Devil Dealing (The Ryder Quartet Book 1)

by Ian Patrick

  She knew that this was tough for him in every way. She would do her best to help him out in those awkward moments at which she was so good. As someone walked up to him with a Jeremy! So good to see you! and with Jeremy’s face clearly demonstrating that he had no idea who this was, she would quickly intervene with Hullo, I’m Fiona Ryder! From which Jeremy would usually pick up an appropriate reply with the person’s name. In the case of some self-centred idiots, of course, they would simply reply Hello, Fiona, it’s so nice to meet you, and offer no name. In which case Fiona would exasperatedly have to add Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t catch your name, before she could then leave it to Jeremy to continue.

  What is it with some of these creeps? she would say, when they got home at the end of an evening.

  Ryder felt extremely uncomfortable in the jacket and tie, as they entered the main reception area. Fiona had tried to persuade him to get dressed in the formal navy blue suit and the new maroon tie that she had bought for him a few weeks previously, but that was a bridge too far. If he was going to be forced into a tie at all, then the subdued charcoal and navy check jacket along with the plain navy blue tie that he had had for twenty years was the most he was prepared to suffer in the Durban humidity. The jacket was of a lighter and softer fabric than any lounge suit could boast. Her attempts to get some colour into his outfit had failed dismally.

  She had enough formal wear to cover for both of them, anyway. He told her she looked utterly stunning, and she did, in the black Sugarhill Boutique draped maxi dress with shirred waist and red ribbon trim to the sleeves, worn with simple but stylish black strappy sandals set against the elegant Jasper Conran clutch bag. He noticed the heads turning as they walked into the hall, and they certainly weren’t turning for him.

  Nyawula differed from Ryder in his approach to formal dress occasions. Ryder had never seen the Captain in evening dress, and he had to admit the guy looked impressively smooth and elegant in a simple no-nonsense dark navy pin-stripe two-button suit and dark maroon tie. He caught Ryder’s eye as they entered, just as Fiona was touched on the shoulder by Dippenaar’s wife and whisked away to meet someone that she had just been dying for ages to introduce to Fiona.

  Abandoned by his wife, Ryder walked across to Nyawula, who had beckoned him over. He was talking to a very, very fat and very, very short man, wearing a charcoal grey Brunello Cucinelli wool, cashmere and silk-blend tuxedo with black satin lapels and stripe trim trousers. He still had his back to Ryder as Nyawula said, formally:

  ‘Detective Ryder, I don’t think you’ve met Major Swanepoel.’

  The Major swivelled one hundred and eighty degrees on his Italian Tod’s Gommino Driving Shoes with their one hundred and thirty-three rubber pebbles embedded on each sole, and put out his hand to Ryder.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Major Swanepoel,’ said the detective.

  The reply seemed to Ryder to emanate deep down on a column of air thrust upwards by a diaphragm struggling against the huge mass of weight. It rasped over tortured vocal chords and emerged as a hoarse half-whisper.

  ‘Let’s not be formal this evening, Detective Ryder. When I’m off duty, all my friends call me Vic.’

  FRIDAY

  05.20.

  Ryder sat with Fiona at the kitchen table, each with a mug of coffee before them. He was dressed in the familiar black denims and khaki shirt under the dark-brown leather jacket. She wrapped up what she had been saying about the night before, and the difficulty she had had dealing with both of Ed’s ex-wives.

  ‘Anyway, I hope the two of them can put aside their differences at the funeral. It would be just too much if there was that bit of tension added to the pot. It’s going to be difficult enough for everyone.’

  ‘Sure will be.’

  ‘You feel OK about your speech?’

  ‘I’ll be OK. Still a couple of days. Whole weekend to think about it.’

  They both stared, silently, for a moment, into their mugs. Then she placed a hand on his.

  ‘You seemed really quiet last night.’

  ‘Really? I was OK. How do you mean? I had a good discussion over drinks with K and D, and then with Navi, and Nyawula also told me…’

  ‘I meant when we got home.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, and in the car, too.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry. Just tired, I suppose. Tough week. Losing Ed.’

  ‘Jeremy.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Talk to me.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Jeremy. Talk to me.’

  He paused. Looked at her. Thought again how extraordinarily beautiful she was without any make-up, sitting in her ancient dressing-gown. One that she had been wearing ever since they had got married. And he thought how extraordinarily beautiful she had been last night, too, with just a touch of make-up and dressed in formal black.

  ‘Yeah. Sorry. I was just thinking.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘That Major guy, I suppose.’

  ‘Swanepoel?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Creep.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I thought there was some minimum height requirement to join the police.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘I’ve never seen an adult so short. One that wasn’t an actual dwarf, that is. He’d be taller lying on his side. What a slimeball. Couldn’t take his eyes off my boobs when I came over to you.’

  ‘Well, can’t blame him, I suppose. They were at his eye level.’

  ‘He has little piggy eyes.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘And probably a little piggy brain. What exactly were you thinking about him?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said you were distracted a moment ago because you were thinking about him.’

  ‘Oh. Yes. I don’t know. Just something about him. I don’t know.’

  She thought for a moment, cradled her coffee in her hands, and nodded.

  ‘Yes. I must admit I was surprised at him talking so freely about you and Navi.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You told me on Wednesday night that the formal announcement – about you and Navi teaming up – would only be made by Nyawula on Monday, at Ed’s funeral. But Swanepoel was gushing to me about how they were sure that Pillay and you would make a good team. He certainly babbles on about things, doesn’t he?’

  She got up, reached across for his cup and took the breakfast dishes across to the sink. Ryder stared at her. As she turned on the hot water, she looked back at him. Then she stopped as she registered his stare.

  ‘What’s wrong? Jeremy?’

  His eyes remained fixed on her.

  ‘Jeremy?’

  He got up, went across to her, and pecked her on the cheek.

  ‘Sorry. Just thinking of something I have to pick up with Navi today. Gotta go. Love you.’

  ‘Take care. Love you.’

  And Ryder was gone.

  06.15.

  Dirk was shocked into consciousness by the iPhone blaring out somewhere in the car. Where was he? As he lurched upward, pain shot through his leg. He struggled to sit upright, suddenly remembering where he was. The windscreen was misted over, as were the side windows, condensation running off all of them. Where was the phone? Whose phone was it? He stretched and squirmed right and left. The sound was coming from below. Under the driver’s seat. He reached down, felt, and retrieved it. As he looked at the screen he realised that the phone must have slid from Thabethe’s pocket the night before, when they had got out of the car in the forecourt.

  The screen was illuminated with the caller ID: Unknown. He pressed the accept icon and answered:

  ‘Hullo?’

  He paused and repeated:

  ‘Hullo? Hullo?’

  ‘Dirk?’ came the shocked reply. The rasping throaty voice was unmistakable.

  ‘Jesus. Vic? Is that you, Vic?’

  ‘Where the hell is Tony, Dirk?’

  ‘Vic? Jesus, Vic, Tony? I dunno. I’m in trouble,
Vic. The cops got me and I escaped, but I’m in trouble Vic, man...’

  ‘Shut up, Dirk and let me talk. I heard you escaped from the hospital.’

  ‘Ja, Vic but it wasn’t as simple as that…’

  ‘Shuddup, Dirk! Listen to me. You don’t know where Tony is?’

  ‘No, Vic. I been looking for him. I need him bad, Vic. I got trouble.’

  ‘Listen to me, Dirk. Listen, dammit. Where are you now?’

  ‘I’m in a car, Vic, round the corner from Overport. I got into trouble last night and I slept in the car. I’m in the car now. I didn’t know there was this phone in the car. I don’t know whose phone it is...’

  ‘It’s Tony’s phone, Dirk.’

  ‘Tony’s?’

  ‘It’s Tony’s phone. I just called Tony’s number on my new phone. How did you get hold of Tony’s phone? Did you call me on Wednesday night? Who had this phone on Wednesday night?’

  ‘Shit, Vic. This black guy. He must have had it. He kidnapped me from hospital early yesterday. He held me in the bush all day yesterday and then he took me to Overport last night, then I escaped from him. Took his car, but didn’t know about the phone until now when you called.’

  ‘What the hell did you take him to Overport for?’

  ‘No Vic, not me. I didn’t take him, Vic. He took me. I didn’t take him there, Vic, I promise. He knew the place. He had been there before. He took me there, Vic. I swear, Vic. I would never...’

  ‘Who is he? Do you know him?’

  ‘Yes, Vic. I met him once before. With Jannie. He has these eyes...’

  ‘The guy who sold guns to Jannie! What’s his name? I forget his...’

  ‘That’s the one, Vic. A bad guy, Vic. He’s a really bad guy, Vic. I think he killed Jannie...’

  ‘Listen to me, Dirk. I need a man, now, to help me with some things.’

  ‘Vic, I got to tell you, I’m sorry, Vic, I got my knee messed up. I can hardly walk, Vic. Can only just about drive.’

  ‘Listen to me, Dirk, goddammit. I need you. Now. I need you to get over to… remember the Argyle Road house you checked out for me in the beginning? We went for that house and we finally got it. We’ve started operating there. But we don’t have the stuff yet. I can’t find Tony so I need you, Dirk. I need you to get over there.’

  ‘Vic, I can get over there. But I don’t know what I can do to help. I’m like a cripple, Vic. I can’t walk. I got to get some help.’

  ‘I only need you to be there, Dirk. There will be no action. I need someone there this morning at exactly 11.00 am, Dirk. Then again in the afternoon, a couple more times. Big trucks arriving. I need someone to be there for the deliveries, and to hand over some papers, and to sign for the stuff. It can’t be me that signs, Dirk. I can’t find Tony so it has got to be you, and you have to let them bring the stuff into the house. I’ll leave a key to the gate and a key to the front door, both of them on top of the right rear wheel – listen to me Dirk – I’ll put the keys on top of the right rear wheel of a White Ford Escort Mark 2 Van, that I’ll leave outside the house, somewhere in Tenth Avenue. Depends where I find parking at that time of day. Look for the van. You got me, Dirk? 11.00 am!’

  ‘I got you, Vic.’

  ‘Tell me what you heard, Dirk. Repeat it to me.’

  ‘11.00 am. Keys on top of the right back wheel. White Ford Escort van. I’ll be there. You can count on me, Vic. I’ll lie low for a couple of hours and then drive over.’

  ‘You say you got the black guy’s car? You better dump that once you get to the Argyle house. Some distance away from the house, Dirk. We don’t want snooping around his car. The bunch of keys on top of the Escort’s wheel will include the keys to the van itself, as well as the garage and side door leading to the back of the house. Once you have the keys, and after the delivery, you can use the van for yourself. There’s no trace back to us.’

  ‘OK, Vic. Thanks, Vic.’

  ‘After the delivery stay low for a bit until I reach you on this number. You OK?’

  ‘Yes, Vic. You can count on me.’

  ‘I’ll remember this, Dirk. We can look after you, you know?’

  ‘Yes, Vic. I know that.’

  ‘We can talk later, Dirk. Got a pen or pencil or something? I want you to write down a cell-phone number.’

  Dirk searched through the cubbyhole and found nothing, cursed, looked in the storage space in the side of the driver’s door, found nothing, cursed again, then in the equivalent space in the passenger’s door he found the stub of a pencil.

  ‘I got a pencil, Vic. Shoot.’

  Vic called out the number and Dirk scribbled it down on the box of anti-inflammatories, the only place where he could find a white space big enough on which to write.

  ‘Call me on this number when the delivery is in the house, Dirk.’

  ‘Will do, Vic. I’ll be there at 11.00 am.’

  ‘Don’t let me down, Dirk.’

  And Vic was gone. Dirk breathed a little more easily. Maybe there was going to be a way out of this after all. Vic would look after him. Where the hell is Tony? He opened the driver’s window and let in some fresh air. Turned on the wipers to clean the windscreen. Then reached into the bag for the rag that Thabethe had used to gag him. His mind raced as he wiped the rag back and forth over the moisture that had collected on the inside of the windscreen. Why did he save this rag and the rope and just kick my pyjamas and dressing gown under the bush out there? The bastard was planning some more bad stuff for me! He shook his head to clear the cobwebs.

  He keyed into the phone the number he had written down, hit the button to dial then killed it immediately so that it wouldn’t connect. Needing now only to press once for the redial next time, he put the phone in his pocket and then paused a moment while trying to work out the geography. Overport to Argyle. Argyle Road was no longer Argyle Road. He knew that. It was now Sandile Thusi, whoever the hell that was. Then he returned the driver’s seat to its normal position, turned the key in the ignition, and let the engine run while he thought through what he was going to do until about 10.00 am, when he would have to start making his way over to the Argyle Road house. There was one major thing he had to do. He had to get the hinges on the knee brace re-set by someone who knew what he was doing. He couldn’t survive the day in this condition without some support for his leg, and he knew the place in Westville that would help him. He could already picture the conversation. Playing rugby again at your age, Dirk? This is the second time in two years the guy at Propaedic would help him with a knee-brace. He would arrive, say it was an emergency, and pay cash. Like last time, when Tony had advised him. This time he was on his own.

  Where the hell is Tony?

  06.55.

  Pillay and Ryder sat in his car outside the station. Ryder thumped the steering wheel with his right hand.

  ‘I couldn’t put my finger on what it was about the bastard that was bothering me. I thought it was just that I couldn’t get Ed out of my head, and that I was just distracted all the time he was talking to me, but I should have listened more carefully to what he was saying. I suppose I also couldn’t get my head away from how gross he looks. Fiona took an instant dislike to the creep. She picked up the contradiction immediately, last night, but only mentioned it to me this morning. If Nyawula was so determined to keep things quiet about you and me until he could make a formal announcement at Ed’s funeral on Monday, she said, why was it that Swanepoel was shooting off his big mouth about it last night?’

  ‘Was he talking openly? About you and me?’

  ‘Yes, dammit. He told Fiona that he thought you and I would make a good team. Fiona only mentioned it this morning.’

  ‘Was there anyone else within hearing?’

  ‘Fiona wasn’t sure, but she got the sense that he had no problem at all in just talking freely about it.’

  ‘Do you think he’s the one who...’

  ‘He must be, Navi. He’s the one who’s been giving Nyawula problems, too, with all sorts
of things over the last couple of months. Remember the constant complaints we picked up from those random comments made by Nyawula? And by Piet? Swanepoel’s constant interference, always asking for reports, wanting information, getting his fingers into nitty gritty that shouldn’t concern him. Drove Nyawula up the wall.’

  ‘Time to see Nyawula?’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe we need to tighten our facts a little before we go making accusations.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘Let’s try and find whether Swanepoel’s hassling of Nyawula had any particular themes. Was he hassling on petty administrative details because he just wanted to be on the black Captain’s back? Or does he have some other agenda? Let’s go and see Piet. No-one knows the Captain’s thinking as well as Piet.’

  ‘OK. Good idea.’

  ‘Piet’s inside right now. Poor bastard. He was saying last night that he’ll be up to his ears in it from first thing this morning, because he has to account for a lot of the follow-up from the function. Let’s go.’

  They left the Camry and strode over to the front door of the station. Before they could mount the stairs, Cronje opened the door, mug of coffee in one hand and a cigarette between his lips.

  ‘Talk of the devil,’ said Ryder.

  ‘What’s that, Jeremy?’

  ‘Nothing Piet, we were coming in to talk to you. Got a minute?’

  ‘Ja! Definitely! Anything to take me away from the stuff I got to do for the Captain. Follow-up from last night...’

  ‘We need to ask you a couple of things that might sound strange. Hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘No problem, Jeremy. Shit, you guys look worried.’ They walked back into the parking area and stood next to the Camry.