio in sharply tailored suits. There were a couple of other cops too. Allies. Colonel Edgar Phiri, Riedwaans Gang Unit boss, raised ahand in greeting. Clare was glad to see him there.
    At the back of the room sat an old man in