Now I See You

by Holmes, Priscilla; Holmes, Priscilla;

  ‘Okay, DI Tswane. Here’s the reason I would have liked to be able to contact you. There’s been another heist. Just like the others. Money Sure guards were delivering a night cash transfer to Birches – a department store here. The perps came out of the shadows and shot one of them.’

  ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘Well, he’s not dead, but he’s in hospital.’

  ‘How do you know it was them?’

  ‘They wore alien masks; spoke with the same cartoon voices, so the other guard told us. This happened two hours ago, Thabisa. While you were having some “time off”.’ He narrowed his eyes and stared at me with a frown. ‘I needed you to be there, Thabisa. This is your case, right? I thought I’d have to go and see him. On my own. Because your cell phone –’

  I’d screwed up. I was in the wrong and I knew it, but I was damned if I’d admit it to Khumalo. I stared at him angrily. ‘I don’t want a lecture from you, okay? I’m entitled to some time off occasionally. Having a date with a nice, polite man isn’t a punishable offence.’

  He crossed the room in a second. Then he was standing next to me, his face inches from mine.

  ‘I’m not a nice, polite man. I don’t play by the rules,’ he said. ‘But you know what, Thabisa? You don’t need a nice, polite man in your life. You need somebody who knows who you really are – someone like me.’

  He gripped my shoulders. It was a bad idea to be alone with this man; he had a frightening energy at his core. I should ring the police.

  But he was the police.

  He pushed me back against the kitchen table and leaned into me. His leg slid between mine, his lips brushing lightly across my neck.

  ‘I don’t like your attitude, Khumalo.’ I wriggled away from his grasp.

  ‘You think I believe that shit?’ he murmured. He pulled me close again.

  His hands moved slowly, deliberately across my body; I could feel his warm palms and the determined pressure of his fingers.

  There were a thousand reasons why this was a bad idea but I struggled to remember what they were, as he pulled me toward him.

  His eyes were dark and slumberous, watching my face for a long moment before he brushed his mouth on mine, then deepened the kiss.

  He broke away and smiled as he bent, pushed my braids back with his big hands, and kissed my ear, running his tongue along my neck. The pleasure was so intense, so unexpected, that I moaned out loud and moved against him.

  Then he pushed me away, so suddenly that I nearly fell. ‘Sorry, DI Tswane, but this will have to wait, we’ve got to get back to the hospital, talk to these guys properly and write a report. But I’m so glad you seem so... receptive. Yes, I think that’s the word. Hell, I’m flattered, really flattered.’

  I struggled to pull myself together. My mind was a storm field of conflicting emotions: anger and passion, irritation and desire. He stared down at me with a smug certainty that infuriated me.

  ‘Coming along, DI Tswane? Or do you want to go up to bed and wait for me to come back?’

  He had me at a total disadvantage. And that was exactly what he wanted. I’d fallen into his trap, like an idiot. I drew myself up to my full height. I was embarrassed, humiliated. And so furious I could hardly get the words out. ‘I’ll go with you to the hospital, Khumalo, and talk to these men,’ I hissed. ‘But don’t even think about coming back here. If you do I’ll... I’ll shoot you.’

  He laughed. ‘And yet, only a minute ago you were so friendly. What happened?’

  ‘You really are a bastard, Khumalo. Don’t you ever lay hands on me again.’

  ‘Okay,’ he grinned and moved away. ‘The next time I lay my hands on you Thabisa, you’ll be asking me to.’

  ‘Let’s get out of here!’ I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door.

  ‘I’m delighted to discover that the icy DI Tswane has a hot side,’ Khumalo said, as we got into the car. ‘There’s fire in your blood. That’s good for a man to know.’

  ‘Be careful, Khumalo, remember too much fire can kill,’ I said through clenched teeth.

  We drove in arctic silence through the quiet streets of Grahamstown.

  When we got to the hospital, I strode ahead of Khumalo down the corridor to the ICU where Jan van Rensberg was recovering, wearing an oxygen mask. His hair was reddish, his complexion ruddy and his watery green eyes tinged with red.

  ‘They mos came out of nowhere, man. I tried to go for the taller one, but the shorter oke, the one with the gun, kicked me in the balls and shot me. My shoulder was numb, but I knew there was blood pouring out of it. I fell down. I couldn’t fokken take my eyes off the gun, it was like a horror movie, you know? You don’t expect it. They were wearing those alien masks and talking in cartoon voices, like Donald Duck, or Bugs Bunny. Jislaaik, it was creepy, man, really creepy.’

  ‘Did you get a look at them?’

  ‘No, they were dressed in black, with those masks things, you know? They were quite tall buggers, thin, and... no, it was all too blerrie quick. I told you, man, those ous were like something from a horror movie. I didn’t see them properly. Not up close so I could make like a proper ID.’

  We couldn’t get much more from him. I left Zak getting his signature on the report and walked into the corridor. I heard quick footsteps behind me, and turned to see Zak following. He caught me by the arm and pulled me into a deserted room full of file trolleys and manila folders. Zak walked in behind me and closed the door behind him. He stood so close I could feel the heat from his body seeping into mine. He put his hands on my shoulders and turned me round to face him. I tried to stay calm but his touch was humming through me, all the way down to my toes.

  ‘About tonight,’ Zak said. ‘I’m sorry, I apologise. I shouldn’t have behaved like that.’

  I stared at him, dumbfounded. Zak? Apologising? I was tempted to ask him to pinch me, to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, but then I saw that for the second time that night, Zak Khumalo actually looked as if he was taking life seriously. Maybe he’d respond to me doing the same.

  ‘Why are you so secretive?’ I asked. ‘What’s with you and me, anyway? I’m just a colleague, I don’t want anything else, far from it.’

  ‘I’m not what you think, Thabisa.’

  ‘I know that!’

  ‘It’s more complicated. I’m not just a police officer.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Zak turned away from me. He gazed out of the window for a full minute, before replying.

  ‘This is confidential. Nobody knows about it except Matatu. I run surveillance operations for a special government agency. I’m attached to the Violent Crimes Unit at the moment, but I’m not doing just police work.’

  I rocked back on my heels. ‘What are you investigating?’

  ‘Don’t grill me on this, okay? You don’t want the details and I couldn’t tell you anyway.’

  ‘So what you’re saying is, that you’re some sort of double agent?’

  ‘It’s too difficult to explain. I’m a loner, I can’t afford emotional ties. Let’s just leave it at that for now. I’m never going to be the conventional, let’s-get- married-and-have-kids type.’

  I couldn’t believe Khumalo imagined I was actually looking for somebody with that description to come into my life.

  ‘You patronising jerk.’ I hissed. ‘Do you really think that’s what I’m looking for? Don’t picture yourself in that role in my life. Don’t worry, you are so definitely not what I want, Khumalo. Don’t kid yourself you ever could be.’

  He smiled. ‘I don’t want to get emotionally involved and I’m sure you don’t. I’m very attracted to you. I might get to like you too much. I don’t want you in my space. It wouldn’t be good for either of us. Not right now.’

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, all you are, is someone I have to work with. You might be a good kisser, Zak, but I prefer men who are less shallow...’

  I turned my back on him, and walked out. I heard him laughing all the way down the corridor.


  Then I had to get into the car with him and drive back to the safe house. There was a frosty silence all the way back too.

  When we got back to the house, Khumalo jumped out of the car and opened my door.

  ‘Right,’ he said, ‘you want me to come in? Are you worried about the intruder? Let me go in first and check it out for you.’

  I pushed him away, and opened the front door.

  ‘Go away,’ I said, ‘just go away.’

  He laughed as I slammed the front door shut. I nearly opened it, and went out after him, I don’t know why. I just wanted to kill him, hit him and hurt him in some way. But when I opened the door he was gone. For a few minutes I remained standing in the doorway staring at the space where he’d been, feeling the night air close around where he had stood.

  I ran up the stairs and got into the shower. How humiliating. How dare this womanising colleague behave like this? It was sexual harassment; I would report him to Matatu in the morning. But when I remembered his mouth, his hands, his powerful body pressed against mine, I shivered, even though the water was hot.

  It was then that I remembered. Funny how the mind works, it’s like a filing system, teasing its way through information, sifting and sorting and burrowing down to the answer. Spitting it up at the weirdest times, like now, wiping all thoughts of Zak Khumalo from my mind.

  The woman in the street? Julia McEwen, wife of the mining magnate, Magnus McEwen. She had been missing, presumed dead for the last four months.

  15

  27 June 2006

  The house was perfect, a furnished cottage in a pan-handle off Graham Street. Surrounded by school playing fields and cricket pitches, nobody could see it from the street. The back garden was walled.

  While Sue talked to the agent and signed forms, Julia had looked out, her eyes skimming the garden. She’d spent so much time in her Johannesburg garden, involved in all the planning, pruning, weeding, and planting, as well as the enormous pleasure of the results. An acknowledged orchid expert, she had been chair of the Sandton Gardening Club for three years running, the youngest woman ever to hold the post. Her garden was her sanctuary, her escape from Magnus.

  Closing her eyes, she’d visualised her Johannesburg rose gardens: the orchid house, the lush lawns sweeping down to the pool, the jacaranda tree in full bloom, flower beds overflowing with day lilies and agapanthus.

  Now she barely glanced at the pretty cottage garden outside the window. Gardens didn’t matter anymore.

  After Sue’s confession, Ollis Sando hadn’t been mentioned again. Julia had remained quiet and respectful until Sue relaxed. Their relationship returned to normal, but a slight shift had occurred.

  Behind it an avalanche was building.

  ‘We need another car,’ Sue had said a few days before their next job. ‘We’ll keep the pick-up truck, but we need a back-up.’

  They’d driven to Port Elizabeth and bought a second-hand white Toyota van.

  ‘The most anonymous car in the world,’ Sue said.

  They made their way to a Mr Price warehouse and bought a big supply of sheets, blankets, pillows, duvets, towels, crockery, pots and pans, a starter pack of stainless-steel cutlery and three big rugs. At Pick ’n Pay they stocked up on mops, detergents, buckets, and an ironing board. At Truworths and Woolworths they bought jeans, sweaters, underwear and shirts. It was a shopping frenzy. They had so much cash, it was fun.

  They’d stocked up separately on small helium cans, to avoid attention. Julia told a talkative assistant at Frolics Party Shop that they were for her child’s birthday party balloons.

  ‘Why don’t you get the large cylinder?’ the sales assistant had asked. ‘Most people do that. They return the cylinder afterwards and get their deposit back.’

  ‘I prefer the small disposable ones,’ Julia said. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She wasn’t good at lying. ‘You have got that type haven’t you?

  ‘Yes, but they’re much more expensive, people don’t...’

  ‘I’ll take six of them,’ Julia interrupted. ‘And give me a hundred assorted balloons, please.’

  The sales assistant stared at her.

  ‘You want six disposables? Where are you having the party?’

  ‘Um, well, we’re not sure yet, not sure of the venue that is... here, just give them to me, please, don’t bother about a bag, I’ve got a box in the car.’

  The sales assistant watched Julia through the shop window as she bundled the packages into the boot of her car and drove off.

  Sue went in two days later and bought more disposable containers.

  ‘This must be a popular time of the year for parties,’ the chatty assistant had remarked. ‘I had another lady in here this week, buying up big.’

  Sue smiled. ‘These are for a school concert.’

  ‘Which school is that?’ the assistant asked.

  But the customer left before she got an answer. She didn’t even wait for her change.

  When they got back to Grahamstown, Sue had paced around the cottage, saying nothing.

  ‘I’m going to talk to the bank manager at Bank of the Eastern Cape,’ she finally said. ‘The safety deposit boxes are in the vault. The documents were kept at the High Court, but they’ve been moved. I thought I might drop by and get to know him. I’ve got a healthy bank balance at his branch.’

  Julia nodded. ‘Do you want me to come?’

  ‘No. I want you to stay inside. The Arts Festival has started. I don’t want you bumping into anyone you know.’

  ‘They won’t recognise me.’

  ‘They might.’

  ‘Never,’ said Julia. ‘I’m a different person now.’

  And she was.

  ‘I’ve heard there’s to be a night cash delivery at Birches tomorrow. I think we’ll pitch up,’ said Sue. ‘We’ve made a big hole in our savings.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Julia. She loved the thrill of a heist, the moment when they surged in and pulled out their guns. She loved to see the guards turn pale, and raise their hands, sweating with fear. It felt so good. She’d learned so many skills. What a waste not to show them off. It was scary, it was risky, but there was an eerie feeling of familiarity about it. She had uncovered an insatiable appetite that had nothing to do with money.

  The next day, dressed in black from head to toe, with their alien masks and helium packs in their pockets, guns holstered on their hips, they were ready. They parked the Toyota, number plates covered in black masking tape, near an alley that cut through from the High Street to Carlisle Road. They could run through the alley and make a quick getaway through Fiddlers Green. Easy. They strolled back to the high street, mingling with crowds of festival goers.

  As they walked up toward the cathedral, Julia saw an interesting couple approaching. The man was tall and blonde, the woman dark-skinned with braided hair, wearing a bright red coat and purple scarf. They were talking and laughing together. As they drew close, Julia noted that the woman had pale eyes. They were almost silver, like gun metal, but there was something even more unsettling about her; a confident, alert look, a look of recognition. Their eyes met.

  Oh, my God. She recognises me. She waited for a shout, running feet, a hand on her shoulder, but nothing happened. She turned. The crowd gathered them up. Julia’s heart pounded uncomfortably. So what if the woman recognised her? Called the police? Then she could be released from Sue. But – Julia turned and looked at the clean profile of the woman walking beside her – she didn’t want to be released.

  ***

  It was after midnight when they saw the Money Sure security van arrive at Birches. As the guards opened the back door of the armoured vehicle, Julia saw they were unarmed. Unbelievable. Money Sure guards were usually armed to the teeth. Julia and Sue put on their alien masks, inhaled helium from their packs and surged forward.

  ‘Stand back!’ Sue squeaked.

  The guards, two red-faced guys reeking of alcohol, were caught like rabbits in a trap. They’d obviously dec
ided that quiet little Grahamstown was a crime- free zone, then been caught up in the festival’s warm, fuzzy atmosphere. Julia moved forward, ripping open packets of cash, stuffing money into grocery bags. Sue held the guards at gunpoint. They were speechless with shock.

  ‘Keep still,’ Sue squeaked in her Donald Duck voice. ‘Don’t move, boys. You can go back and have a few more drinks when we’re finished.’

  As she spoke, one of them dived at Julia.

  Sue leapt forward, slammed a vicious kick into his groin, then shot him in the shoulder. He fell back, screaming, eyes wide, one hand pressed against his chest. His colleague knelt beside him, trying to stem the blood already staining his shirt. Julia and Sue took their chance. Grabbing the grocery bags, they walked steadily back down the alley where they had been waiting, toward Carlisle Street. Once out of sight they tore off their masks. The secret was to look normal. No panic. No running. As they emerged from the alley into Carlisle Street, a crowd of rowdy university students was weaving toward them on the other side of the street, coming up from Fiddlers Green. They shouted out: ‘What’s happening? Was that a gun shot?’

  ‘No way,’ said Sue. ‘Just a car back-firing.’ Her voice was almost normal; the helium had worn off.

  The students slowed down. They were drunk, pushing and jostling each other. One was wearing a crown, the others dressed in cloaks and witches’ hats.

  Julia and Sue turned up their coat collars, hiding their faces as they walked past. They fell into the car. The adrenaline was pumping. They began to laugh. They couldn’t stop. With tears pouring down their faces, they clutched each other, shrieking with laughter. When they got back to the house and parked the car in the garage, Julia turned to Sue in the darkness.

  ‘Brilliant,’ she said. ‘You saved us. We’ve got away with it!’

  Fizzing with joy, with relief, with pleasure, Julia turned her face. Their lips connected. It was the easiest thing in the world. Sue’s lips were soft. It was so different from kissing a man. A deep flush, like hot, red wine rose up and surged through Julia’s body. Taboos of a lifetime were swept away as Sue laughed softly and pulled Julia closer.