Blood Safari

by Deon Meyer

  Six years at the rehabilitation centre and then the incident with the vultures. Was there significance in these time gaps? Three years at Heuningklip, three years missing, six years at Mogale. Coincidence?

  Poachers. Twice he disappears because poachers are shot at. In 1986 he shoots at ivory poachers, in 2006 he is suspected of shooting vulture poachers. Twenty years between the two incidents, but the similarities remain.

  What the fuck did it all mean?

  I had no idea.

  I removed the book from Emma’s bag and took it to read to her.

  The bandages on her head and shoulder were fresh and less bulky than the previous ones. Yet she seemed just as vulnerable.

  ‘Hello, Emma.’

  ‘I found your handbag. Everything is still in there. Your phone and purse too. I looked at your notes. I think I understand better now. But there’s nothing … Nothing makes sense. What bothers me most, Emma, is why he looks so different. Why would his face change so much between eighty-six and ninety-four? It’s the one thing that still makes me doubt that he’s the same man. I know you thought differently. You believed. Maybe it was that phone call you received. And then you realised that he left Heuningklip just before your parents died. Maybe there was something else, something you didn’t tell me.’

  She just lay there, the woman whose naked body I had seen two days before in the reflection from the glass of a picture, so perfect, so alive.

  I looked down at the book in my hands. It had a green cover, a close-up photograph of a leaf. There was a bookmark in it. I opened it at that page.

  ‘I thought I might read to you, Emma.’

  And so I began. It was a description of a unicorn hunt. And the hunter becomes the hunted.

  28

  Jeanette Louw had spent the greater part of her adult life in uniform. I suspect she couldn’t do without it. She had developed a type of uniform for her new role as owner and managing director of Body Armour. It consisted of men’s suits, expensive designer wear from some or other shop on the Cape Town Waterfront, with demure shirts and multicoloured ties. In office hours the big blonde hair would be tied back with something to match the tie.

  Through the glass of the hospital main entrance, I saw her approaching. Today’s suit was black, the shirt cream and the tie yellow with a blue dot pattern. She had the remains of a white Gauloise between her fingers which she flicked into some shrubs, creating an arc of sparks, before entering the building. A few steps behind came B. J. (BeeJay) Fikter and Barry Minnaar, grey, lean men, unobtrusive, as they should be, each with a black sports bag in his hand.

  I rose to meet them.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with you,’ she said, perspiring.

  ‘You should see the wounds when I’m naked.’

  ‘God forbid. How is she?’

  ‘Stable.’

  I shook hands with Fikter and Minnaar.

  ‘Where can we talk?’

  ‘In my VIP suite.’

  ‘It’s our VIP suite now,’ said B. J.

  ‘But you aren’t VIPs like me.’

  ‘Of course not. It stands for Very Insane Person.’

  ‘Very Important Peasant,’ said Barry Minnaar.

  ‘Jealousy,’ I said. ‘It’s an ugly thing.’

  B. J. got carried away. ‘Very Insecure Piss …’

  ‘OK!’ said Jeanette Louw. She shook her head, ‘Fucking men,’ and we went into the hospital.

  I told them everything. When I had finished, Jeanette asked, ‘How are we going to handle her protection?’

  ‘I will do night shift,’ said B. J. Fikter. ‘Barry can do days.’

  ‘Do you have firearms?’ I asked.

  They nodded.

  ‘Do the police still have people at her door?’ Jeanette asked.

  ‘Yes. They aren’t going to like our presence.’

  ‘Fuck them,’ said Jeanette. ‘I have a paying client.’

  ‘Good argument.’

  Jeanette looked at Fikter and Minnaar. ‘Call me if you have trouble.’

  Another silent ‘yes’.

  ‘Where are you going to be?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m going back to Cape Town. It’s too damn hot and humid here.’ She stood up. ‘Come, Lemmer, walk with me. I have a present for you.’

  She said goodbye to Fikter and Minnaar and we went out through the hospital corridors to her rented car. The heat was as it had been when I arrived. Unbearable. My eyes swept the car park from the right, past the exit in the middle to the left. It was only half full this Monday after 2 p.m. A quiet day. Birds sang somewhere.

  ‘This heat,’ said Jeanette, and wiped her forehead.

  ‘Not for Cape sissies.’

  ‘Loxton is also in the Cape.’

  ‘Northern Cape,’ I said haughtily. Then I spotted the Jeep Grand Cherokee six rows to the left of the entrance, two people in front, two hundred metres north-east of us. Two men, I thought. Why were they just sitting there?

  ‘Arse-end of the world.’ Suddenly serious. ‘Lemmer, tell me, how do you feel?’

  ‘A few bruises, Jeanette. A day or two, and I’ll be the old Brad Pitt clone you’ve come to adore.’ Not even a hint of a smile. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about your head? On Saturday you were shell-shocked.’

  The two in the Jeep just sat there. It might be nothing. Just two people waiting for someone. Or not. They seemed to be watching us.

  ‘Saturday was a rough day. There’s nothing wrong with me.’

  ‘All right, then …’

  ‘Don’t look left. I think we have visitors.’ She was an old hand. She kept her eyes on me. ‘How do you want to handle it?’

  ‘Might be nothing, but I want to make sure. Where’s your car?’

  ‘That way.’ She nodded to the right, north-west.

  ‘Good. Did you bring a firearm?’

  ‘I did.’ We kept walking, seeming relaxed, chatting.

  ‘What did you see?’

  I deliberately looked in another direction. ‘Black Jeep Grand Cherokee, not the latest model, the previous one. At eleven o’clock, facing us, a hundred metres, a little more perhaps. Two in front, too far to say any more.’

  ‘Police don’t use Jeeps.’

  ‘That’s pretty sharp for a lady …’

  ‘The pistol is in my luggage in the back. It’s the Glock 37, ten .45 GAP rounds in the magazine. Yesterday I shot a two-centimetre grouping at twenty-five metres. At fifteen metres it was less than a centimetre. It kicks very little and likes rapid fire. I brought you two magazines and a hundred rounds. You’ll have to put the magazine in if you want to use it now.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Fit the magazine without them seeing and pass the Glock to me. Then get in the car. Keep the engine running and wait for me.’

  ‘Fine.’ Cool as ice. No reproaches that I had suddenly found my tongue.

  We reached the hired car, a white Mercedes C180. She pressed the remote and the car beeped and flashed its lights.

  ‘Civvies,’ said Jeanette, and nodded in the direction of an old man and woman getting into a Corolla between the Jeep and us.

  ‘I see them.’

  She opened the boot of the Mercedes and began to open her suitcase. ‘The dock’s numbers have been filed off, but you have parole conditions.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I’ll put it beside the suitcase.’

  She stood back. I bent and picked up the Glock. Keeping my body between the pistol and the Jeep, I pulled my shirt out of my trousers and pushed it into my belt under the shirt.

  ‘See you.’ I turned and began to walk towards the Jeep, not too fast, not too slow. I looked elsewhere, hoping they would think I was looking for my car. I would have preferred to have the Glock behind my back where it was easier to take out.

  Seventy-five metres. I looked at the Jeep in my peripheral vision. Too far for detail, but they were still there. />
  Behind me the old man started the Corolla.

  Sixty metres.

  I heard the Jeep’s engine fire. Petrol engine, the V8 growl, unmistakable. Lifted my shirt, put my hand on the pistol butt and began to run.

  The Jeep shot out of the parking bay and swung left. They wanted to go to the exit. I ran to cut them off, couldn’t get the Glock out because of the civilians, didn’t want anyone to call the police. Looked at the Jeep. They would have to drive fifty metres towards me before they could take the exit. I might make it. I sprinted. My knee objected and my ribs weren’t keen on the idea either.

  The Jeep accelerated, the driver was nearest to me. I couldn’t make out much, but I thought he looked like a white man. Passenger. Where was the passenger? He was hiding, head bent down. I was still twenty metres short when they took the left turn for the exit with screeching tyres. I wouldn’t make it, it was too far.

  I focused on the driver, had a good look, then the licence plate number. TWS 519 GP. I turned around and ran back towards Jeanette. The Corolla was approaching, the old man in no hurry. He and his old lady stared at me running around the car park, looking worried, wondering what was going on.

  I saw Jeanette driving the Mercedes towards me. I looked around; the Jeep was almost at the exit. Come on, Jeanette, come on. Then the Corolla was in her way, she tried to pass, but the old man turned towards the gate right in front of her. Jeanette braked, the ABS kicked in and she just missed them. I reached the Mercedes, jerked open the door and jumped in.

  ‘Grandpa and fucking Grandma,’ she said, and put her foot down, a Gauloise between her fingers, swerved around the Corolla and raced towards the gate. The old couple’s eyes were wide. The Jeep was gone.

  ‘Did you see which way they went?’

  ‘No. I was watching you brake for Grandpa. But I got the licence plate number.’

  ‘I should bloody hope so.’

  She stopped at the gate. We could go only left or right down the road.

  No sign of the Jeep.

  ‘Fuck,’ she said.

  ‘Not in front of the children,’ I said.

  Behind us the old man honked. Jeanette stiffened for a second. The she laughed, her loud bark, and shook her head. ‘Now Grandpa is in a hurry. What do you want to do?’

  ‘Nothing we can do. Besides, I got what I wanted: a face and a number. Let’s go back.’

  Grandpa honked again, sharply and irritably. Jeanette drove off and made a U-turn back into the car park.

  ‘Nothing like a bit of adrenalin to brighten up the afternoon,’ she said. ‘Did you recognise the face?’

  ‘No, but I know him now. What I want to know is, why weren’t they here yesterday?’

  ‘Probably didn’t know where you were.’

  ‘Or they were waiting to see if Emma would make it.’

  ‘You’ll have to tell B. J. and Barry.’

  ‘I will.’

  She parked. I took out the envelope from one of Maggie T.’s letters. ‘There’s a bullet casing in the envelope. Do you know someone who can look at it? Anything. Fingerprints, type of rifle …’

  ‘Maybe. Give me the Jeep’s licence number too.’ She took a pen out of her jacket pocket. I repeated the number and she wrote it on the envelope. Then she got out. So did I. I looked around very thoroughly. Nothing. Jeanette went around to the boot. She opened it, rummaged around and turned to me with a white-and-blue plastic shopping bag.

  ‘Extra magazine, a hundred rounds, shoulder holster. I assume you haven’t found your cell phone?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There’s a new one in there. I want to know what’s happening. Pay-as-you-go with four hundred rands’ worth of airtime. And money. Ten thousand in hundred-rand notes. It’s a shithouse full of money, Lemmer. I want receipts.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can.’

  She handed me the bag formally.

  ‘Thanks, Jeanette.’

  ‘Nothing to thank me for. Now listen up. Get these motherfuckers, no matter what it takes. But you stay out of trouble with the police. If they catch you with the Glock, you’re going back to jail. You know that.’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’

  ‘Lemmer, I’m serious.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘OK,’ she said and turned away. ‘Jeanette …’

  She stopped irritably and wiped away perspiration. ‘What?’

  ‘If she’s so rich, why did she take the cheapest option?’

  ‘Who? Emma?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You think you’re the cheapest option?’

  ‘I know I am.’

  She shook her head. ‘You know nothing. She came in and said she wanted the best. Money no object.’

  I waited for her to laugh, tell me she was joking. It didn’t happen.

  She saw my confusion. ‘I’m serious, Lemmer.’

  ‘And you gave me the job?’

  ‘I gave you the job.’

  ‘You’re pulling my leg.’

  ‘In this heat?’

  She stood for a moment and then she opened her door. ‘Goodbye, Lemmer. Happy New Year.’

  ‘No kiss or cuddle today?’

  ‘Fuck off, Lemmer,’ she said, and got into the Merc, but she couldn’t hide her smile. Then she drove off without once looking back.

  I walked to the hospital reception desk and asked them what their phone number was. I keyed it into my new cell phone. Then I went to intensive care, where Barry Minnaar was already on duty opposite the two policemen. ‘Lonely already?’ he said as I approached.

  I nodded in the direction of the Law. ‘Did the SAPS have anything to say?’

  ‘A lot. They phoned their boss.’

  ‘Phatudi?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘He’ll huff and puff, but he won’t blow the house down.’

  Barry took a folded document out of his shirt pocket. ‘Copy of Le Roux’s contract. Phatudi can huff all he likes.’

  ‘We met some friends in the parking lot. Black Jeep Grand Cherokee, TWS 519 GP. Driver is white, short dark brown hair, thirty-something. Passenger hid his face.’

  ‘Did you say goodbye?’

  ‘Didn’t have time. I think the friendship is over.’

  ‘Good thing you told me.’

  ‘I need your numbers, Barry,’ I said with my cell phone ready.

  He gave them to me. Then I fetched my stuff from the VIP suite.

  29

  The guard at the Mohlolobe gate was new. Sidney. Security Official. I asked him when Edwin would be on duty again.

  ‘Edwin is gone.’

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nobody knows where he is.’

  I drove in and went to reception. It took half an hour because I had to wait for a herd of elephants to cross the road. Four bulls, eight cows and four calves. They were in no hurry. They looked down at the Audi with utter disdain for Vorsprung durch Technik.

  Sue-zin was at her post, helping a middle-aged American settle his bill. She flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder with practised ease, smiled with those perfect teeth as she said, ‘Of course, Mr Bradley, it’s a pleasure, Mr Bradley.’ As he walked away she looked up and saw me. The smile turned into a concerned frown.

  ‘Meneer Lemmer!’ She addressed me in Afrikaans, amazingly. She came out from behind the desk.

  ‘Hello, Susan.’

  ‘We were so shocked to hear about Miss le Roux …’ She came and stood close to me.

  ‘Oh. Who told you?’

  ‘Inspector Phatudi was here.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘A little better.’

  ‘Is she going to be OK?’

  ‘It’s too early to tell.’

  Susan put her hand on my arm. ‘And you, Mr Lemmer, are you OK?’ With heartfelt concern. She was good, I had to admit.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘We don�
��t even know what happened.’

  ‘They wanted to hijack the car.’

  Her hand went from my arm to her mouth. ‘A carjacking. Around here!’

  ‘Susan, I’m looking for Edwin, the man at the gate.’

  She hesitated and then said more formally, ‘You should speak to Greg.’

  ‘Where can I find him?’

  She took me to Greg. The hospitality manager’s office. He was the plump one with thinning blond hair and a red complexion.

  ‘He’s in there,’ she said. ‘See you later?’

  ‘Thanks, Susan.’

  She walked away. Her bottom was pert in the khaki trousers. She knew it.

  Greg wasn’t really happy to see me. He was edgy and his hands rearranged the desk incessantly. At first he made sympathetic noises about ‘the accident’, but his heart wasn’t in it. No wonder they kept him in an office. I asked him where I could find Edwin. His hands got busier.

  ‘The police are also looking for him, but he’s gone.’

  ‘Gone where?’

  ‘Nobody knows. He didn’t turn up for work yesterday, so I sent someone to go and find him, but he’s not at home, either. Maybe it’s just New Year. Sometimes, staff disappear when you need them the most.’

  ‘Where does Edwin live?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t provide that information. Company policy.’

  ‘I might be able to locate him for you.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I can’t.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, and turned away.

  ‘Mr Lemmer …’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, but there is the matter of Miss Le Roux’s account.’

  ‘I’m sure she will settle it once she has recovered.’

  ‘I see. But with all due respect, we hear that she’s in a very serious condition.’

  ‘She is.’

  ‘So what am I to do?’

  ‘I’m sure company policy will cover it, Greg. Happy New Year,’ I said, and left.

  The passage was empty. I stood for a moment outside his door. I heard him say ‘Shit’, and then he picked up the phone and dialled a number.

  ‘Inspector Phatudi, please.’

  I didn’t wait to hear his report.

  On the gravel road back to the gate the dust was so thick behind the Audi that I became aware of a vehicle behind me only when it honked urgently. I looked in the rear-view mirror. Through the cloud of dust I vaguely saw headlights flashing. I stopped and got out, the Glock ready behind my back. A short-wheelbase Land Rover stopped behind me. Dick, Senior Game Ranger, the Orlando Bloom clone, got out and came up to me with a big smile.