They stride over the broken paving of the sidewalk, stepping over tree roots and potholes. Susman trips over the nub of a tree stump, and De Villiers catches her hand without thinking. She regains her balance and snatches it back.
“Sorry,” he says. She thanks him in an annoyed way and plunges her hands back into her pockets and they keep walking.
Pigeons, pecking at the stale breadcrumbs near an overflowing rubbish bin, look up at them and scatter. Cars dodge and overtake, and aggressive drivers lean on their horns. Robin can taste the carbon monoxide in the air. Farm air is not without its stink, but she’d take compost and sheep dung over exhaust fumes any day.
“Nice to get some fresh air,” jokes Devil.
Susman smiles at him, the sun’s glare reflecting off the traffic and making her eyes water. “Tell me about the blood spatter.”
