Devil Dealing (The Ryder Quartet Book 1)

by Ian Patrick

  ‘Thanks, Nadine. I appreciate you coming back just for me.’

  ‘Pleasure, Jeremy. Call me if you want any more, OK? I’m just across the way there for the next hour. I’m meeting my gorgeous assistant for lunch up at John Dory.’

  She left and Ryder soon found himself probing into the bush at the upper end of the beach. He spent some time at it. He thought through what he had heard from Nadine.

  It had been clear to the original crime scene investigators, supported by her meticulous reconstruction, that a third party, most likely a male, had joined the two on the beach. It wasn’t possible to tell whether it had been a set-up and whether the woman had brought the guy down to be ambushed by a man, or whether the man had surprised both of them. It seemed from the reconstruction that the woman had then fled the scene in something of a hurry, and that there had been a bit of scrabbling around in the sand. When the CSIs found the weapon and Nadine had been able to re-imagine the scene, it seemed that the weapon had been lost in the struggle – right at the end of it, because the dead guy already had bullets in him – and that the perpetrator had then tried to find it in the sand, and had eventually given up on it.

  Ryder moved into a thicket of bush and paused. If he was someone sitting in a thicket of bush like this in the dark, what would he be looking at? Foliage? How do you spend time in the middle of the night sitting in a bush? What’s there to look at? The sea, surely? He moved, trying a few positions, to see whether there were any comfortable areas where there was also a view of the sea. He found three or four and tried them. Nothing. No insights there. Then he tried again, and found a perfectly-located hole in the foliage, and sat down, with his back against a tree. Nice view. Possibly even a nice view at night. He had checked the reports and had ascertained that the moon was full on Sunday from midnight. Must have been a nice view. Maybe this was where the guy had sat.

  He looked around. Nothing. Then a small piece of twisted plastic caught his attention. Beneath the bush over to his right. He reached for it. Then paused. Looked at it more closely without touching. The familiar twist. The stuff inside. The colour. Unmistakable. Nyaope. He looked further, and found a joint, smoked almost to the end, under the same bush.

  Ryder pulled out his iPhone.

  ‘Nadine? Jeremy. I need you to come back. Now. Yes. Sorry, but I’ve got something. Something with finger-marks, I’m sure. Maybe fingerprints to match those on the weapon. I’m in the bush. I’ll come out so that you can see me. Thanks, Nadine.’

  Ryder took a white tissue out of his pocket. Fiona always ensured that he carried tissues. She wouldn’t have handkerchiefs in the house. Foul things, she said. He hung the tissue on a bush, where it was prominent against the thick foliage. Time to play Hansel and Gretel, he thought, although he had no doubt about his ability to find his way back, and went to find Nadine.

  13.40.

  Koekemoer and Dippenaar got the full story from the constable who had been on duty at Addington. This Dlamini guy who had relieved him had obviously been an impostor. They had checked the CCTV cameras and picked off a couple of freezes from which they had been given hard copy photos of the guy. He seemed to know what he was doing, and had kept his eyes down and the peaked cap low over the forehead. He appeared to have had some experience with security cameras. Or with the cameras in this particular hospital, anyway. The photos might or might not be useful.

  Then they had contacted Ryder by phone, and got his agreement to help him with the follow-up action on The Grove murders. As a consequence of this the two detectives found themselves having lunch at John Dory’s, Suncoast Casino. Thursday special platter for one, seventy-nine rands each.

  As utterly delicious as the meal was, their visit was not all pleasure. They had walked around the casino, asked casual questions, probed, observed, and got to understand some of the dynamics in the place. But nothing earth-shattering. They agreed that the highlight of the day – if not the lowlight – had been the unexpected pleasure of seeing the notorious pest Major Swanepoel himself, wearing civvies, waddling by, probably on his way from the casino to the car park. They had both behaved like children, they agreed afterwards, in ducking out of sight behind their menus in case the Major saw them and came over for a chat.

  ‘Maybe he came down here to find a date for the function tonight,’ said Dippenaar. ‘There’s some lekker young things hanging around the machines in there, looking at the ou toppies hoping to get lucky. So that they can then get lucky, too.’

  The two detectives finished their meal and decided to do one more round of the slot machines. After some twenty minutes they suddenly heard a loud screaming and huge applause and bells and whistles, followed by the public announcement of another Suncoast winner. They went over and joined the crowd in gawping, with a mixture of amazement and jealousy, at the huge win claimed by a woman who must have been eighty years old.

  ‘Nice to add that to your pension pot, hey Dipps?’

  ‘Shit. You telling me, Koeks.’

  People were congratulating her, she was cackling loudly and speaking to the amused crowd around her.

  ‘Ag, you know, it’s rreally nice, but it’s not rreally for me that I’m happy. It’s my daughter, you know. I’m going to buy her a new car. To replace her terrrible Citi Golf that’s just falling apart, you know, and it’s yellow, too, you know. Yellow like sick, you know? Terrrible ugly car. She brings me here then goes off to do the shopping then fetches me, and I get too embarrrassed, you know, driving off in that horrrible ugly car.’

  The crowd chuckled, empowering her to babble on even further.

  ‘I’m also going to buy my son a lovely present, you know. Ag, shame, his wife left him so he needs a little present, you know. Ja, man, no, I’m telling you, I’ve been coming here for years but this is my first rreally big win and you know, dearrie, this here is my machine, you know, I always play it. I even wait for it to come vacant if someone else is playing here, you know. You ask this lady here, she knows me because she comes here lots, too, and she knows I stand there and I wait for my machine…’

  And then Dippenaar noticed two young men standing together, talking quietly. They stood out from the rest of the observers because their demeanour was so different. He caught the eye of his partner and indicated with a nod of the head.

  They watched the two men, unobtrusively, throughout the process of them in turn watching the management arriving, checking the machine, taking the lucky winner’s name and details, and handing her an envelope as they congratulated her.

  The watchers watched. In due course, the crowd of well-wishers having dissipated and the old woman having played down to nothing the remaining credits on her card, she made her way slowly to the cashier, where, when her turn came, she handed over her envelope and chatted away to one of the women behind the counter, received her winnings, and then made for the exit. The two young men followed. The two detectives followed them. By the time they all reached the taxi-rank it seemed to the detectives that there was a clear modus operandi in play. The old woman was in some danger.

  But it was shattered with the noisy arrival, with hooter blaring, of what was obviously the winner’s daughter, in a yellow Citi Golf on which every part seemed loose and about to fall off. Within seconds the old woman was in the car and they were tearing off noisily. The two young men cursed, made an attempt to hail a taxi, thought better of it, and retreated, highly irritated.

  The two detectives could do nothing. No crime had been committed. They were both totally convinced that the two had had the intention of following the old woman, with what purpose in mind they had no doubt. But they had been foiled by the timing of the daughter’s arrival. They could only watch as the two men walked back into the casino.

  ‘Yissus! Dipps. You thinking what I’m thinking?’

  ‘No question, Koeks. Those guys would have followed her and mugged her, no question.’

  ‘You think maybe that’s what happened to the old couple at The Grove?’

 
‘Maybe. Maybe this kind of thing should be checked out. Should we see what Jeremy thinks?’

  ‘Ja. Maybe. Maybe it’ll be worth a stake-out here to follow up on this kind of thing. Hard to track and to catch anyone in the act. But maybe we can identify someone with connections to other stuff. Let’s talk to the guys, and to the Captain, if Jeremy agrees.’

  14.20.

  Vic was livid. No Tony. No Dirk. Big deliveries scheduled for tomorrow. Followed by big dispatches on Saturday to more than a dozen customers. Massive money involved. He had run down the battery on his new iPhone in next to no time, because of the constant calls he had had to make, which Tony would normally have made. He had closed it down for a while for rapid charging, and then had to sit next to a power source making further calls while the phone continued re-charging. He was cursing all the time.

  Checking codes, confirming times and place of delivery, double-checking identities, paying the middlemen, moving money from numbered accounts to other numbered accounts. Screaming into the mouthpiece with frustration. I said cash. I mean cash. I want it in an envelope. Or a bag. Or a briefcase. Or a bloody picnic basket if you want. But if it’s not cash you don’t get the goods. We’ve been through this before, goddammit!

  Where was Dirk? Where had he got to? Was he trying to get in contact? Has Tony found him and are they both trying to get back in touch with me? Is Tony in trouble? Unlike him to disappear. He would never. He would never betray me. Accident, maybe? Where’s his car?

  He undid the top button and loosened his tie. He found it difficult to breathe. The world was closing in on him.

  He had to find Tony and Dirk.

  15.10.

  Nyawula, Ryder, Pillay, Cronje, Koekemoer and Dippenaar were crowded into the Captain’s office. Nyawula spoke as they all settled down.

  ‘Thanks, everyone. KoeksnDips had a word with me and I asked them to check things out first with Ryder. Thanks for joining us, Jeremy. How’s the head?’

  ‘Fine, thanks, Captain. I have an appointment to have the dressing changed again just after this.’

  ‘Good. Your arm OK, Sergeant Pillay?’

  ‘No problem, Captain. Just a flesh wound.’

  ‘Good. Look after it. I asked Navi to join us, everyone, because until we replace Ed I’m asking her to pick up a few things for me.’

  Ryder and Pillay exchanged the briefest of glances, not picked up by anyone else, while the Captain continued.

  ‘I understand you’re all on the same page with this thing at the casino?’

  They all mumbled affirmations, which gave him the indication to continue.

  ‘It’s a really difficult thing to set up a surveillance operation with something like this, as K and D suggest. We could spend days waiting for the right winner on the slot machines to be picked out by the right muggers looking out for them, and then to actually catch them in the act. To be frank, I don’t think we can do it. We don’t have the person-power.’

  Resigned acknowledgements all round.

  ‘The best we could manage – if we were to even try this – is to get to the guys at the top in Suncoast and ask them if we can look at their list of significant cash winners over the last couple of months, then try and match those with any people in the city area who might have reported a mugging or burglary, and if we get any matches there then we could go back to Suncoast and ask them if we can look at the CCTV footage of those particular winners. To see what we can identify in the crowd at the time. Jeremy had some luck earlier today with the CCTV cameras down there, in the case of the British tourist. But to use them to track cases where we suspect that people are watching players, and then try to use that as evidence to pin something specific on people who we suspect might be thinking of mugging someone, seems like a long shot to me, with not much chance of success. Even if we got through the first couple of steps, to then try and trace the guys in the crowd and then pin a mugging on them seems to me to be a bit of a pipe dream. Agreed?’

  There was general assent, and despondency to go with it.

  ‘I’m not even sure we would get the cooperation of the senior management, to tell you the truth. As helpful as they were to Jeremy, that was only because of the publicity surrounding the murder of a British tourist, and the possible impact on tourism, and how it might hit their own business. But in cases where we think there are possibly going to be a few suspicious characters planning a mugging, well, I don’t think so. I can’t see Suncoast management being very helpful to us.’

  ‘We would have to call on our own top connections,’ Koekemoer threw in.

  ‘Ja!’ sniggered Dippenaar, ‘maybe the Major can connect us.’

  The Captain looked at Dippenaar.

  ‘Sorry, Captain. Just a bad joke.’

  The others all looked at Dippenaar, confused. Such peer pressure, without which he might have simply held his tongue, forced an explanation from him.

  ‘I mean, sorry, Captain, it’s just that Koeks and I saw the Major down there at lunchtime, and so we just joked a bit about it.’

  ‘The Major in the casino? In uniform?’ asked Nyawula.

  ‘No, Captain,’ said Koekemoer. ‘He was in civvies. Day off, I suppose.’

  They all chuckled.

  ‘So how did you… You know the Major, all of you?’

  ‘Yes, Captain,’ said Dippenaar. ‘We knew him in the old days, before you came. Before he moved on to greater things. He also came into the office a month ago to see you, and Piet. That time about the Customs bust, and the trouble at the Deputy Port Captain’s Office in Point Road. We were all here then.’

  ‘Not me,’ said Ryder. I’ve never met the Major.

  ‘Nor me,’ said Pillay.

  Nyawula thought for a moment, nodded, and continued.

  ‘I’m sure if Ryder and Pillay stick with the unit the two of them will have the pleasure one day.’

  Smirks all around as Nyawula continued.

  ‘Anyway, I think we have to accept facts that the idea of a stakeout at the casino is not going to happen. I know that the chances are that that’s what happened to the old woman at The Grove. We know she had a couple of big wins on the slot machines before she was attacked. But it’s a long stretch to prove this through a stakeout, and even harder to prove a connection between the guys that Ryder and Trewhella put down on the wharf and any handlers they might have had at the casino. The case of the British tourist seems different. He went straight from the casino to the beach, loaded with money and on the arm of a prostitute. Stupid move. So, all I can suggest, people, is that we keep our ears to the ground for any possible connections that might come up with the casino scene. If anything develops we can have another look. But for now, let’s concentrate on the things we have in front of us. And Sergeant Cronje and I have tonight’s function in front of us, so unless there’s anything else, Piet and I will get on to that.’

  There was a general babble of sound as they parted, some nudging of Dippenaar along with sniggers, and they all left the office for their next tasks.

  Nyawula and Cronje pulled up chairs around the seating plan for the function. Now began the enormous task of ensuring that last-minute changes to who was sitting next to who did not end up in turf wars between Durban North and KwaMashu or Hillcrest and Isipingo.

  ‘Have you arranged lots of coffee for us this afternoon, Piet?’

  ‘You can bet on it, Captain.’

  16.20.

  Ryder felt the dressing they had replaced on his head wound. The nurse had not even bothered to clean it up, because Fiona’s work had already done the job. So she just changed the Elastoplast and pronounced it fine.

  He was still deeply troubled. Had been all day. He had been trying to work out what it was that had worked its way into the back of his brain shortly after yesterday’s action, still somewhat cloudy from the moment that Tony creep had dropped him with the club. What was it that his brain couldn’t process? Something important. It had been nagging him ever since. But he hadn’t been
able to recall it.

  A major incident involving yet another xenophobic attack on foreign hawkers, and bringing out the riot police, had forced him to take a wide detour of the central business district. Now, at a standstill, caught in an unrelated traffic jam, he looked at another group of hawkers from the Warwick Junction market packing up for the day. Most of them doubtless disappointed with the day’s takings and many thinking that they should have packed up with the others some time ago instead of hanging on in hope for something that would boost the day’s takings.

  His car edged forward a few feet. Shouts mingled with angry hoots from vehicles all around.

  He stared vacantly at the devastating poverty of children earning a few coins by washing windscreens without first enquiring and then begging for payment from drivers staring resolutely ahead and ignoring them, windows firmly closed. Pavements meant nothing. Nor did stop signs or traffic lights. The cars edged their way through the mass of people with a combination of hooter and footbrake and cursing.

  He eventually emerged from the cacophony into the relative peace of the Greyville Park area where the rough sleepers were already converging. It was too soon for most of them. These were the early arrivals. Once the sun had set the park would be illuminated by the many fires of homeless people gathering for the night next to the racecourse, home to the annual fashion extravaganza. The early rough sleepers were choosing their patches for the night. Some with large packs on their shoulders. Others with nothing but what was in their pockets. Others, as they gathered together, already making use of the tubes of glue or plastic bottles of meths.

  Something wasn’t hanging together, thought Ryder. There was a gap. They had overlooked something. What was it? His mind raced back over the scene with Tony. The agony of the blow to his skull. His confusion. The taste and the smell of paraffin. Why was that constantly coming back to him? What was it? The paraffin...