Devil Dealing (The Ryder Quartet Book 1)

by Ian Patrick

  ‘Piet, can we ask you a bit about the Captain’s problems with the Major?’ said Pillay.

  ‘Major Swannie? That oke? Ja, no problem, Navi. He calls me nearly every day, sometimes a couple of times a day, always asking for the Captain. Drives the Captain crazy, and me, too, I’m telling you. The Captain is always getting me to tell him that he’s out and that he’ll call back later, even when, you know, he’s in the office. He just can’t spend all the time ...’

  ‘Does the Major ever tell you what he’s looking for?’

  ‘Ja, definitely, Jeremy, he’s always asking me details about investigations, what reports are coming in, when so-and-so is expected to report on such-and-such, and have we collected the evidence, and when’s this going to court, and stuff like that, you know? Captain goes ballistic.’

  ‘Sorry to ask you this stuff, Piet, but it’s important. We’ll be speaking to the Captain, but we want to make sure we’re on the right track with him. Are there any things that the Major seems more interested in than others? Like, does he have a particular interest in homicide, or car theft, or...’

  ‘Gambling, no question.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Gambling, Jeremy. Casino stuff. No question. Captain and I once joked about it. Captain said maybe the Major’s looking for tips on what to put down on red next time he goes down to the Wild Coast.’

  ‘How long has he been interested in gambling cases?’

  ‘Ag, Navi, even long before your time here, you know. Even before he moved up with his promotion, you know, we used to joke about it. Way back in 2008 I remember one day here in the station when he was really gatvol with the government bringing in the Gambling Amendment Act that year. He was complaining about how the government was trying to control everyone’s lives, and now this new Act, and stuff like that. The okes began to joke that he must be running a string of casinos and was scared he might have to pay taxes. Ja, even now, I tell you, the Major is always asking what’s happening in the gambling world and who are we tracking and are we busting anyone, and that kind of stuff. Funny thing is...’

  ‘What?’ Pillay was on the verge of snapping her fingers in front of Cronje’s face as he seemed to drift off.

  ‘Funny thing is, you know, that we should be speaking about this just when I was wondering, before you two arrived just now, I was wondering...’

  ‘What, Piet?’ Jeremy demanded.

  ‘You know when we were writing up the stuff on both those two young guys on Tuesday, the one who died near Nomivi’s Tavern and the fat one in Montpelier Road who Navi put in hospital?’

  ‘Yes, what about them?’ asked Pillay.

  ‘It was you, Navi, who told us in your notes on those two guys about the knuckle-dusters and the daggers that each of them had on them.’

  ‘Yes? So?’

  ‘The notes on their files also mention that they each had a gold Suncoast casino card.’

  08.30.

  Thabethe sat with the contents of the red box spread out on the floor in front of him. It wasn’t the cash that interested him: it amounted to no more than half the amount he had retrieved from the Mercedes. Small change, as far as he was concerned, compared to what he thought this would all lead to. Of more interest to him was the large pile of casino cards – black, gold and platinum – which he had stacked together and which he assumed might be worth trying out later in the casino to see what credits they might each hold.

  But even the cards paled into insignificance once he had scrutinised the papers from the red box and had separated them into batches. One batch now held his attention. It comprised what he could identify as six delivery notes stapled to invoices and then scrawled upon, variously, in pen or pencil. The scrawls were of enticing significance. 165k. 420k. 185k. 210k. 145k. 375k. If he was reading things correctly, the owner of the red box was either planning deliveries to, or had already made deliveries to, six different parties and had received or was going to receive payments amounting to one and a half million rands.

  Thabethe sat back, thinking through the possibilities. Then he set to work looking more closely at the other papers. A document entitled Customs External Policy State Warehouse - effective date 22 February was of only marginal interest and he threw it aside – until he read a few other papers, each stamped DA 68 in the top right hand corner. After perusing the contents of these forms he came back to the eleven pages of the policy document and skimmed through it with growing interest. He began to ponder the meaning of phrases like ‘uncleared imported goods,’ ‘goods detained subject to compliance,’ ‘goods seized,’ ‘disposal of the goods condemned and forfeited to the State.’ He rifled through the other forms again, looking at heavy exclamation marks in pencil against one definition: Cargo manifest: A listing of goods comprising cargo... carried by a means of transport. The cargo manifest describes the particulars of the goods, e.g. transport document number, consignors, consignees, marks and numbers, number of packages, etc.

  Why would someone want to be on top of these boring definitions? Why mark something like that as worthy of attention?

  Thabethe skimmed further and soon began to think that the little red box functioned also as a proud achievement record for its owner, because he then found some interesting slides torn from photocopies of National Gambling Board slideshow presentations, one of them under the heading Confiscated Gambling Machines - F2006, in which each of four quarters of Financial Year 2006 displayed comparative provincial statistics. It was clear from the bar chart that KwaZulu-Natal ranked second to North West, and a wise guy remark scribbled across the page at this point read ‘second to N. West, guys!!!’ Another, headed Case Convictions - F2006, reflected an outright win for Limpopo province and a nil recording for KZN, which had prompted a comment in the same handwriting of ‘well done, men!’ A slide entitled Admission of Guilt - F2006 showed KZN top of the list with no competitors coming near. There was no comment scrawled on this slide.

  Neither were there any handwritten comments on a slide headed Destroyed Gambling Machines - F2006 that showed KZN way ahead of the competition. But there were three prominent thick exclamation marks drawn in black ink on this one. And there were no comments on a different kind of slide, a summary slide listing all provinces under the heading Illegal Gambling Statistics 1 April 2008 - 31 March 2009, that showed KZN leading the pack on the line item destroyed gambling machines with a number pegged at two hundred and sixty-two, higher than any other province. At the end of this line was a large asterisk drawn in pencil.

  Thabethe began to get the picture. This information covered more than a decade. The red box was the key he had been looking for.

  But to use the key effectively he had to find the fat Afrikaner called Dirk, and the guy he reported to.

  09.35.

  Vic had breathed a sigh of relief when he put down the phone to Dirk. Tony’s disappearing like that was a real problem. Left him with no-one reliable. He had to be careful of his own exposure here. He was too easily recognisable. Couldn’t afford to be seen at the Argyle house. But unless Tony showed up in time, he would have to do it. He could drop the van and the keys there himself, then walk round to Butcher Boys or somewhere like that and get the hell out of the place with a taxi. No. Maybe better to call a taxi to pick him up near the house at a fixed time. He can’t afford to be seen walking around the area.

  Vic was furious. Tony had never let him down before. What was his game? Or had he genuinely lost his phone? Maybe he’s had an accident? Maybe he’s in hospital! He began to realise how much he had come to depend on Tony. Tony had been the one to find Big Red, and had commissioned the yacht, organised the crew, put together the papers and passports, got everything in shape for a dawn departure on Sunday. He had always handled all the paperwork, signed for things, dispatched and paid, nailed the guys who reneged, rewarded the guys who played along. Above all, he was the guy who received the cash. Without Tony, who was going to receive the cash? Can’t be Dirk. Or can it? Maybe if I do it myself. But th
en I’m identified as the guy who handled cash. Never done it this way before. What am I going to do without Tony? How the hell am I going to find the red box? Should I have a discussion with Big Red? Tony had said they’d worked together in the past, and that he could be trusted. Do I bring on a new guy at this late stage? No. Maybe when we’re out at sea. Find out more about Big Red. Maybe he could be the new guy. If Tony is out of it.

  The tightening of the whole industry by the Gambling Board guys had been a signal that it was time to quit. After more than a decade it was time. One last batch, and he could be done with it. Melt away and cut all ties. A million and a half to add to his pension pot. The Argyle operation was the last one. At least for a while. Maybe for good.

  If Tony was out for whatever reason, he would have to use Dirk.

  He got back on the phone. Calls to confirm times for Saturday’s collections. This is to confirm. The goods will be there. As planned, Saturday. Cash. I’ll be there in person.

  *

  After another interminable wait, Vic had finally given up on Tony. Later on he would look into whatever had happened to the guy, and do whatever he could to retrieve the red box, but for now he had to deliver the white van and the keys. He found parking at a spot about thirty metres from the corner, and walked up to the gate. Checking that he wasn’t being observed, he opened the gate and moved into the property. He locked the gate behind him and moved to the front door, unlocked it and went inside.

  He was out again within a few minutes. Everything was as he had been promised it would be. Lots of space. Ready for the next round of deliveries, and for Saturday’s dispatches. He locked the front door, locked the garden gate behind him, and waddled back to the white Ford Escort van. He placed all the keys on the top of the rear right wheel, ensuring that they were balanced safely and out of sight. Then he walked down Tenth Avenue to the corner of Clarence to meet his taxi.

  10.45.

  Ryder, Pillay and Nyawula sat together in the Captain’s office. Nyawula was incandescent, but controlling it amazingly well, thought Ryder, as he and Pillay added further pieces of information.

  ‘Navi and I have also checked out the gold cards. The Afrikaner kid and the Montpelier fat boy were probably given the cards from the same supply pack on the same day from the same counter.’

  ‘You couldn’t get a closer match if you tried,’ added Pillay, and Ryder continued.

  ‘We’ve got Koeks and Dipps under cover in Suncoast to see what they can find out, but they know to go very carefully in case someone has already been alerted down there. They’re only there for an hour or so because they’re then going to the hospital to follow up on a lead down there.’

  ‘Thanks, Jeremy,’ said Nyawula. ‘Now wait for this, both of you. Which you will simply not believe. Bear with me while I take you through this.’

  Ryder and Pillay exchanged surprised glances.

  ‘I received a phone-call just before the two of you came in. Some truly fascinating information from ballistics. It was you who raised the question on Tuesday, Jeremy, in the discussion with me and Koekemoer and Dippenaar, about the homicide from last year. The one in the bush next to Suncoast, Navi. Last year’s one. Jeremy thought that there might just possibly be a connection between that case and the third Z88 that you yourself identified on Monday when you were looking at Sunday night’s homicide with the tourist. That weapon, too, was found, as you know, on the beach. Near some bush. Not just any bush. In the bush near Suncoast Casino.’

  ‘Don’t tell me...’ said Ryder.

  ‘No, Jeremy. Not what you’re thinking. Last year’s guy was killed with a 9mm fired from a Z88, that’s for sure. Sunday night’s guy died, we know, with a 9mm fired from the Z88 that Navi identified. But the clever woman in ballistics…’

  ‘Nadine Salm?’

  ‘The same, Jeremy. I’m beginning to think she’s the best in the business. She assures me that the bullets in those two corpses don’t match to the same Z88.’

  ‘So, what are we...’

  ‘Something even more interesting than what you were hoping for. Nadine tells me that she looked further into the other stuff we’ve been dealing with – I love these guys in ballistics who love their work – and she found that the guy who died in the bush last year was killed not by the same Z88 that finished off the tourist on Sunday night, but by one of the two Z88s that were used in The Grove killings on Monday morning.’

  ‘Shit. Sorry, I mean, omigod,’ said Pillay.

  ‘How very interesting!’ said Ryder.

  ‘So what we have here, guys, is something that connects Thabethe via three of the four Vektor Z88s that disappeared from the station when he left, to a homicide last year outside Suncoast Casino, a homicide this Sunday night outside Suncoast Casino, and two homicides at The Grove involving money which we can trace back to Suncoast Casino. Put all of that together with what you two have just told me about gold casino cards found on the two creeps from Nomivi’s Tavern and Montpelier Road, and we have the common factor here being casino.’

  ‘Add to that, Captain, the money found by K and D in the Mercedes at Overport,’ added Pillay.

  ‘And the ballistics on the Desert Eagle linking the Overport guy back to Ed,’ said Ryder.

  All three of them paused, as if in deference to the memory of Trewhella, as these linkages fell into place. Then Nyawula picked up the momentum again.

  ‘Now, back to what you were telling me when you came in about Major Swanepoel’s interest in gambling. How about this? Swanepoel kept on hassling me about the Z88s all week, from Monday first thing. Not least of all at the function last night. Can you believe it? I had been wondering why. I should have stopped to think through why he was pushing me for details, but the prick has irritated me for so long that I lose perspective when dealing with the guy. Anyway, I’m starting to join a few other dots in my head – I have to be careful here because a lot of it is just circumstantial – but we have lots of dirt in the past on illegal gambling operations, as you know. This ranges from the Head of the Organised Crime Unit being acquitted after spending years in claims and counter-claims, to all those rumours – none of them proved – about the guys who had connections with the old cops at Wentworth and King’s Rest, and also through one detective at Durban North with dubious friends, and we think there might be some other cops in Durban North, lower down in the system at constable level, with dubious connections, too. This thing, I’m saying, could be much bigger than any of us know. On the other hand we have to be very careful about one thing. We’ve done some work in the past on this and the big operators come up completely clean. There might be some individuals within their operations who are operating illegally, but the organisations themselves always come up clean. Suncoast Casino we know is fully compliant. It’s the guys operating outside the Gambling Board guidelines that we need to find, and it looks increasingly as if Swanepoel is connected way outside those guidelines.’

  Both Pillay and Ryder noted how the Captain’s cool control at the start of this speech started eroding as he progressed and he grew more and more angry until he reached the final sentence. He then paused, and added:

  ‘The fat prick. I’ve got his number now. Damn! I should have picked it up earlier. I should have stopped to think, the time I got into a really heated argument with him about the National Commissioner and the Scorpions and the Public Protector. In retrospect he was far more agitated that time than he should have been, about what was in essence merely a difference of emphasis between us.’

  ‘What was the debate, Captain?’ offered Ryder.

  ‘I think I said something a bit crass and undergraduate about the anti-corruption agencies being threatened by the very institutions and people who are supposed to uphold the law and protect the Constitution. I found myself lecturing him on Chapter Nine institutions. Perhaps a bit naively academic on my part, I admit, but I remember being really surprised at his outburst. We had been talking about Phiyega’s announcement – way back in July 2013,
I think – at about the same time that the minister was talking about a new general public anti-corruption bureau. The National Commissioner announced, around about the same time, plans for the re-establishment of the old police Anti-Corruption unit that ran from 1996 to 2002.’

  ‘Before being closed down by Selebi,’ said Ryder.

  ‘Before he got bust for his own special brand of corruption,’ Pillay threw in.

  ‘So I was arguing with Swanepoel about how we move from an Independent Complaints Directorate to an Independent Police Investigative Directorate, and I probably allowed myself to run away with it, which prompted his outburst.’

  ‘It sounds, with wisdom after the event, as if he let down his guard with you,’ said Ryder.

  ‘I think back, now, on why that would have happened. I remember I got a bit carried away by saying that we had the best anti-corruption legislation in the world but simply lacked the calibre of people to enforce it. I was depressed, I think, because I had learned just a day or two before the exchange that once again Transparency International was ranking us way down the list on the corruption index, and I had despaired yet again about how that reflected on all of us. Maybe I hit the wrong chord with him because I mentioned, in the argument, that our own internal police audits told us that of about fifteen hundred serious offence convictions for police corruption far too many were in senior ranks. What did he reply? That given the size of the organisation that was only a small percentage of bad apples! He was right, of course, in a purely statistical sense, but it was what I said next that triggered his big reaction.’

  ‘What was that, Captain?’ asked Pillay.

  ‘I told him that what the statistics missed – and I still believe this emphatically – what they missed was the fact that these convictions of corrupt police officers completely omitted all the countless undetected guys who were both cops and crooks, running their own corrupt businesses on the side while functioning as squeaky-clean cops but still using their police connections for manipulating their private business. The statistics would never tell us the full picture, I said to him.’