by Tony Park
Hudson enjoyed being a lone bull. He’d never been much of a boyfriend and would have made someone a lousy husband. He did his best to stay away from other men’s wives and as a safari guide he never had to wait too long before some tourist suffered a bout of khaki fever – a common malaise in Africa where tourists succumbed to the rough-and-tumble charms of the person showing them around. He’d had female clients who cried at their first sight of an elephant in the wild and Hudson Brand was always there to hold a hand. Africa, Hudson had often said, made one hell of a wingman.
So what the heck was wrong with him now? He finished his breakfast, left the elephants to theirs, and went inside and put his empty plate in the sink.
There was a knock at the door, which was surprising as he hadn’t heard a car pull up outside. Hippo Rock was the kind of secluded bolthole where people valued their privacy, so it was very rare for a neighbour to show up without prior warning. When he opened the door he saw it was Anna, Shadrack and Mishack’s mother, the matronly woman who was in charge of the estate’s laundry.
‘Anna, how are you? I’m sorry for your loss. I didn’t expect you to be working today.’ And nor did he expect her to have walked here, a kilometre or more from her laundry.
She wiped her eyes. ‘I wanted to see you.’
‘Well, come on in.’
Staff never visited the homes of owners on the estate, unless it was to clean or do some other chores. Anna looked around, as if uncomfortable to be seen infringing on a resident’s privacy, then drew a breath and walked across the threshold.
‘Would you like tea? Coffee?’
‘Coffee, please.’
‘Three sugars and milk?’
‘Yes, please.’
Most of Africa hadn’t got the sugar memo yet, though Hudson had managed to cut down to two. He put on the kettle.
‘Take a seat here in the kitchen. What can I do for you?’
‘They say, the other owners who know you, that you are a detective, like a policeman, as well as being a guide.’
Hudson poured and passed Anna her cup. ‘Yes, I’m a private investigator, part-time.’
He had served in the US Army as a young man. His American oil-man father had taken his Angolan wife back to the States after meeting her in Africa and getting her pregnant. His father had left his mother for another woman when Hudson was very young and his mother had died when he was a teenager. He fully believed he might have ended up in prison if the army hadn’t got him first. A secondment to the CIA had brought him to Africa – America was covertly funding anti-communist rebels in Angola and Hudson spoke the local language, Portuguese, and had some family still in the country. Things had turned sour for Hudson and he had almost been killed in South West Africa, now Namibia, when he had uncovered American involvement in the South African Defence Force’s illegal slaughter of rhino and elephant in the areas where they were fighting. Corrupt military people and spies were involved in shipping rhino horn and ivory out of Africa.
Hudson had left America’s employ and, ironically, ended up fighting for the South Africans in the largely Angolan 32 Battalion, known either as the Buffalo Soldiers, thanks to their cap badge or, due to their reputation, the Terrible Ones.
After the war in Angola he had stayed in Africa, following his passion for the mother continent’s wildlife by becoming a safari guide. To supplement his meagre income he had started working as a private investigator. He had stumbled upon a niche business, investigating fraudulent insurance claims lodged by people who had faked their own deaths.
‘You can help me?’ Anna said.
‘Is it about your son?’
She nodded and pressed the handkerchief in her fingers to her eyes. ‘He did not do the things they claimed.’
‘This is really a matter for the police.’
‘They already told me, the woman, the one who also lives here, van Rensburg, that they will not be treating his death as murder.’
Hudson sipped his coffee. ‘That sounds right. Based on police procedure they’ve probably taken out what’s called an inquest docket, rather than a murder docket. His death would only be investigated further if you have grounds to make them think he was innocent.’
‘He was innocent. He was a good man, Mr Brand.’
Hudson sighed. ‘This rhino horn business, it corrupts very good men, Anna. I had a friend who worked as a guide, inside Kruger, for national parks. He loved wildlife, rhino in particular, but the gangs got to him, offered him more money than he could have possibly imagined.’
Anna looked up and fixed him with her eyes. ‘My son was not like that. He did not care about money. He could barely count, Mr Brand, and he loved his life, working here and living with me.’
‘Captain van Rensburg’s a good woman, Anna, a fair person. If you take your concerns to her, she will listen.’
‘I tried. She told me the same thing as you just did, that it is just about the money, that even good people do bad things. My Shadrack had never picked up a gun in his life, even though his cousin, who was with him, had been in trouble with the police.’
‘Then what was he doing in that car, with the other man? I spoke to Mishack at the hotel yesterday and he told me both Shadrack and his cousin were carrying firearms.’
Anna seemed to hesitate, but nodded. ‘His cousin was a bad man. Somehow he convinced Shadrack to get in the car with him, and gave him a gun.’
‘But why would your son do such a thing?’
Anna set her cup down, hard enough to spill some. ‘Sorry.’
Hudson put up a hand. ‘No need to be. I understand how you’re feeling.’
‘The policewoman asked the same questions. I don’t know how Shadrack ended up in that car, but I need someone to find out. My son did not kill anyone, and he did not kill a rhino – he loved all animals. Come to our house and I will show you his dogs. He took them in and cared for them, better than most people in our community.’
He was sympathetic to her, but it looked to him, as it no doubt did to Sannie van Rensburg, like an open and shut case. ‘I’m not sure I can help, Anna.’
‘I can pay you, but I do not have very much money. I can do your washing and ironing for free, for a very long time.’
Hudson could imagine how little Anna had. Mishack, her other son, was a good guy, and from what he knew of Shadrack, he had been as well. Shadrack was a hard worker, and Hudson was unaware of anyone at Hippo Rock ever having anything other than a good word for him. He thought about the big bag of washing in the back of his Land Rover and how he might otherwise spend the day rather than sitting by the washing machine and hanging his clothes out to dry.
He sighed. ‘OK. How about I talk to Captain van Rensburg and see what she has to say?’
‘How much will it cost me?’
‘One load of washing and ironing,’ he said.
She raised her eyes and he saw the hope there, shining through the tears. ‘Serious?’
‘It’s a big load of washing.’
She forced a smile. ‘You need a good woman.’
He stood up. He thought about Sonja and, try as he might, he couldn’t picture her in a pinafore pegging up clothes on a line. Well, maybe . . .
‘Let me take you back to the laundry.’
*
Sonja picked up Tema from her home but didn’t drive straight to Khaya Ngala. Instead she headed in the opposite direction, through Hazyview and along the R40, a winding road through scenic hills covered with banana and pine tree plantations.
Just before the town of White River she turned off at a roundabout to access the Casterbridge Centre.
‘I’m going to try and recruit someone else,’ Sonja had answered when Tema asked her where they were going.
The centre was a popular stop-off for tourists and locals alike. It had a hotel, a small cinema, a couple of restaurants and
cafes and a range of boutique shops and galleries that sold arts and crafts, up-market clothing and handmade furniture.
Sonja parked and Tema opened her door. ‘Just a minute.’
Tema looked to her. ‘Yes?’
Sonja reached for her rucksack and fished inside it. She pulled out a black metal pocket-sized torch. ‘You were the best recruit in the Leopards training program, Tema. When you all officially graduated, I was going to give you this as a gift.’
‘Thank you,’ Tema said. ‘It looks very nice.’
‘It’s not just a torch.’ Sonja turned it around in her hand so Tema could see a small switch on the base, where the battery cap screwed in. Sonja flicked the switch then pointed the lens towards Tema. ‘Now, watch what happens when I press the on switch at the top, which normally turns on the light.’
Sonja pressed the button and instead of the bulb lighting up the blue light of a taser cackled and screeched loudly in the confines of the car.
Tema jumped in her seat, then laughed as Sonja handed it to her. She pressed the button and grinned again.
‘That’s 100,000 volts, enough to put someone down,’ Sonja said. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
They got out of the vehicle and walked along a covered walkway past a line of shops selling gifts, furniture and crafts. Sonja continued on until they came to a jewellery store. ‘This must be it.’
A grey-haired man behind a counter looked up when she rang the bell on the security door, and buzzed her and Tema in.
‘Can I help?’ he asked.
‘I’m looking for Mario Machado,’ Sonja said.
‘Mario?’ the man called.
Tema bent to admire some bronze castings, one of an elephant and another of a warthog. ‘These are beautiful.’
‘Mario made them,’ the jeweller said. ‘He’s got quite a talent as a sculptor.’
Among other things, Sonja thought to herself. Sonja had met Mario when they were both working as military contractors in Afghanistan. He had served in the old South African Defence Force’s 32 Battalion in Angola, as had Hudson, so he knew how to fight. He had been born in Mozambique when it was still a Portuguese colony, and spoke the language fluently. She’d had a fling with him, but that wasn’t why she was recruiting him; he knew the first country they were going to operate in, could pass as a local, and would be handy if the bullets started flying. Hudson Brand would have ticked all the same boxes, but she had less of a personal connection to Mario and she wasn’t mad as hell at him.
Mario came through the door that led to the studio behind the showroom. He wore a workman’s apron and his tanned, muscled forearms showed beneath rolled-up sleeves. Sonja remembered those hands of his, which he now wiped on a cloth; they were big, but the fingers were surprisingly soft.
He looked at her and his dark eyes widened with surprise. ‘Sonja!’
‘Mario.’
He came around the counter and put his arms around her. Sonja was not good with public displays of affection and was acutely aware of Tema watching her and smiling as Mario kissed her on each cheek and then held her at arm’s length.
‘It’s so good to see you again, but how did you find me? What are you doing here in South Africa? Where have you been?’
She stepped back from him, breaking contact but embarrassed by the fact that her cheeks were starting to burn. ‘One question at a time, Mario. Can we talk somewhere?’
Mario looked to the jeweller. ‘Roy?’
‘Of course.’
Mario untied and shrugged off his apron and tossed it behind the counter. ‘We can go to Zannas Cafe across the road. The coffee is good.’
‘Fine.’
Sonja introduced Mario to Tema and Mario led them back out of the Casterbridge Centre, through the car park and across the busy R40 to another cluster of eateries and shops. They took a table outside under an umbrella and ordered coffees from a waiter.
He was sitting opposite her, but leaned forward, elbows on the table. His hair was still thick, wavy and dark, though salted with a little more grey since the last time she had seen him. She remembered running her fingers through it.
‘Fewer people know me on this side of the road. So, to what do I owe the honour?’
Mario had sensed the need for discretion, which was good, Sonja thought.
‘I’m putting together a specialist anti-poaching team, Mario.’
He sat silently for a moment, as if digesting this news, then said, ‘I’ve had offers to do security work in the past, but I prefer my sculpting to endless patrols in the bush or long nights sitting in an observation post.’
‘This is something different.’
He smiled, showing perfect, even white teeth. ‘As it’s you, I had a feeling it would be. Tell me. And your charming young friend here?’
Tema looked down, embarrassed, but Sonja spoke for her. ‘Tema’s already proved herself, in combat, as a very good operator. She killed a man the other day.’
He raised his thick, dark eyebrows. ‘Was that you I read about, the all-female patrol that was ambushed?’
‘Yes,’ Sonja said.
‘You want me to join an all-female unit?’
She heard the mockery, but ignored it. ‘No. Men and women, undercover, behind the lines, initially in Mozambique, elsewhere after that, wherever the poaching kingpins are based.’
Mario leaned back now as the waiter delivered their coffees. He said nothing.
‘How exactly do you two know each other?’ Tema asked, breaking the silence.
‘We worked together in Afghanistan.’
‘I wondered if you would end up here,’ Mario said, ‘looking for revenge.’
‘I came here to do voluntary work, to train the Leopards, the all-woman anti-poaching unit.’
‘And that’s all? Just to train.’
‘My role’s changed; I’m working for Julianne Clyde-Smith now.’
He nodded. ‘Billionaire businesswoman, philanthropist, ardent environmentalist, and now she’s setting up a hit squad, hey? I wouldn’t put it past her. She talks tough about poaching all the time.’
‘I didn’t say anything about a hit squad, Mario. We’ll be gathering intelligence, helping the national parks and security forces catch the heads of poaching syndicates, the people who bribe their way out of arrests and convictions.’
‘Yes, yes, yes, I am sure. So why are you coming to me? I am no intelligence officer.’
‘You speak Portuguese, you grew up in Mozambique, so you know the country, the people.’
‘And?’
Sonja looked across the courtyard to the jewellery shop. ‘You’re good at your art, your sculpting, but you’re not an artist, Mario. You’re a soldier.’
He regarded her, not saying anything for a while. ‘You are preparing to mount cross-border surveillance operations, but your first member of your new team is a young girl – no offence, Tema – whose sole qualification so far is that she has killed in battle. And now you want me, an ageing warrior. Why? You could find a hundred, a thousand, men – and women – to volunteer for anti-poaching work.’
Sonja nodded. ‘This isn’t glorified security work, Mario. We’re going to war, or we at least need to be able to fight if we’re exposed. The pay will be good, better than you get here.’
His gaze shifted from Sonja across the R40 to the serenity of the jewellery shop and studio. ‘Roy has been mentoring me. I work on commission. I can always come back.’
Sonja looked into his eyes and saw herself. ‘You and I know this isn’t just about the money, never was, not even in Afghanistan.’
He showed his even white teeth. ‘I’m in.’
Chapter 8
Captain Sannie van Rensburg sat at her desk in the detectives’ office in the Skukuza Police Station, at Number 1 Leopard Street, located on the staff-only side of the camp,
behind the public post office.
Vanessa Sunday came in, bringing two cups of rooibos tea. She set one down on Sannie’s desk. ‘There’s a guy out front, asking to see you.’
Sannie looked up from the pile of dockets she was reviewing. ‘Who?’
‘Damned fine looking. Tall, dark, handsome. Sounds American. A Hudson . . .’
‘Brand.’
‘You know him?’
‘We’re neighbours, of sorts. I’ll go see him.’
Sannie walked out to the charge counter. ‘Howzit, Hudson. What can I do for you?’
‘I’d like a few minutes of your time, if you can spare it.’
‘Let’s go to the interview room.’
Hudson gave a small laugh. ‘Last time I was there you were accusing me of murder.’
‘Well, you killed the boerewors the other night,’ Sannie said.
‘I like my steak still mooing, but not my sausage.’
‘You’re forgiven, though you’ll never be a proper South African if you keep cooking wors like that. Come through. Would you like tea? Coffee?’
‘No thanks, Sannie, I had a cup just a while back, with Anna Mnisi.’
‘Anna? Our Anna, from Hippo Rock?’ Sannie had joined the police force in the dying days of the apartheid regime, but she had done so because she wanted to see justice offered to all South Africans and to help make her country a better, safer place. Her parents had thought her too liberal, but she had worked with people of every background all through her career and did not consider herself racist. However, she was curious as to why Hudson would be socialising with their laundry lady. Immediately, she felt bad for thinking that way.
‘Yes. It was her son, Shadrack, who was shot in the bakkie; one of the two guys who were allegedly firing on Julianne Clyde-Smith’s helicopter.’
‘Allegedly? I saw the bullet holes in the chopper.’
‘Well, we both know that until someone checks the damage to Julianne’s chopper it could have just been one man firing.’
Sannie sipped her tea, then put it down. ‘Good point. I’m not handling this case, by the way; it was out of the park and game reserves so the guys from Hazyview caught it. However, your friend Sonja called me as soon as it happened as it seems to be connected to the spate of shootings in the Sabi Sand the other night.’
