by Ian Patrick
Mashego offered no reply. They looked back out again at the sea.
'Maybe...' she started and then changed her mind.
'Maybe what, Thenji?'
'No, nothing.'
'No. Go ahead. Maybe what?'
'Maybe I should just give up and join Thandi.'
He grabbed her by the shoulders.
'No, Thenji! You hear me? No! You don't talk like that! You hear me, Thenji?'
She was startled by the roughness of his grasp, but she continued in the same vein.
'What's the point, Nights. Those girls over there. Those men. Those animals in the bush with Thandi...'
'No, Thenji. That's why we're here. You and me and Ryder and Pillay and Thandiwe...’
‘OK. OK, Nights. OK. Don’t worry. Let’s go.’
She pulled away from him and they stared at each other for a moment.
‘It’s OK, Nights. I’ll be alright. Don’t worry.’
Their gaze was broken by the gleeful screams of the three children on the opposite bank. The old couple were gathering their grandchildren, who were running around, teasing and chasing each other. The grandparents were packing up their belongings. The young women and their clients over at the building had concluded their business and had left. The people in the surf in the distance had turned and were walking back.
Buthelezi wiped away the tears and turned back toward the car.
‘Let’s go,’ she said.
17.35
Ryder and Pillay sat in Ryder’s car at Virginia Airport, taking stock of what they had just learned before going back to the station.
‘So what are we going to do about it, Jeremy? Do we just keep quiet? Nadine and Pauline have covered the stuff so closely. But as Nadine said, it’s not their job to go and suggest lines of action to anyone. They’re just showing what probably took place. If IPID were to do their job properly then both Nights and Thenjiwe would go down. Both for the Umdloti shootings and the airport stuff. And it would mean the end for the other four constables at Umdloti, too. And also for the reputation of Thandiwe. Imagine. As they bury her they announce to the family and friends that she was part of a hit squad. It would finish off her family. The one thing they can hang on to is the memory of her as a good cop fighting the good fight.’
‘And imagine the public, too. Seven cops against seven of the most vile thugs anyone has ever encountered anywhere, anytime. It has the makings of a Hollywood western where the good guys win. The real magnificent seven. But then it all goes wrong and the press announce that the bad guys win. There’s a small taste of satisfaction for Joe Public in seeing these seven bastards taken out. But the stench from a story of seven cops acting like a hit squad will reverse that and overshadow everything. You’ll probably even see some newspaper article somewhere talking about how the only reason we get criminals is because of bad cops.’
‘Followed by biographical articles by someone like Mr Pullen on each of the baddies. Showing us how their potty training and poor schooling turned them to crime, and arguing that at heart they were all really nice but misunderstood darlings.’
Ryder wrestled with the dilemma. IPID, according to Nadine, wasn’t going to do the right thing. Not in this case. It would be a tough call. These seven guys had been so unbelievably bad that it would be a very brave IPID investigator that would point the finger away from them and onto the cops that had nailed them, however criminally wrong the police action might have been. Ryder couldn’t help thinking back on what he had discussed with the Captain earlier. Could it be possible… could it be even remotely possible, that Mashego was one of the people that du Plessis had got his fingers into? Was the giant working for du Plessis? And what about the latest hits on the taxis? He had seen the police report on the taxi south of KwaMashu on Wednesday morning. A witness talked about a giant black man that she thought had been the assassin. Could it be…? Where was Mashego on Wednesday morning? And where was he early this morning? Was he in Maphumulo? Could he have been one of the guys in the massacre there? If both those taxi hits were the work of du Plessis, and if a giant black man had been identified in each of those cases...
He shook his head suddenly, as if to free himself from the grip of a malicious and unwanted thought. Surely not? Surely Mashego simply responds in the heat of a moment? Surely he’s not part of any conspiracy? How am I different from Mashego? How do I know what I’d do in the heat of the moment if I had some evil bastard in my sights?
‘What do you think, Jeremy? What shall we do?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘I’m not a saint, Navi. You know that.’
‘I have wondered, Jeremy, from time to time. But on balance… yeah… I do, actually, think you’re a saint.’
‘Well, you’re wrong, partner.’
‘If you’re not a saint, then what are you?’
‘Just a cop.’
Ryder started the car and they drove off.
7: SATURDAY
09.20.
The Ryders were enjoying the remnants of the coffee in the garden of their home in Westville. Sugar-Bear was reaping the benefits of a Ryder Saturday Special breakfast, and had already munched pieces of bacon, pork sausage, toast, and cheese but despite Ryder’s exhortations he had turned his nose up at the mushroom, tomato and baked beans and was now performing the pre-wash on four plates. The children had left the garden table to prepare for their Saturday sports events at school.
‘So it’s not a funeral so much as a ritual ceremony?’ said Fiona.
‘Yep. Navi tells me that Mavis explained it all to her. They’re having a preacher and various people to say a few words, and I suppose they’ll sprinkle water or whatever they do. Navi’s picking me up at 10.30. Mavis is already there. She went down last night to help the family with the preparations. She knew Thandiwe. Not very well, but well enough to want to help out. It’s going to be hard on Nights and Thenjiwe, who were both quite close to her. Especially Thenjiwe. She and Thandiwe were, well, they were together, you know.’
‘So I heard. Poor woman. She’s been through so much this week already. When’s the actual interment, then?’
‘Eight or nine days from now, I think. Navi and I thought we’d join them today rather than go to the funeral. And Mavis will come back with us. We’re really doing it for Nights, I suppose. We’re trying to win him back. He’s a very angry guy but an incredible cop. We need guys like him. And he’s in need of a few friends. Not to mention a bit of advice. He’s in danger of going off the rails and becoming a vigilante.’
‘Isn’t it weird that both you and he ended up hunting for Thabethe for different reasons? Maybe Mashego is more like you than you think he is.’
‘You mean I might be a secret vigilante?’
‘Hmmm. I’ve noticed that Sugar-Bear growls at you more than he used to.’
‘Only when I approach you with evil intent,’ said Ryder, approaching her with evil intent. Which started Sugar-Bear barking at him, loudly, so he desisted.
‘Good dog,’ she said, cuddling Sugar-Bear and tweaking his ears.
‘I’ll leave you two to it then,’ said Ryder, as he started collecting the dishes together to take them inside.
‘What time are we gathering tomorrow for the picnic?’
‘Any time from 12.30. Remind me to take a chair.’
‘Oh, Jeremy, come on. It’s a picnic. Blankets and cushions, surely?’
‘Not for my back. I need something to lean on. By the way, Nadine and Pauline have been invited, too. They’ve done such a lot of work for us recently that Sibo thought it would be a good idea.’
‘Good. That’s nice. I like those two. What am I saying? I like all of them. They keep you on the straight and narrow.’
‘I think that’s what they say you do for me.’
She blew him a kiss and reached for the newspapers as he took the tray indoors.
11.40.
Thabethe drove with Mgwazeni at his side. The car he had hi
red from the Durban Downtown Europcar was a red Mitsubishi ASX 2.0. The four other men were in a battered yellow Toyota Corolla 1.6 GS five drive that belonged to one of them. They followed the Mitsubishi at a distance of a couple of hundred metres.
They left the R61 at Shelly Beach and took the R620 to Margate. There they bought some beer and a few snacks before driving on to Margate, where they filled up with petrol before continuing on their journey, picking up the R61 again after Ramsgate.
At Trafalgar he led them off the main road and took them down toward the beach then up Cunningham and down again to the southern end of Effingham Parade. From there they descended a path through a thick wood to the beach. There they sat down together on the white sea-sand.
As they ate and drank, Thabethe took them through the likely layout of the ceremony, drawing rough diagrammes in the sand. Mgwazeni then told them how he saw the action unfolding. By the time they had finished their beers and snacks, each of them had a clear picture in mind. Thabethe told them that he would now guide them to Izingolweni. There they would find a place where they could park, study the layout of the area, and then make final adjustments to what he and Mgwazeni had outlined. He also confirmed the arrangements for paying them the rest of the money after the action.
‘If anything goes wrong, we meet again here. Right here. So when we go back now, watch carefully. If we have to split, we come back again down that path and we meet here, nè?’
The men grunted their affirmations. Mgwazeni sensed that they all shared his view of this man with the strange eyes. He was a dangerous man, but he could be trusted. This was not the kind of guy to run with the money. But if he was crossed, then he would snap back like a snake and spit poison in your eyes. Or worse.
They all got up, gathered their things, and made their way back up the path to where the two cars were parked. Then they resumed their journey southward.
12.20.
Pillay and Ryder made good progress on the drive from Durban to the Mpenjati River, where they would turn right toward Izingolweni. Pillay was at the wheel. Their conversation spanned many different topics, from the taxi wars to the latest news on load-shedding to tomorrow’s planned picnic in Durban’s Mitchell Park to the further press coverage of the links between the Sugar Cane Road murder, the Umdloti shootings, and the Virginia Airport shootout. In the course of their conversation about the press coverage, Pullen’s name emerged again in the form of some musing from Pillay.
‘I wonder whether they gave Pullen the boot. I see his name’s not mentioned anywhere in relation to the three cases.’
‘No, he doesn’t appear to have been sacked,’ replied Ryder. ‘Probably just demoted. I read a piece of his on the sports page today.’
‘Really? About what?’
‘About today’s game.’
‘What game?’
‘You really want me to answer that, Navi?’
‘Oops. Sorry, Jeremy. Is Kaizer Chiefs playing?’
‘I’ll take the Fifth Amendment on that question.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Not at all. Why should you know?’
‘Sorry. I hear that not only are you a big Kaizer Chiefs fan but you know every single one of the names of the players. Koeks tells me that you probably also know the home addresses and telephone numbers of each of the players. Sign of a good detective, he told me.’
‘Koeks would say that, wouldn’t he?’
‘So Pullen wrote something about the match? Was it any good?’
‘Surprisingly good.’
‘Really? Wow. That gives a whole new meaning to giving a crime reporter the boot. What does he know about soccer?’
‘Either he’s done a lot of research in his new job or he actually knows his stuff. Good for him. He should stick to something he knows...’
As fate would have it, during the course of this conversation, had the two detectives been at all interested in the identities of any of the drivers they passed on the highway, and had they happened to have glanced over at one of the cars they overtook some ten miles north of Port Shepstone, they might have recognised Michael Pullen, heading south, like them, and talking to himself as he drove alone at a much slower speed.
But Pillay and Ryder didn’t glance over.
As they approached the Mpenjati River Pillay had an idea.
‘Why don’t we pull in here for a bit, Jeremy? We’re making good time. I feel like stretching my legs and putting my toes in the Indian Ocean. I’ve been in here once or twice before. It’s quite nice.’
Ryder was happy to do so. Pillay swung the wheel left on the far side of the river, at the southern entrance, and drove down toward the picnic area. Passing the ablution block that Mashego and Buthelezi had seen from the opposite side of the river the day before, they parked the car, removed shoes and socks, and rolled up their trousers before walking down along the edge of the river into the surf. They stood there, looking out over the ocean and chatting. There were some twenty or more people doing the same, some of them a little distance out into the sea, some walking up the beach toward Trafalgar, and others walking south. There were a few umbrellas and picnic groups scattered over the beach and next to the river.
‘You’re far out at sea, Jeremy.’
‘What? Sorry. I was day-dreaming.’
‘What’re you thinking?’
‘I was thinking some more about Mashego, Navi, to tell you the truth.’
‘What about him?’
‘After Nadine took us through the airport scene yesterday I couldn’t help thinking about what kind of guy he really is. Hell, Navi, it even crossed my mind that he could be one of the guys working for du Plessis.’
‘You mean he might have been involved in the hit on the taxis? They did mention, in both cases, that there was a really big black guy involved.’
‘Exactly. It worries the hell out of me.’
‘You think he could have been in Maphumulo yesterday morning?’
‘We have no way of knowing, Navi. If he is involved, then there’s no way we could… you asked me yesterday what we should do, and I said we should do nothing. I don’t know any more. I keep thinking whether Nights is any different to me. I’ve taken down a few bad people in my time...’
‘But never illegally, Jeremy. You’ve never crossed that line. I assume?’
‘Don’t worry, Navi. You’re right. I’ve never crossed that line. Yet. But what would I do if, like Nights, I faced a guy who had butchered a child of mine? What worries me is that I know I would react the way Nights did with his daughter’s killer.’
‘But maybe that would be it, and no more. Maybe that would give you closure and you would stop there and wouldn’t simply go on hunting other people after you had passed that milestone.’
‘Who knows, Navi. I don’t know, for example, what I might do if I have Thabethe in my sights. That evil bastard. It would be like letting the devil off the hook if I didn’t take him down.’
‘None of us knows, Jeremy. Every cop in that situation has to make a choice in the heat of the moment. Mashego’s problem is that he’s making the choice ahead of the moment and not in the moment.’
‘That’s quite neat, partner. You’re right. To act or not to act, that is the question. OK. Let’s go.’
They turned to walk back toward the car. They stopped to clean their feet on the grassy verge and to replace socks and shoes, then headed to their car. As they approached the vehicle they saw a sight similar to what Mashego and Buthelezi had seen the day before. This time, one man and two young girls who looked no more than fourteen years old, coming out from behind the ablution block.
Pillay bristled immediately, as if a skunk had got its stench into her nostrils.
‘Look at this creep, Jeremy. Shall we scare the shit out of him?’
‘For sure, Navi. I’m right with you. Let’s nail the bastard.’
‘Hey! You!’ Pillay bellowed.
The man panicked the moment he saw the two cops. Normally, he would have
registered the detectives merely as two civilians but unusually, because of the planned formalities of today’s ceremony to honour Thandiwe, Ryder and Pillay were both dressed in full police uniform. The two girls ran as soon as they saw the cops and Pillay immediately lurched forward after them, but was restrained by Ryder.
‘Let the girls go, Navi. It’s this arsehole we want.’
She agreed immediately, and the two girls disappeared in a flash. The man had the same thought of escape but knew he wouldn’t have a chance. He was fat, fifty, and in Ryder’s estimation his ruddy complexion under the ginger hair was suggestive of him being a walking heart attack looking for a place to happen.
‘What is it, officers?’ the man blurted out in panic. ‘I was just asking them for directions...’
Both detectives immediately detected a Yorkshire accent. Both had the same thought: either a tourist or one of those guys who’s lived here for years and will never lose the accent. Either way, they thought, a guy thinking he had the right to harvest some exotic under-age African fruit.
‘You were asking them for directions?’ said Pillay. ‘What? Were you asking them to unzip your fly for you so that they could tell you where you might find your dirty shrivelled little penis? How much did you pay them for that information, you dirty old man?’
‘What do you mean? No, you’ve got the wrong idea. I didn’t...’
‘I think you need to give us some information, buddy,’ said Ryder. ‘Like, for example, your wife’s telephone number. Maybe she’s wondering where you are right now. We could call her for you and ask her to come down here and listen to some of the answers you’re about to give us to some questions we have for you. Shall we do that? What’s her number?’
The man crumbled. He was panting in terror, as if he had just run a hundred metre race. Ryder began to think that that heart attack was indeed imminent.
