The Chameleon's Tale

by Andrea Bramhall

Amahle didn’t like the way he stated her title. She could hear the sneer behind the smile. It wasn’t new, and it was something that she’d learned to deal with over the years. She plastered on her face a smile she knew was as sweetly disingenuous as his was and said, “Since Thursday.”

  “That’s not good.” He scratched his chin. “Wait here please. I’ll get the paperwork.” He returned in just a couple of minutes and held a clipboard out for her. “Fill this in.”

  “What is it?” she asked as he handed it to her.

  “Form 55A. It’s your declaration that the person is genuinely missing and gives us permission to distribute a picture of the missing person.”

  “You don’t want any details of the missing person?” Imogen asked.

  “There will be an officer down in a few minutes to go through all of that with you. While you wait,” he said, pointing to the clipboard, “this will save time.” He pointed to a bank of plastic chairs. “You can wait over there.”

  An hour and two cups of coffee each later, a black man walked toward them. “I’m sorry you’ve been kept waiting, Minister. I was only just given the message that you were here and needed to speak to someone.” He shook her hand and inclined his head to the rest of the group. “I also apologize for the coffee. If you’ll come with me, I hope we can get this resolved quickly for you. I’m Sergeant Solongo. How can I help you today?”

  “They didn’t tell you why I’m here, did they?”

  “I’m afraid not.” He took the clipboard from her. “But this does. Who’s missing?”

  “My brother.” She sat in the seat he indicated. “How long have you been a sergeant?”

  He cleared his throat. “This is my first case, Minister. But please do not worry. I will find your brother.”

  His new appointment and his seeming unpopularity with his colleagues actually served to put Amahle’s mind at ease. The chances of him having been corrupted seemed more remote. “We all have to start somewhere, Sergeant.”

  “Thank you. Now please tell me, what’s going on?”

  Amahle quickly went over what they knew of Sipho’s disappearance as he took copious amounts of notes. When she got to the part about him leaving to buy medicine, he froze over his page.

  “You think, or you know he was going to buy drugs?”

  “We know. But not recreational drugs. Prescription drugs.”

  “For?”

  “My mother has HIV. He was buying her medicine rather than taking her to a clinic.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll be sure to ask him as soon as you find him.”

  “Buying medicine like that is not cheap. How could he afford it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You weren’t supplying him with funds?”

  “No.”

  “I think I know how he was funding it,” Imogen said.

  “How?” He looked at her.

  “There’s money missing from the vineyard. Lots of money.”

  “How much?”

  “More than one hundred and fifty thousand rand.”

  “And Sipho had access?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did you find out about this?”

  Imogen quickly explained about her father’s death, the financial investigation, the paternity claim, and Mbali’s revelation of the night before.

  Solongo whistled. “Does he know about the investigation?”

  “I don’t see how he couldn’t at this point.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “His access to the account was revoked. His well dried up and he went to try to get more drugs.”

  “I see. Are you sure he hasn’t run away of his own free will?” He tapped his pen on the page. “I mean if the investigation proves he has committed fraud, he’s looking at prison. If I were him, I’d be putting distance between myself and the vineyard too.”

  Amahle shook her head. “I could maybe believe that if he hadn’t promised to return with my mother’s medicine. Sipho always keeps his promises, Sergeant. Always.”

  “I understand that it is difficult to think of one’s family in this way, Minister, but perhaps he went to get the drugs, found out the well was dry, as Ms. Frost said, and simply decided that he was out of choices. The only thing he could do was run.”

  “No.”

  He stared at her. She could see in his eyes that he didn’t believe her. She could see that he thought Sipho was nothing more than a thief on the run trying to save his own skin. She couldn’t blame him. If she didn’t know Sipho, hadn’t known him her whole life, she’d believe the same thing.

  “I’ll make some inquiries and get in touch, Minister Nkosi.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant.” As he showed them out, she shook his hand. She shook her head. “Well, that’ll be the last time we hear from him.”

  Imogen tugged at her collar, readjusting it with the strap of her bag. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I think Sergeant Solongo wants to prove himself, and finding Sipho will help him. Whether he’s finding a missing person or a criminal on the run, he gets to make something of a name for himself because of your involvement.”

  “I’m starting to hate being ‘The Minister.’”

  Imogen chuckled. “You expect me to believe that?”

  “Humour me.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  “Hello?” Imogen answered her phone without opening her eyes.

  “I pulled some strings and I’ve got some news for you, Imogen.”

  “Who is it?”

  Laughter echoed down the line. “Roland. I thought for sure you’d recognize my voice by now.”

  “Sorry, Roland. I was still asleep.”

  “Right. Well, some of us have been up working for hours now.”

  “And the rest of us thank you for it. Now spit it out so I can go back to sleep.”

  “You might not want to when you hear what I have to say. I’ve got the CCTV footage from the bank and some DNA results sitting on my desk.”

  “I’m one hundred percent certain you’re going to tell me that he’s no relation and he was stealing from the company.”

  “Well, you certainly know how to burst a guy’s bubble.”

  She yawned. “Sorry.”

  “I’ve got some other good news though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “After the ball, Pienaar has started asking some pointed questions about buying Frost Vineyard. As a going concern.”

  “That is good news.” Wasn’t it? It meant she could go home. Get on with her life back in Cambridge putting criminals behind bars. And crawling out of young women’s beds in the middle of the night. Walking into her cold, empty town house, and for the first time she could remember, that didn’t appeal to her in the slightest. She frowned as the thought of it bounced around her head, making her feel out of balance. What the hell’s wrong with me?

  “I thought so. I’ll let you go. Let me know if you need anything else, Imogen.”

  “I will, Roland. Thanks.”

  She turned over and tried to find a comfortable position, but the scent of frying bacon and coffee wafted under the door and had her down the stairs as she finished tying her robe.

  “That smells amazing.” She walked into the kitchen and smiled as Amahle drained the bacon on paper towels.

  “Good morning, lazy bones. What happened to the early riser? I’ve got a lot to do today, and since you seem so determined to tag along everywhere I go, I’ve decided to make use of you.”

  Imogen shrugged. “I was tired.” She stole a piece of bacon and dodged the swat to her backside. “So what’s on the agenda?”

  “I need to find a doctor for my mother, find my brother, return to Cape Town and give a speech this afternoon, and figure out who’s behind the fake drugs racket without my secret weapon.”

  “Secret weapon?”

  “Dr. Marais.”

  “Ah. You’re right. Busy day.” She frowned. “I was thinking about that, the doctor, I me
an. I think we need a new secret weapon.”

  “I agree. We definitely need a new doctor, but we need to be sure he hasn’t been bought off and can’t be bought off. And preferably one who doesn’t have a family to be threatened with.”

  “Heck of a wish list.”

  “Yeah. That’s your task.”

  “Me? How come?”

  “Greg is looking into the local black market. He’s going to try to pick up some leads on Sipho. He’s also going to keep an eye on my mother. I don’t want any more of my family disappearing.”

  “So he won’t be returning to Cape Town with us?”

  Amahle shook her head. “Josh’s organizing some more people, for both locations.”

  “I thought that was Laura’s department.”

  “Laura is tracking down information on Major General Pugh and your friend Roland. Just to be safe.”

  “Right. Speaking of Roland, it was actually him calling that woke me.”

  “And what did he have to say?”

  “Confirmed what we already surmised after your mother’s disclosures. Sipho’s not my brother and he has been stealing from the vineyard. He also said that there’s someone interested in buying the vineyard.”

  Amahle seemed to pause for a split second as she deposited bacon onto plates.

  “That’s what you wanted, right? To sell up and go back to England.”

  “That was the plan, yeah.” But now that it was a possibility, it didn’t feel as right as she’d expected it to. England must be losing its appeal. She glanced over at Amahle. Nope. More like South Africa’s appeal’s growing. “Any doctors on your list for me to start with?”

  Amahle shrugged and started eating her breakfast. “I’ve got enough other things to worry about right now.”

  Imogen frowned, but Amahle kept her eyes fixed on her plate. Imogen sighed. “Right. Okay then. I’ll get on it. Just as soon as I finish my breakfast.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Amahle rubbed her tired eyes and tried to focus on the screen as the words swam away from each other. She fought the feeling of nausea she always felt when she tried to work while travelling. Now wasn’t the time for comfort; there was far too much to do. By the time Nick stopped the car on the drive back in Bantry Bay, her head throbbed, and it was clear that the reports she had from Dr. Marais weren’t enough to get them any closer to the source of the issue.

  Laura closed her phone. “I’m sorry. The police said that the house fire was devastating. All electronic equipment was destroyed.”

  She looked over at Imogen as she sat steadily tapping away on her own laptop. “Looks like whoever you find will have to start from scratch.”

  “Well, not exactly,” Imogen said while she scratched her head, which left her hair adorably stuck out. “We’ve got the report and we know where to direct the new team I’m lining up.”

  “Team?” Amahle said. She felt queasy enough at dragging one more person into this situation. A team sounded like a disaster waiting to happen.

  “Yes. One thing this has made abundantly clear is that we need a bigger system and a bigger group of people to get this done, and get it done fast. We need everything to be accessible and not reliant upon a single person. That’s where this falls down. It makes one person a target and too easy to silence.”

  She couldn’t deny the logic, but likewise it didn’t make her feel any easier about the additional people who were going to be at risk. “No. There’s already too many people involved. The bigger the team, the more likely we’ll have a leak. We don’t know who we can trust.”

  “At this point a leak doesn’t exactly matter, Amahle.” Imogen frowned. “The people behind this already know we know. They’re already coming for us. What difference does that make at this point? And you’ve already involved the media, so a leak on that front wouldn’t cause any more issues than we’ve already got.”

  “It leaves too many people open to being hurt.”

  “I think you’re wrong. I think it reduces the possibilities. It means there are too many targets for them to effectively control the knowledge. Ultimately, we want this information to be out in the media. Yes, we want to control the flow, but at the end of the day, in real terms, the sooner this is out there, the better. The more people who know now, the better.”

  “You can’t just throw people at this situation and hope it will stop.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No. I want everyone safe. I want this situation resolved. I want your family safe. I want you safe.” Imogen scrubbed her hand over her face. “Isn’t that what you want too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  It was the fact that Amahle didn’t have a better resolution that rankled her. Imogen was right; there was no real reason to worry about the information being leaked at this point. In fact, it might well work in their favour. She was right about that too. It made sense that more targets would make it too complicated, too difficult for the people behind this to eliminate them all and therefore ensure the investigation was completed.

  “If the information gets out before we’re ready and the perpetrators go to ground, they’ll get away with it.”

  “If that’s the worst-case scenario, I think we can live with that. Don’t you?”

  “Not if that means the abolishment of the treatment programme.”

  “If the public know what’s happened, I don’t see how the government could make that happen.”

  “She’s right,” Laura said. “They’d never get reelected if they did. The public outcry would be too great.”

  “Thank you,” Imogen said. “So do we go ahead with this or not?”

  “I don’t have an unlimited amount of money to spend on this, you know?”

  “I get it. And don’t worry. I won’t break the bank.” She grinned.

  “That smile isn’t very reassuring. Don’t use it on your clients.”

  “I don’t. I use it on my opposition.”

  Amahle chuckled. “So who’s on this team?”

  “You’ll meet them in a few hours. They’re going to be meeting at your house.”

  “My house? Why there? Why not my office?”

  Imogen frowned, clearly thinking the reason was obvious. “Because you don’t know who you can trust over there.”

  Amahle felt like slapping her own head, but the thought of so many strangers in her home made her skin crawl. It had been difficult enough for her to adjust to having Laura and her team in the house with them. Funny that she’d never thought twice about Imogen being there though. Instead her presence had been comforting. But more strangers. More people she didn’t know inside her private space, her sanctuary. She wasn’t sure she could deal with it.

  “We can try to find an alternative if you’re not comfortable with that,” Laura suggested, and Amahle hated that her discomfort was so obvious that a stranger was able to pick up on it.

  “At such short notice we’d have a job,” Imogen said. “Without breaking the bank anyway.” She smiled sweetly and winked to take the sting out of the comment.

  Under other circumstances Amahle would probably have laughed. Instead she took a deep breath and calmed her nerves. It was for the greater good. Other people had suffered far worse than having some strangers in their homes. Suck it up, Minister. Time to earn that trust they’ve all placed in you. “No, it’s fine. I wasn’t thinking. Do you have a list of the people coming?”

  Imogen handed her the list. “If you’re really uncomfortable with it, we can figure something else out.”

  “No, you’re right. It’s fine.”

  “Someone once told me that when a woman says fine it stands for fucked off, insecure, nervous, and exhausted,” Josh said from the front seat.

  Laura slapped the back of his head. “And when a guy says that it means fucked up, idle, nonsensical, and exasperating.”

  He rubbed his head. “Didn’t know y
ou cared, Lor.”

  “I actually have a problem with it. How many names are on your list, Imogen?” Nick asked.

  “Six.”

  “And they’re arriving when?”

  “In three hours.”

  “We don’t have time to vet all six between now and then. Inviting them into the house isn’t the best security move we could make.”

  “Well, we can’t exactly keep them outside,” Laura said. “I’ll ring around a few hotels, see if I can find a room.”

  “No,” Amahle said. “Let’s keep it outside. There’re no neighbours to overhear what we discuss. There’s no one overlooking the property.”

  “Not very friendly though, Ami.”

  “It will be if we get the braai going?”

  “Braai?” Laura asked.

  “Barbeque,” Imogen supplied. “We’ll need supplies. If we’re going to make it feel like a party—”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Nick said, smiling. “One poolside braai coming up.”

  *

  Imogen stretched her arms over her head and let the cramps ease before diving into the pool and letting the cool water wash away the remaining tension. The braai had been a success. A collection of half a dozen virologists, pharmacologists, and clinical doctors had sat around the patio eating steak, boerewors, and drinking cans of beer while Amahle had outlined everything she knew, the few things she could prove, and the plethora of things she suspected. More than one of the group had admitted to noticing the high rate of AIDS development of those supposedly in treatment, but not given it a second thought. They hadn’t realized their own problem was a part of a larger trend.

  They’d all decided where their skills lay best in collecting, testing, analyzing, and reporting the findings. All of them were doubling or tripling up their research, and they planned to test samples from each source in at least three different laboratories. They knew that a single source would be brushed under the carpet as faulty equipment, or flawed technique. Something that none of the group wanted to happen.

  Amahle was explicit. She told them in minute detail everything she had suffered since the beginning of her investigation. She told them everything that had happened to Thambo, and to Derek Marais. She told them that her brother was missing under suspicious circumstances. Not a single one of them balked. Imogen smiled as she remembered how the group had become more resolute with every detail Amahle told them. They came together as comrades with a common purpose, intent on taking their portion of the responsibility. Imogen had researched each of them as much as possible. Each man and woman at the table was married to their jobs rather than another person. They were imminent specialists in their fields, with sterling reputations for their work. In other words, she’d found exactly what Amahle ordered. People who were ambitious and wanted to leave their mark on the world. Each one of them could see this was a chance to do that, and then move on to even greater things.