An Ordinary Day

by Trevor Corbett

The past tense told Durant that Splinters had got clean away and they would never find him. ‘A hitchhiker. Felt sorry for him. You saw him, pitiful character.’

  ‘Why were you parked at the side of the road, then?’

  Durant upbraided himself for disregarding the rules of tradecraft. The manual was right: this was precisely why you never met agents in your vehicle. ‘Turned out the guy’s a prostitute. You spooked him, he took off. Thanks. Can I go now?’

  Heath shook his head. ‘You realise how serious this is, Mr Durant? Do you realise I’m questioning you regarding a murder and you’re our chief suspect?’

  ‘All I know is this: I have a wife who’s ill and in hospital, I have work responsibilities and I don’t have the time or inclination to help you. We could’ve sorted this out another way.’

  ‘I tried to. I phoned you yesterday and you said you’d phone me back – you never did.’

  Durant rubbed his chin. ‘Sorry, I remember now. Got caught up in a whole lot of issues. Can I phone you tomorrow?’

  ‘Leila Elhasomi. Talk to me about Leila.’

  Durant smiled and shook his head in feigned disbelief. He knew enough about police questioning not to deny what they knew was true, but to neutralise the truths which he knew could implicate him.

  ‘The Libyan girl? Met her once. If you can even call it a meeting. She was involved in an accident and I treated her at the scene. I’m a medic – I’ve got a professional obligation to help injured people.’

  Heath pursed his lips and nodded silently.

  Durant drained the remains of his coffee. ‘Look, it’s simple. I was minding my own business when this lady’s car went through a traffic light and collided with a pole. I was across the road. I thought she might have been injured and went to help her. Turned out she was fine.’

  ‘Also turned out you gave her your cellphone number.’

  ‘This is true. I felt an obligation. She was obviously a foreign visitor, and I thought she could do with some help.’

  ‘Did she call you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And it seems the next day she really did need help. She was murdered.’

  ‘You said so yesterday.’

  Durant looked at his watch. ‘Since when does giving someone your cellphone number make you a murderer? Perhaps I had another motive? Lust, perhaps. But not murder. Can I go now, or are you going to put the plastic bag over my head?’

  ‘Hold on, sir. I’m not finished. Where were you on Thursday night?’

  ‘I was at work, and then at the hospital. I told you: my wife’s sick.’

  ‘So you had no contact with Elhasomi other than treating her at the scene of an accident, and giving her your cell number? You don’t know anything else about her, where she was going, when she arrived in South Africa, where she lived … Is that correct?’

  ‘I think you’ve got it now,’ Durant said.

  Heath paused for a moment, and then said ‘Yesterday I drove past the townhouse Elhasomi was renting and I saw something interesting – your Land Rover parked outside. How d’you know where she lived?’

  ‘A … friend in the police … gave me her address. I thought I could help.’

  Heath was silent for another uncomfortable moment. ‘You really are quite a considerate chap. Why did you have her credit card? We found it in your car.’

  For the past hour, Durant had been hoping that by some miracle the card Splinters gave him had disappeared into some irretrievable crevice between the seats of the Land Rover. Obviously because there was such pressure to solve this high-profile case, the police had done their job very thoroughly. The irony wasn’t lost on Durant either: it was the NIA that was putting the pressure on the SAPS to prioritise the murder.

  Durant hoped Heath hadn’t noticed the tell-tale visual clues which betrayed the liar even before he spoke, from the almost imperceptible drops of perspiration on his brow to the quickening pace of his breath. The credit card. ‘Well, you’ve answered one of your own questions, Inspector. The credit card is exactly the reason I was trying to find Elhasomi so I could return it to her. She left it behind at the accident scene.’

  Heath stood up and walked to his office door, closed it, walked back and sat down opposite Durant. He was silent for a moment while he studied his palms intently. Finally he looked up. ‘Mr Durant. Your fingerprints were all over the inside of Elhasomi’s townhouse. Your prints are on a bronze statue that we strongly believe was the instrument used to smash in the back of her head. The accident site was close to where she lived. A traffic camera picked up your Land Rover in the vicinity of her flat on the night of the murder. There’s more evidence linking you to Elhasomi than any of the other forty-five million people in this country, so don’t accuse me of wasting your time and don’t insult my intelligence by giving me answers which we both know are lies.’

  Durant shook his head while all the time knowing that every word Heath was speaking was true.

  ‘Don’t deny that you know Elhasomi; don’t deny that your relationship goes beyond that accident scene last week; and don’t deny that by being in possession of her credit card, you had a motive to kill her. Motive, opportunity and the means. You didn’t have to kill her for that credit card.’

  ‘I didn’t kill her.’

  ‘Was it a crime of passion then? You and Leila have a little thing going on the side? Afraid your wife would discover it when she came out of hospital? Damn it, Durant, your fingerprints are on the murder weapon. What do you want me to say? Give me another suspect, ’cos right now, you’re all I’ve got.’

  Heath was angry now and Durant could see it. He didn’t like it. He would have to change his strategy, go with his gut feel – Heath was a good cop, a family man, dedicated, thorough, relentless. Heath reminded him of himself.

  ‘I’m an investigator for the NIA. Leila Elhasomi is official business.’

  The expression on Heath’s face didn’t change. ‘Is murder official business? I don’t care where you work or who you are, sir. I have a dead body in Gale Street mortuary, a docket here with mounting evidence, and a suspect in front of me.’

  ‘She was our target—’

  ‘So you killed her. If you’re an intelligence officer, it couldn’t have been mandated. Was it personal?’

  Durant shrugged his shoulders. ‘You know, maybe I didn’t kill her, but I also didn’t save her, and that’s almost as bad as killing her.’

  Heath frowned and for the first time looked puzzled at one of Durant’s answers. ‘You didn’t save her? From what, from whom?’

  ‘From Ben Salem.’

  ‘Salem?’

  Durant nodded and looked down; it was difficult to conceal his anxiety. He was betraying the Agency; he had succumbed to an interrogation which hadn’t even involved electric shocks or cold water or bright lights.

  ‘It’s not me you want, it’s Ben Salem. You want a suspect, he’s your suspect. He travelled with Elhasomi, he was staying with her, he killed her. We think he may also have killed a local person.’

  Heath rubbed his chin, raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly, and looked at the empty coffee cup on the table beside the stained dockets.

  ‘Can I get you another cup of coffee?’

  Ambassador Albirai walked briskly through the arrivals hall at Durban International Airport and sat down at a table closest to the fish tank. Masondo observed him from a distance, and then made his way over to the table. They shook hands.

  ‘Ambassador Albirai,’ Masondo said, ‘I was expecting someone else.’

  Albirai avoided eye contact and shook his head. ‘Mr Masondo, such an important matter, I will give it my personal attention.’

  ‘Well, I’m honoured, sir. I hope we can help.’

  ‘We invest a great deal of effort and expense in our diplomats. We send them to the far corners of the world to represent our great country. We do not expect them to come back in body bags.’

  Masondo thought for a minute. ‘This is a very isolated and pe
culiar case and certainly not the norm.’

  ‘South Africa is supposed to protect visitors, especially visiting diplomats.’

  ‘Mr Ambassador, I can assure you, the police are doing everything in their power to identify and arrest the perpetrators of this crime. I think we were as shocked as you to hear of how Ms Elhasomi died. Our Foreign Minister sends her most fervent sympathies.’

  ‘Indeed. Ms Elhasomi was carrying out official duties for her country and she died a heroine.’

  Masondo rubbed his chin thoughtfully, mainly for effect. ‘I’m curious, Mr Albirai, why Ms Elhasomi didn’t declare herself to our Foreign Affairs Department. We could have arranged protection for her.’

  Albirai spoke immediately, almost as if he had the answer ready, Masondo thought. ‘Ms Elhasomi was in your beautiful country to meet people in the tourism industry. She wears two hats. She is a political officer at the People’s Bureau and also a tourist consultant. It was not a diplomatic mission as such; it was follow-up work for our government.’

  ‘If she wasn’t wearing a diplomatic hat, then she can’t have diplomatic immunity, Mr Albirai. You can’t have it both ways. Was she wearing any other hats? How many hats can one person wear before we start asking questions?’

  ‘What are you insinuating, Mr Masondo? I do not think I like your tone.’

  ‘I hope we don’t have reason to suspect she was involved in some sort of unsanctioned or, God forbid, illegal activity?’

  Albirai laughed. ‘We are a disciplined nation, Mr Masondo. We do not have rogue diplomats running around and undermining other countries’ sovereignty. We are South Africa’s friends. I can assure you, her business was official.’

  ‘The fellow she was travelling with, Mr Salem, was he official too?’

  Albirai’s eyes narrowed and Masondo noticed a slight twitch under his right one. ‘I am not aware of a travelling companion. Who is this Salem?’

  Masondo read the non-verbal cues clearly. Albirai honestly hadn’t known about Salem.

  ‘She arrived with him, drove around with him, slept with him, and, we suspect, she was murdered by him.’

  ‘You monitored Ms Elhasomi from when she arrived?’

  ‘Well, Mr Albirai, as you said, it wasn’t a diplomatic mission, so it must have been some other type of mission, and we wanted to know what type of mission. We were aware of some of her movements, some of the time.’

  Albirai shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He looked genuinely disappointed. ‘The icon of democracy, the best constitution in the world, and you follow our diplomats around. Shame on you, Mr Masondo.’

  ‘You’re right, shame on us. If we’d arrested Elhasomi on her arrival in South Africa, she might still be alive today. We’re aware she came into this country, with or without official sanction, to do business with a local criminal called Farouk Ali. I love this country, I fought hard for freedom, and it’s the very democracy you are referring to which I am trying to protect.’

  ‘I am shocked, Mr Masondo, and disappointed at your government’s treatment of foreign guests. I am sure our great leader will be raising the issue of good neighbourliness at the next au meeting. You have a duty to protect our nationals … No, it is more than a duty; it is an obligation.’

  Masondo leaned forward until his face was only centimetres from Albirai’s. ‘I don’t know where your indignation comes from, sir, or where you’ve parked your high horse, but I do know this – we will find Elhasomi’s murderer and we will ensure justice is done in the South African way. I will choose to ignore the fact that Elhasomi was illegally in possession of large sums of us dollars and was buying something from a known crime boss with a history of smuggling WMD material.

  ‘We need to develop an understanding here, Mr Albirai. There are many avenues of investigation I can pursue, and I could choose any one of them. I would rather focus my investigations on finding Elhasomi’s murderer than waste my investigators’ time on trying to figure out what she was doing here while she was alive.

  ‘Now, what do you want me to do, Mr Albirai? You tell me what you want me to do.’

  A housekeeper greeted Amina at the door of Ali’s home and showed her into one of the reception rooms. Amina thought briefly about Durant and Shezi’s sojourn into the house a few months previously and wondered how they’d found their way around the interior. It was a bizarre feeling being in the house of the target, a man she’d observed for so many months in his office and knew so much about, but had never met. It was hard to imagine that the pictures and sounds that were streamed to her office originated within the walls of this real house. Sometimes Amina felt her job was like a virtual-reality game. The individuals involved became unreal, playing their specific roles on specific stages. It was hard to believe that they had a life outside those roles.

  At length, large double doors opened and the housekeeper came in, carefully manoeuvring a wheelchair into the room. Amina stood up and walked across to the woman in the wheelchair and extended her hand.

  ‘As Salaam Alaikum, Mrs Ali, I’m Dr Soraya Khan.’

  The woman in the wheelchair raised her hand without looking up. ‘I am Azizya Ali. Where is my husband?’

  Amina sat down next to Mrs Ali as the housekeeper left the room.

  ‘I called you, Mrs Ali, because I’m also concerned. I don’t know if Mr Ali ever mentioned to you that he was seeing a psychologist?’

  Mrs Ali shook her head. ‘Mr Ali tells me very little. He looks after me financially, pays the medical bills for me and makes sure I have everything I need to lead a normal life. As normal as life can be in a wheelchair.’

  ‘Mrs Ali, your husband has been my patient since July and for the past two weeks he told me he was feeling depressed. When he didn’t turn up at yesterday’s consultation, I was worried and that’s why I called you.’

  ‘Well, doctor, the police were also here this morning asking where he is. They are concerned about his safety.’

  ‘Why would that be, Mrs Ali?’

  ‘Farouk is very successful in what he does. He is an astute businessman, but he has enemies. There is a lot of jealousy. He doesn’t talk to me about these things. Perhaps he talks to you?’

  ‘Yes. He once mentioned that there is a place he likes to go to when he wants to be alone, a place where he can gather his thoughts and find himself. Do you know where that place could be?’

  Mrs Ali looked up and smiled.

  ‘I might be disabled, but I am not a fool. I know I can’t give Farouk what he needs. I suspect the place he is talking about is where he would take her.’

  Amina looked puzzled. ‘Her?’

  ‘Dr Khan, Farouk’s loyalty to me ends after he has signed the cheques. I am the devoted wife who attends the functions with him and makes small talk with the wives of his business partners while he wheels and deals and smokes cigars. I’m a functional part of his business. I’m a public relations gimmick. I believe there’s a woman out there who satisfies his non-business lusts.’

  ‘I respect your honesty, Mrs Ali.’

  The woman turned her wheelchair around slowly. ‘Doctor, would you take me out into the garden?’

  The 8 a.m. meeting was postponed until nine after Amina phoned to say she was still busy with an interview. Shezi and Durant made their way to a quiet corner table at the Horizons waterfront café and ordered coffee. Amina arrived at the same time as Masondo, and joined them. Silently, briefcases were opened and notebooks and files taken out and placed on the table.

  ‘I’m encouraged,’ Durant said, ‘looking at your faces. You all look as if you bring good news.’ He smiled as he looked at Masondo, ‘Except you, chief. It looks like you’re having a hard time.’

  Masondo shook his head grimly. ‘I had the Libyan ambassador on my case the whole of yesterday. I don’t know what to do, Kevin. He complains all the time – about the crime rate, about police incompetence, about the humidity, about the dirt in the streets – and he reminds me how safe Tripoli is, how you can walk arou
nd at night in the city centre and be completely safe. The guy’s a pain.’

  Durant smiled. ‘I guess it goes with being the head. You get to hang out with important people.’

  ‘Well, I’d much rather be in the field with you lot. He’s testing me. He wants me to say something about this case, but I don’t tell him a thing. The police are investigating and making progress is all I say.’

  ‘They can’t interfere too much. They can only observe, chief. If we arrest Salem, we’re not about to hand him over to them, anyway. He’s probably under pressure from his boss to recover the money or to try and save the deal Elhasomi was busy with. I think you’re doing well to keep him at arm’s length for the moment. Hopefully he’ll get frustrated and go back to Pretoria.’

  ‘I’ve got real work to do. I’m not a diplomat.’

  ‘I hear you. Yesterday, I met a policeman for coffee and had a chat to him about some things. Inspector Bradley Heath – nice guy, arrested me for Elhasomi’s murder.’

  ‘Arrested you?’ Masondo’s voice boomed, and a couple at a nearby table looked around and glanced at them before nervously resuming their conversation. Masondo lowered his voice. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘My phone number’s on the card I gave Elhasomi. Never give your phone number to a Libyan intelligence officer. Especially one who’s going to be murdered the next day.’

  ‘Is there a reward if we turn you in?’ Shezi asked. ‘’Cos if there is, I’ll make the call.’

  ‘Very funny. Heath saw my car outside her townhouse and my fingerprints are all over the place. Even on the flippen murder weapon. It was hard to deny my involvement in the case.’

  ‘And we thought it was Salem.’ Shezi shook his head. ‘And the murderer was right here, in our midst.’

  Amina laughed. ‘Clever, Kevin. Kill the target and we all go home for New Year! Why didn’t I think of it?’

  ‘Anybody here taking me seriously?’

  ‘No,’ Masondo said, ‘but carry on, we need something to laugh about.’

  ‘I took the cop into my confidence and he’s going to help us find Salem. Unofficially, of course.’