by Deon Meyer
When she fell silent, Dekker asked: 'Was that on the DVD?'
She nodded.
'Barnard wanted to blackmail you.' He spoke with certainty.
'No. He was the one being blackmailed. When I passed the DVD back to him and said I knew what it was, he said he had to pay sixty thousand for it. He said it arrived a week ago by registered post, with a note saying: Watch this when you are alone. Or Melinda's career is over. The call came three days later, from a man wanting fifty thousand or he would put it on the Internet. I asked Adam why he had paid sixty then. He told me the other ten thousand was to make sure it was the only copy.'
'How did he manage that?'
'I asked him that too. He said this wasn't the first time he had had to protect one of his artist's interests. He had people who help with that, an agency. They followed the trail of the money transfers, until they found the man.'
'Was it the bass guitarist?'
'No. Danny Vlok.'
'Your ex?'
'You have to admit there is some kind of justice in it.'
'How did they make sure it was the only copy?'
'I don't know. I tried to phone Danny when I left here. Someone at his shop said he was in hospital. He was assaulted in his flat on Sunday night.'
Dekker digested this information. This thing was getting big. And complex. 'But why did Barnard tell you this, if it was sorted out?'
'I think the video aroused Adam.'
'So he blackmailed you?'
'No, he simply spotted an opportunity.'
'Oh?'
'He told me there was nothing to worry about. I was grateful. Then he smiled and put the DVD in the player. I could have walked out. But I wanted to see it again. One last time. We watched it together. When it was over he asked if he could kiss me. I said yes.'
She saw Dekker's expression and she said: 'I was very grateful to Adam. He was discreet. He went to a lot of trouble and expense. Seeing that video again ... yourself. Young ... so ... randy ...'
Dekker continued to frown.
'You must be wondering how a born-again woman could do something like that. You see, Mr Dekker, I don't believe in a condemning God. I think it was Bishop Tutu who said "God has a soft spot for sinners. His standards are quite low." He's not sitting up there with clenched fists ready to punish us. I believe he's a God of love. He knows we are what we are, just as he made us, with our weaknesses and all. He understands. He knows it brings us ultimately closer to him, knowing how weak we are. He just wants us to confess.'
Dekker was speechless. They sat there in silence, listening to the hiss of the gas lamp. For the first time she clasped her hands on her lap. 'You want to know why I told Josh. That's the thing I can't really explain. I walked out of here with the DVD in my handbag. I knew they knew, Willie, Wouter ...'
'Wouter?'
'The financial director. Wouter Steenkamp. His office is next to Adam's. I knew they would have heard me because I'm loud when it comes to sex. Adam had his ... talents. The sound of Natasha's voice when I passed her ... Maybe she was in the corridor when it was going on. She suspected something. But I was out of there and went and sat in my car. I had the DVD and I wanted to break it. I never knew how hard that is. It bends, but it doesn't easily break, just like the human spirit. I took a pair of tweezers out of my handbag and scratched it with that. That was the best I could do. I scratched it until I was sure it would never work again. I phoned Danny at his shop then drove home and threw the DVD in the rubbish bin. When I went into the house there on the couch was dear, sweet Josh who loves me so unconditionally. He put his arms around me like he always does, but all I could think of was that he would smell the sex on me. Josh must have felt the tension, he's a sensitive man, always wondering if he's good enough for me. It was his caring that caught me, that absolute, honest caring. At that moment I was faced with the difference between his image of me and who I really was. It was devastating, if you will excuse the theatrical language. I believed he had the right to know the truth, but the words wouldn't come out. Old habits, we protect ourselves to the bitter end. I would prefer to believe that I wanted to protect him, because as hard as it is to live with myself, Josh would find it impossible to recover from the whole truth.'
Chapter 22
When Vusi Ndabeni parked opposite Carlucci's the police helicopter was overhead, the wap-wap of its rotor blades deafening. He spotted Mbali Kaleni standing next to a patrol vehicle with a radio microphone in her hand, the wire looping through the open window. She had a map book of Cape Town open on the car's bonnet and her other hand keeping the pages open.
Vusi crossed the street to her and heard her saying loudly: 'This is the centre point, where I am standing. You must search from here. First, look at all the houses on this block. She wants to stay away from the street, so she must be in a back yard somewhere. Then you look at the parks, De Waal Park just down the road, there is also Leeuwenhof ... two, three, four blocks away, east. No, wait... west, can you see it?'
Vusi stopped beside her. She glanced at him, trying to hear what the helicopter pilot was saying.
'I can't hear you,' she said into the microphone.
'Where do you want us to go after we check the parks?'
'Search the area between this point and the city.'
'Roger.' The helicopter swung north towards De Waal Park. Kaleni stretched through the window to replace the microphone. She couldn't quite reach, she was too short and too wide. Vusi opened the door for her. She handed him the microphone, as though he was to blame. He replaced it, closed the door, the helicopter's racket fading.
'We will find her,' said Kaleni.
Forensics' white bus pulled up. Thick and Thin got out and walked over, carrying their cases.
'Where have you been?' Kaleni scolded them.
He was two hundred metres away from the corner of Riebeeck Street when Benny Griessel realised he would have to leave the car somewhere here in Bree Street and walk to Alfred Street. To get across Buitengracht in this traffic chaos would take at least forty minutes.
He found a parking space opposite a cycle shop, which made him wonder whether he ought to put his bike in the car every morning. The power cuts were as regular as the cannon on Signal Hill nowadays. A parking attendant approached with an air of official purpose, her card machine in hand.
'Police,' said Griessel and showed her his ID card, in a hurry to get away, John Afrika's urgent voice ringing in his mind.
'Makes no difference,' the woman said. 'How long do you want to stop?'
Perhaps he should just go. 'How much for two hours?'
'Fourteen rand.'
'Jissis,' said Griessel. He dug out his wallet, searched for change, passed it over, locked his car and jogged through the motionless traffic. It was only four blocks on foot; he could take Prestwich and get there faster. Meanwhile he could find out what was going on. On the way he took out his cell phone and phoned Vusi.
'Hello, Benny.' There was the sound of a helicopter in the background.
'Vusi, I'm on my way to the Commissioner; I just want to know what's happening. Where are you?'
'At Carlucci's.'
'Any news?'
'She's missing, Benny, but the helicopter is searching and we have nine vehicles now, another on the way, but the traffic jam ...'
'I know. Have you talked to Metro?'
'I haven't had time.'
'Leave it to me. We'll have to draw up a timetable, or we'll just be duplicating each other, but I'll call you as soon as I am finished with the Commissioner. Let me know if anything happens.'
'Benny, Organised Crime has photos of Demidov's people. I want the guy at the restaurant here to have a look at them.'
Griessel hesitated. Six months ago he had uncovered a nest of corruption at Organised Crime. They were not on good terms with him, even though there was a whole new team of people and they shared a building in Bellville South. But Vusi's plan did make sense.
'If you can manage it, V
usi. It can't do any harm.'
John Afrika's office, on the fourth floor of 24 Alfred Street in Green Point, was hot without the air conditioning. He was opening a window, when he heard the Provincial Commissioner's urgent steps approaching.
Afrika sighed. More trouble. He remained standing and waited for his boss to arrive. This time the little Xhosa did not knock; he was in too much of a hurry and too worried. 'They say she's afraid of the police,' he said, barely through the door. He walked up to the desk and pressed his hands on its edge like a man suddenly in need of support.
'Commissioner?' Afrika enquired, because he had no idea what he was talking about.
'The Consul General says Rachel Anderson told her father that she could not go to the police.'
'Not go to the police?'
'Her father said it sounded as though she didn't trust the police.' i
'Bliksem,' said John Afrika and sat down behind his desk.
'My sentiments exactly,' said the Provincial Commissioner.
Buitengracht was a nightmare. The traffic was gridlocked in all five lanes. Griessel darted between the cars, grateful to be on foot. His phone rang. Probably the Commissioner wanting to know where the hell he was. But the screen showed Dekker.
'Fransman?'
'Benny, this is a soap opera,' said Dekker and outlined Melinda's story for Griessel all the way to the corner of Prestwich and Alfred.
'Fuck,' said Griessel eventually. 'What did she say about where they were last night?'
'At the church until eleven. The Tabernacle in Parklands.
Then they went home. Melinda slept on the couch, Josh in the bedroom, but they were at home until this morning. Nor do they own a gun.'
'That's what he said too ...' Geyser might be lying about the firearm but he had had since last night to get rid of one. 'Fransman, tell Josh you want to search his house ...'
'I asked that they check the national register. There is no firearm ...'
'No, I'm not saying we must search it. Just gauge their reactions. Use the usual search warrant story ...'
'What search warrant story?'
'The one "we can get a search warrant, but if you give us permission that won't be necessary".'
'OK. But the ex, Benny, it might have been him, this thing is a fucking circus. I'm going to phone Bloemfontein, see if they can find something. I'm going to let Josh and Melinda go ...'
'You can do that. Or you can let them wait in the conference room. Let them sweat a little until you hear from Bloemfontein. And talk to your sexy girlfriend at reception. Where was Barnard last night? Look at his diary, search his office, check his email...'
At first Dekker did not respond, then he said: 'OK.' But he wasn't happy.
'Sorry, Fransman, I'm taking over again.'
'I'm trying to chill, Benny. Trying to chill.'
Over the phone, Vusi Ndabeni said to Vaughn Cupido: 'Let me get their email address,' and he went over to the young man in the apron sitting on the veranda with his staff.
'Do you have email here? Our Organised Crime Unit will mail photos of people I want you to look at.'
'We do. The address is info at Carlucci's dot co-za. But it won't help much.'
'Why?'
'There's no electricity. The PC doesn't work.'
Vusi's shoulders sagged, but he told Cupido: 'Send it anyway, Vaughn, here's the address ...'
Fat Inspector Mbali Kaleni came to stand next to Vusi and asked the young man: 'Are you sure about the Land Rover's registration number?'
'I'm pretty sure it was CA and there was a four, a one, and a six.'
'They say there is no Land Rover Discovery with a CA, a four, one ...'
'It wasn't a Discovery.'
'It wasn't?'
'I told the guy it was a Defender. Long wheelbase. And new.'
'Men,' said Kaleni shaking her head.
'What do you mean?' asked the young man in the apron.
'Not you,' said Kaleni and took out her cell phone. 'The fools I have to work with.' She called the Caledon Square charge office and listened to it ring for a long time before someone picked up. She asked to talk to the Constable who had done the initial registration number search.
'It wasn't a Land Rover Discovery, it was a Defender. You will have to search again.'
'I can't,' said the Constable.
'Why not?'
'The power is down.'
Benny Griessel was panting and perspiring when he walked into John Afrika's office - from the heat of the day, from the four sets of stairs because the lifts wouldn't work without power and from the sense of urgency building inside him.
The Provincial Commissioner was seated opposite John Afrika. Both looked severe. 'Afternoon, Commissioner.' Griessel checked his watch, saw it was still twenty-five minutes to twelve; it felt like three o'clock already. 'Morning, Commissioner,' he corrected himself.
The little Xhosa stood up, very serious, and put out a hand to Griessel: 'Congratulations, Captain Griessel.'
That caught him off guard. Griessel shook his hand and in confusion looked at John Afrika who winked at him and said: 'Congratulations, Benny.' 'Uh ...' Griessel said and wiped the sweat from his brow 'Uh ...' And then: 'Fuck it, Commissioner.' The Xhosa laughed and put a hand on Benny's shoulder. 'You had better sit down, Captain. I suspect you are going to earn your promotion today.'
In the garden of the Victorian house, beside the three prints of running shoes in the soft earth, tall, skinny Jimmy from Forensics held open the plastic bag of dental cement and watched as fat Arnold poured in a measured amount of water.
'She's so fat, when she weighs herself, the scale says "to be continued" ...' said Arnold.
'Hee hee,' chortled Jimmy.
'She's so fat, she's got her own postal code,' said Arnold. 'There you go, shake it up.'
'If only she wasn't so bloody bossy,' said Jimmy, zipping up the bag and shaking it. 'I mean, you're not exactly thin yourself, but at least you're not a bitch.'
'Is that supposed to make me feel good?'
'I'm just saying,' said Jimmy, and shook the bag with great concentration. 'All I want to know is what the heck she wants to do with these casts. They know they are the girl's footprints. This is just pissing in the wind.'
'That stuff is ready. Knead it.'
Jimmy kneaded the plastic bag of green goo between his hands:
'I'm not nearly as fat as she is.'
'You're just taller, that's the difference,' said Jimmy. 'Get the mould ready.'
Arnold took a long mould, adjusted it to fit over the footprint and carefully pressed it into the soil. He picked up a bottle of talcum powder and sprinkled it over the print. 'Pour,' he said.
Jimmy opened the bag and held it over the centre of the mould. The paste dribbled out.
'I've got a slow metabolism, that's my problem,' said Arnold. 'But she's quite the eater - I hear it's KFC, morning, noon and night...'
Inside the Victorian house, behind his net curtains and only ten metres from where Thick and Thin knelt, the old man could not hear their conversation. But he could see them. Just as he had seen the girl jump over the fence, the Land Rover driving past soon afterwards, those young men, searching. And the Constables who had run down Upper Orange Street with such purpose, and the black lady detective who had stopped in thought at the picket fence, and then investigated the flower bed.
He knew who they were looking for. And he knew where she was hiding.
Chapter 23
Captain Benny fucking Griessel. Could you believe that?
He sat there savouring the glow of his promotion, wishing he could go home to his flat and type an email: My dear Carla, your father is a captain today. Tonight he would walk into Primi Piatti where Anna would be seated at a candlelit table and he would bend down to kiss her on the cheek and say: 'Captain Benny Griessel, pleased to meet you,' and she would look up at him in surprise and say 'Benny!' and kiss him on the mouth.
'How did Dekker take the news of Ka
leni?' John Afrika broke through his reverie.
'I told him it was still his case, Commissioner,' said Griessel. 'He accepted it.'
Afrika looked sceptical, but merely nodded. 'Have you told her yet?'
He had forgotten. Totally. He would have to move his backside. 'I haven't had the chance yet.'
'Do you know what Mbali means?' the Provincial Commissioner asked. 'Flower. It means a flower in Zulu.'
Afrika grinned. 'She speaks five languages and has an IQ of a hundred and thirty-seven. Not bad for a flower.'
'She'll be sitting in my chair one day,' said the little Xhosa.
'She thinks she's sitting there already,' said Afrika, and the two officers laughed congenially. Griessel grinned, not sure whether it was proper for a Captain to laugh with them.
The Regional Commissioner suddenly went serious. 'Benny, there's a new development. Rachel Anderson's father said she can't go to the police. He thinks she means she can't trust us.'
'Can't trust us?' queried Griessel. The two senior officers nodded in unison and waited for him to come up with the solution for them.
'That's what she told them over the telephone?'
They nodded again.
'Wait a bit,' he said, leaning forward on the grey cushion of the steel-framed government chair. 'We are looking at this from the wrong angle, Commissioner. Vusi has a theory that she is a drugs mule, both she and the deceased. It would fit with a lot of things - the way they came into the country, the nightclub, the Russians, the rucksack that was cut away, the whole chase. It's not that she can't trust the police - it's because she's a criminal. She can't walk into a police station and say: "Help me, I've brought in a half a million worth of drugs and then cheated Demidov".'
He saw relief flood the faces of the two senior men. But then John Afrika frowned.
'We can hardly say that to the Consul General or her father. Not without proof.'
