by Ian Patrick
Pillay went into the tavern to speak to the cleaning staff.
10.30.
Ryder and Trewhella sat in Nino’s in the Old Mutual Centre, the debris of the latter’s Piccolo breakfast in front of him, a pen and notepad in front of Ryder, and both of them nursing a drink. Trewhella a cup of tea and Ryder a mug of coffee.
‘You gonna die of cholesterol, Ed.’
‘At least I’ll have used my taste-buds to their max. You’re gonna die of caffeine.’
‘At least I’ll be awake when it happens.’
They both slurped at their drinks.
‘Navi’s gotta get promotion, soon, I reckon.’
‘No doubt. She’s very focused,’ said Ryder.
‘Focused? Focused? Listen, buddy, I don’t care what focus she has. What I mean is that in a scrap I’d be happy to have her watching my back. She’s got balls. She’s as tough as nails. I observed one of her kickboxing classes with the new recruits. They crapped themselves. After a while no volunteers stepped forward to help her with her demonstrations.’
‘So I heard. I also hear she gets the top marks from recruits when they assess their induction trainers at the end of the week.’
‘Probably shit scared that she’ll come looking for them if they give her a bad mark, and shit scared that she’ll catch them easily, too. Apparently she can do the hundred metres in about eleven seconds.’
‘No kidding. I heard that too.’
They mused in silence for a moment. Then Trewhella continued.
‘Seriously, though, Navi is one of the guys one can trust not to go rotten. That stuff in Cato Manor, with the OCU guys and all that twisted media exposure, was frightening, man. For a time there no-one knew who were the good guys and who were the bad ones. It bugs me every time I see some new so-called scoop on corruption among cops. First reaction is to say wow! amazing! well at least they nailed some of the bad guys. Then you hear the other side of the story and it’s just the opposite.’
‘Yup. Then you find out who was bribing who, and who didn’t have political connections, and the rest of it.’
‘Drives me up the wall, man. You just don’t know who your real friends are! Good cops being paraded as scum by journalists looking to establish their careers. Bad cops operating under the radar and never getting the publicity. I hope I never have to go through that. I crapped myself yesterday when Nyawula got the news that that prick in Addington had died. I really thought I was in for an IPID interrogation.’
‘Which reminds me, Ed. Piet tells me you and I will have our IPID forms to do on the guys at Wilson’s Wharf.’
‘More admin crap. You face these creeps with guns and they can take you out and there are funeral notices and flowers and tears for a couple of days, then it all fades away. Cops and autumn leaves blowing away into history. But a cop takes one of them out and we have forms and enquiries and court cases for months on end, and journalists asking why did the cops have to shoot them. How long was that Cato Manor guy suspended before they threw out all charges against him?’
‘Two years, I think.’
‘That’s what I mean, man...’
‘OK, Ed. Look, yeah, I agree, and all. No question. It’s a big problem. But I think with guys like Nyawula we have a chance of getting on top of this.’
‘Yeah. He’s one of the good guys, for sure. When I started in Joburg I was a bit horrified at what the guys got up to. There were some amazing cops up there who were as sharp as anything I saw in the UK. But there were also some really shady guys, too. Like some cops I knew in the UK. Have to admit, the Captain is a breath of fresh air. Young and smart, and razor-sharp.’
‘Sure is. You know, I have a friend who was his tutor in college.’
‘Get away.’
‘No, serious. He told me that Nyawula was the top student all the way through. Apparently wrote a thesis or research report for one of his assignments that this tutor marked at one hundred per cent. Which he had never done in his career before, he told me.’
‘Really? How do you get a hundred per cent for an essay? I thought that was reserved for God.’
‘Apparently it was a thesis on the management of policing in the country.’
‘Exciting stuff. I’d rather watch England play one-day cricket. Not for me, buddy.’
‘No, I’m sure not. Anyway, this tutor said it showed amazing insights into the history. Stuff that he had never even begun to think about. He said what was really refreshing about it was that it never lapsed into the old lame arguments about apartheid-era versus new era policing, you know? My buddy said that reading Nyawula’s writing was like reading a true detective at work.’
‘How’s that?’
‘I remember the phrase he used. He said most dissertations and research reports he had ever read did the normal thing. Stated a hypothesis and then set out to prove it. In other words, most of his students set out to prove something they had already decided on. That’s a bit simplistic, but...’
‘So how was Nyawula different, then?’
‘Well, according to this guy, Nyawula did something else. Instead of setting out to find what he was looking for, he set out to search for what he might find. He thought that made Nyawula quite special.’
‘You got me, buddy. What does all that academic crap mean?’
‘Well, he saw Nyawula as a genuine sleuth. Like a forensics guy, he said. Nyawula would follow the evidence wherever it took him. Didn’t make hasty judgements. So in this history thing that he wrote, he apparently worked his way like a true detective through the key features of policing systems pre- and post-94, and made an eloquent case for the future management of crime investigation.’
‘Hmmm. An eloquent voice in the midst of chaos and re-structuring and knee-jerk changes and promotions and demotions and suspensions, and with political interference all the way. Not hard to be a sane voice in the midst of all that crap.’
‘Maybe. But there’s no question that Nyawula is a guy one can take seriously. Meanwhile there are other fat-cats from the past who are still part of the old system and they still manage not only to cling on and survive, but actually prosper.’
‘That’s for sure. Some of the top brass I’ve met are like museum exhibits. Bet we see lots of them on Thursday night at the Stadium.’
‘Yeah. Well, Ed, maybe one day Nyawula will be National Commissioner. We can only hope.’
‘If he survives. There are big bad guys out there with big bad money. Very tempting.’
‘Not to you, I hope?’
‘Not to me, matey. The only temptations I have in my life all wear skirts.’
‘That much, Ed, I already know. Fiona and I have been looking around for counsellors for you.’
‘That’s great, buddy. As long as the counsellors wear skirts, I’m OK with that.’
‘Let’s go.’
‘OK. Let’s go and look for what we might find.’
11.30.
Dirk was shaken to the core. Ashen-faced. They stood next to his Mazda, outside the Spar, Dirk still clutching the two bags laden with goods he had bought. Tony removed his hand from the younger man’s shoulder, took the bags from him and put them in the car as he spoke.
‘Take it easy, Dirk. Vic thinks it must have been Thabethe. But that makes it even more important that we wipe out that bastard before he causes any more trouble for us.’
‘Jeez, Tony. I think I was right there, man. Just after it happened. Just down the street, man. I saw the commotion at the end of the street and thought: cops, better stay clear. So I went back to Nomivi’s to see what I could find. Shit, man. Maybe I could have saved Jannie. Maybe I could have got the guy. How does Vic know who did it? Did he ...’
‘No good thinking about that now, Dirk. What I said earlier still applies. We still need to track Thabethe but it’s now even more important to get rid of anything that can connect him with Jannie. Clean the place from top to bottom. We want nothing left there that leads back to us. Vic wants you over there
right now. Do it, Dirk. Don’t leave anything that gives them a trail back to us. You get it, Dirk?’
‘Yes, Tony. Yes, man. I got it. Jeez, man, what am I going to tell Jannie’s mom? She’s not going to handle this, man.’
‘That comes later, Dirk. You’ll sort something out there, and Vic will arrange some money for her. Big money. From the big deals coming in right now. But for now, we want Montpelier Road cleaned out. I’ll be across later. I have to get on to something for Vic, and I’ll also let you know when we have the new place ready. Vic wants it somewhere in the vicinity. He’s looking at that Argyle Road house, remember, the one that we saw?’
‘Yes, Tony, I remember. I found it first, you remember? Vic liked it.’
‘That’s the one. Vic wants to go for it now. The Overport place is also getting a bit too hot, so we’ll be pulling out of both there and Montpelier. We’ll let you know when we set up in the new place, then we’ll move everything there. OK. Get going, Dirk. Don’t worry, man, we’ll get Thabethe.’
Tony watched as Dirk collapsed in the car behind the wheel. As he crashed the gears and took off, Tony thought that Jannie’s passing was probably the best thing that could have happened. If Thabethe had done Jannie, in a way it was a relief. He didn’t think that Dirk would have been able to handle Vic’s own plans for freckle-face, and maybe the killing of Jannie would spur Dirk on to nail Thabethe.
Tony watched the Mazda turn the corner, thought for a moment, then walked toward his own car.
12.10.
Pillay was on the line to Ryder.
‘The women in Nomivi’s told me that freckle-face was well known in the area. Used to meet some interesting locals there. And get this. He used to be a buddy of someone we once knew.’
‘Thabethe!’
‘Got it in one. But even more important than that.’
‘What?’
‘Freckles met Thabethe there early this morning. As the cleaners opened, they were there.’
‘Jeez! And what went down?’
‘They couldn’t - or wouldn’t - say. Normal evasive stuff. They never pay attention to the customers, and stuff like that. I get the feeling they’re scared of someone in charge, or someone who hangs out around there. They kept on looking over their shoulders, as if someone might come along and see them talking to me, you know? But anyway, listen, I’ve got something else, Jeremy.’
‘Yeah? What?’
‘Just as you and Ed pulled off, some creep arrived in a battered old Mazda. White guy, fat, mid-twenties, looking very much as if he was hoping to find someone hanging around Nomivi’s. Strange time of the morning to do that, wouldn’t you say? The place is supposed to be for night-birds, not breakfast. He was kerb-crawling past the place like there was a 10 miles an hour speed limit. Then, as soon as he saw forensics and blue lights up the road he turned around suddenly and came back. But he stopped and then went inside to talk to the cleaning women. He didn’t see me, but I watched the creep every step of the way. He was definitely up to some shit.’
‘What’d he tell the staff?’
‘Like I said. They wouldn’t tell. Told me some rubbish like he was just looking for his friend. But they did tell me they had seen him before, in there. They thought he might have been around a couple of times about a year ago.’
‘Another friend of Thabethe’s.’
‘Maybe. Anyway, Jeremy, I’ve traced the Mazda and I have an address for Mr kerb-crawler. Do I need to wait for backup? I’d like to chase this right away. I’ve got a feeling we can get to Thabethe with this guy.’
‘Captain will give you a hard time if you try it on your own. Where is it? Ed and I can meet you there.’
‘I’m sitting just up from his place right now. He’s in. I’ve just seen him walk in with two heavy bags from the Spar. I’m parked opposite 276 Montpelier Road. The guy is in a ground-floor flat twenty paces away from me.’
‘We’ll be there in fifteen.’
‘Can I at least start asking a few questions about his car, roadworthy certificate, and stuff like that? See if he gives anything away?’
‘OK. Captain won’t be happy, but go ahead. We’ll try and get there in ten. We’ll come in two cars. I have to get to a meeting with K and D afterwards.’
Ryder hung up. Pillay crossed the road.
Within minutes she was sitting inside on the tall bar-stool, her notepad on the counter, looking around the apartment while she waited. She had watched carefully for any give-away signals as Dirk opened the door. But he had given away nothing. Having declined coffee from him, she waited for him to return from the bedroom behind her with his ID documents and roadworthy papers. He had told her without hesitation that there must be some mistake because he had a copy of the certificate and the other papers for his car that he would gladly show her.
How would she move the conversation from the vehicle to Nomivi’s? Should she wait for Ryder and Trewhella? Should she get into anything deeper before she had back-up? The questions were answered for her as he came out of the bedroom.
Pillay was taken completely by surprise. Dirk’s right arm snaked around her neck, and for a second she didn’t react. But all the training that had put her at the top of her martial arts team kicked in after that second, as did her long experience as an instructor in the female kick-boxing section. The SAPS Kwazulu Natal team’s top medals haul at the 2013 Martial Arts Championships had been in large measure due to her work as both competitor and instructor, and ever since then she had been revered as an exponent of the art.
Instead of trying to twist out of his stranglehold, the movement he was expecting from her, she used both thumbs on his elbow, which Dirk had positioned conveniently for her just under her chin, along with that elbow’s exposed ulnar nerve. The ulnar is the largest nerve in the human body unprotected by muscle and bone. Pillay’s two thumbs jabbed savagely, simultaneously, into the medial epicondyle and produced a high-pitched atavistic scream of pain from Dirk, with an instant paralysis of his arm.
As he froze in searing agony Pillay spun from his grip anti-clockwise, knocking over the barstool, then she corrected for an instant and stepped backward onto her left foot to shift her weight in preparation for the massive blow from her right boot. She aimed at a spot two inches above his left knee, kicking downward and following through with her full weight, in effect stomping on the lower thigh.
The blow locked his knee backward for a moment before she followed through with her full weight, giving him what she frequently described to her martial arts students as the cartilage treatment, producing massive simultaneous medial and lateral crushing of the meniscus. She stepped immediately to her right to collect her weight and complete the damage, this time preparing for a kick to the same knee, thinking for a second about the words she had used to her students to accompany the diagram she always put on the board for this particular lesson: to tear the medial collateral ligament and to rupture the posterior cruciate ligament with an ugly and unpleasant popping sound, and produce instant patellar dislocation. With such a blow Dirk would be in a wheelchair for a very long time if he survived any further action from Pillay, and if he survived to old age the pain from his crippled leg would bring her face daily into his thoughts for the next half-century.
For now, however, Dirk was spared the second kick, because he had collapsed instantly from the first blow, and lay screaming and helpless at her feet.
Pillay rolled him over onto his front and cuffed him behind, brutally, producing more agonised screams. Then she searched him quickly for weapons and within seconds had removed his Desert Eagle. Six-inch barrel. Titanium gold. This guy’s for real, thought Pillay, as she tucked the weapon into her belt and continued the search.
Next came a wallet with no more than a hundred rands, a couple of bank cards, receipts, a Suncoast Casino gold card, a Chinese Skull Knuckle Duster. Then a seven-inch dagger, blade about three inches, double edged and very sharp. With the handle in black Micarta. Polished.
Pillay
paused, contemplated for a moment, and stood up. Then she put the weapons on the counter and rolled him over again.
‘Let’s talk,’ Pillay said. ‘You and me.’
13.05.
Ryder and Trewhella sat at the bar-counter. Pillay chose not to use the third bar-stool, which had survived the fracas with no more damage than a split in one of its four pine legs. She stood leaning against the wall. Before them on the counter lay Dirk’s Desert Eagle, the dagger, the knuckle-duster, cash and bank cards, the casino card, and receipts. Dirk lay groaning in agony in the corner where she had dragged him. Their comments were entirely for his benefit.
‘He told me he doesn’t know freckle-face. Strange that they have exactly the same supplier in daggers and knuckle-dusters. Don’t you think, Ed?’
‘Very strange, Navi. I knew a feller once. Chinese guy. Supplied lovely knuckle-dusters from Shenzhen. Just like this, and would you believe it, exactly like the one we found this morning on Freckles. I knew another feller once. Not Chinese. Had a lovely line in seven-inch daggers with double-edge blades and black Micarta handles. Just like this, and would you believe it, just like the one we found this morning on Freckles. I knew another feller once, also not Chinese… hey, does this guy have any coffee? Hey fatso? Got any coffee?’
‘Fok jou! Engelse…’
Trewhella moved quickly and positioned his foot above Dirk’s shattered knee. Before either Ryder or Pillay could stop him, he thrust down without actually making contact and Dirk screamed:
‘OK! OK! Stop, man! I know him! I know him!’
Pillay and Ryder stopped dead in their tracks and left it to Trewhella.
‘Yes? You know him now, do you? What’s your connection to Freckles? You work with him? Who pays you?’
Within minutes Dirk had spilled his guts: Jannie, his connection to Thabethe, the stolen Vektor Z88s. Thabethe had also supplied the knives and the knuckle-dusters. Last year. No, he said in reply to Pillay’s question, not his gun. That was his own, the Desert Eagle, from someone else. Yes, it was an impressive weapon. He had liked the look of it. Titanium gold. Bought from a friend a few years ago. No, he wasn’t in touch with the friend any longer. He dared not mention Tony, who had warned him with icy seriousness that no trail involving the weapons should ever go back to him. Under any circumstances. Ever.
