David tried to call Naisha to ask her where Kevin’s classroom was so that he could surprise his son by giving him the book in person, but her number was engaged.
He headed for the admin office—a white, double-storey building that faced onto a courtyard with a fountain in its centre. Easier to leave the book there than trying to find Kevin among all those small, blue-uniformed children in a school whose grounds occupied roughly the same area as Lesotho.
But in the admin office, the secretary’s attention was occupied by a distraught-sounding domestic worker who had rushed into the office as David had been climbing the outside stairs.
Wishing he could have been ten seconds ahead of her instead of ten seconds behind, David waited, glancing at the clock on the wall with increasing impatience, tuning out the uniformed woman’s anxious explanation.
Until he heard the words “Kevin Patel.”
He didn’t recognise the domestic’s face, but now he looked at her more carefully, her pink smock was familiar. He’d seen her the previous day, walking home with the boy that Kevin had said was his new friend Riaan.
A knot of dread formed in David’s gut and began stretching out long, cold tentacles. He stepped up to the counter.
“What’s this about my son?” Now he could hear the stress in his own voice, too.
“Mr Patel? Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. Perhaps you can explain.” The school secretary’s greying perm bobbed as she looked up at him. “Francina says she’s just seen Kevin leaving the school grounds in an unfamiliar vehicle. We’ve checked, and he’s not in class today. I’ve been trying to get hold of his mother, but she isn’t answering her phone.”
“I don’t know anything about this,” David said. “He should be at school today. I was just bringing his maths book in.” He stared down at the brown-covered book, realising that his hands were cold and sweaty.
“We’ve never had anything like this happen before.” The secretary was on the point of tears. “I’ll be glad to help any way I can. Would you like us to send somebody round to Mrs Patel’s home, or her work? Perhaps she’ll know where he went.”
“No.” David’s mind was racing with plausible, happy-ending scenarios—Kevin had been sick, he hadn’t gone to school, Francina had made a mistake—but his gut told him differently.
“I’ll take a drive to the house right now, and see if he’s there. I’ll call you as soon I know what’s going on.”
The detective in him kicked belatedly into action. He turned to the domestic worker. “Francina, please could you give the secretary a full description of the car you saw, and the occupants. Anything you can remember will be helpful.”
David sprinted out of the office and raced back down the walkway to the car park, now deserted apart from his vehicle. He started the engine and accelerated through the exit gates, his foot flat on the pedal and the tyres wailing in protest, driving as fast as he could, but still unable to outrun his fears.
33
David sped along the main road in the direction of Faerie Glen, sick with worry. Every few minutes he tried redialling Naisha’s home, work and cell numbers, but no one picked up.
Why? Had something happened to her, too? Or was she in a meeting at work, phone on silent, unaware of the nightmare unfolding around her?
Ahead of him, a yellow Audi indicated to pull out into the fast lane.
If I get past the driver before he changes lanes, Kevin will be safe.
Mashing his foot down on the pedal, David shot towards the car. The driver hadn’t noticed his last-minute acceleration, and began pulling out regardless.
David swerved into the emergency lane. The tyres squealed and he felt the car start to skid. The concrete barrier loomed on his right, so close his wing mirror was almost scraping it, but he felt no fear. Avoiding the crash seemed easy compared to facing what lay ahead.
Hands tight on the wheel, he managed to accelerate out of the skid and swing back into the fast lane ahead of the Audi.
The blare of its horn soon faded into the distance behind him.
Don’t do it, David warned himself, breathing hard. Don’t start indulging in superstitious behaviour. It can’t change what’s already happened. All it will do is get you killed.
Even so, he found himself attempting the same dangerous action a few minutes later.
Children disappeared all the time. Some were taken for muti medicine, most commonly young children in the townships. They were killed, cut open and carefully dissected. Each organ had a special significance. Even their flesh had value.
Children were also easy prey for kidnappers, and his blood ran cold as he recalled the conversation he’d just had with Moloi. Kevin was attending a wealthy school, although if a kidnapper did his homework he would quickly realise that Kevin was a bad choice, because his parents were among the poorest at Devon Downs.
Even so, if money was involved, David knew he would do anything to get a ransom together and bring Kevin safely home.
Anything.
Children were stolen for sex. He didn’t even want to consider that possibility, but a good-looking young boy like Kevin would surely fetch a high price if he was sold to …
Don’t think about it.
He’s bunking school, he’s at a friend’s house. Please, please let it be something like that.
A few minutes later he parked outside Naisha’s flat and sprinted to the front door. Her little house looked so peaceful, so normal. The white-painted security gate was shut and locked, and so was the door. He hammered with his fists on the varnished wood.
“Kevin!” he called. “Kev, are you there?” He listened carefully. Nothing, no response. “Naisha?”
His son wasn’t there. The truth hit him with a punch, even though he’d known, deep down, that Kevin was missing, not sick, not skiving off school. And Naisha must be at work, where he would now have to go to break the dreadful news.
As David turned away, he noticed a familiar-looking red vehicle in the residents’ parking area. He stopped and frowned at the little Nissan Micra. From here he could just make out the number plate.
No, he wasn’t hallucinating. It was Naisha’s car.
Bemused, David strode through the narrow ribbon of garden to the back of the house.
He’d warned Naisha repeatedly that it was pointless having a front entrance with a state-of-the-art security gate when her kitchen door had no protection at all. It was a standard wooden stable door with a flimsy, low-spec lock that any half-skilled criminal could pick in less time than it would take to phone the Flying Squad.
It was time to put its flimsiness to the test.
David peered through the kitchen window, which was bordered by cheerful yellow curtains. No point in breaking the door down and running straight into the muzzle of a gun.
But the kitchen was neat, tidy and empty. Next to the sink, a coffee cup and two cereal bowls were drying on the dish rack. Clearly Naisha and Kevin had had their breakfast. Then something had gone wrong.
He stared at the kitchen door, assessing it. It opened outwards, so not even the strongest and most dramatic rugby-tackle would force it inwards. Could he pull it open?
After a few minutes of futile wrestling, he realised the answer to that question was no. Rubbing his throbbing palms, David realised he’d have to go and buy a crowbar, call a locksmith, make another plan. Seething with frustration, he gave the stubborn door a hard, angry kick and turned away.
Then, to David’s utter astonishment, he heard a key rattling in the lock. He spun round as the door flew open and gave an involuntary gasp when he saw Naisha standing there.
Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and black streaks of mascara had tracked their way down her cheeks. Her lips looked swollen, too. She was in her work clothes, but they were crumpled and creased, and she had make-up stains on the collar of her blouse.
“Naisha, what …?” David felt the blood drain from his face— his first and immediate impression was that she’d been raped. He
took a tentative step towards her.
“Go,” she cried. “Just go away.”
“I can’t go.”
“Call me tomorrow.”
She tried to close the door but he grabbed the handle, yanked it back open and pushed his way inside.
“What …?”
David yelled as his wife’s nails raked savagely across his cheek. Before he had time to back away, her bunched fist connected with his jaw. His head snapped back and he tasted blood as he bit right through his own tongue.
Jesus, she’s gone insane, he thought. What had happened?
Before Naisha had a chance to hit him again, David managed to grab her wrists. Her arms felt as strong and thin as steel cables as she struggled against him and he had to twist sideways when she aimed her knee at his groin. He heard a ripping noise as her efforts tore the seam of her skirt.
“What is it?” he shouted. “Naisha, stop this! Stop trying to hurt me and tell me what the hell is wrong.”
She looked up at him wordlessly. Then the fight went out of her and she sagged in his arms.
“You’ve killed Kevin,” she whispered.
“What?” David roared out the word in panic, as if the volume of his own voice could drown out what she had just said.
Naisha started to cry.
“They’ve got him. They’ve got my little boy. And they told me no police, or I will never see him alive again. No police and particularly not my husband. They said if I contact you, if I tell you anything at all, Kevin will die.” Her breath was coming in harsh, rapid sobs, a sound that David had heard many times from victims and their families at murder scenes, shootings and violent robberies, but had never expected to hear inside these pale yellow walls.
“And now you’ve come here, and I’m sure they already know, and that means it’s too late now, because they will have killed him.”
David stared at her, open-mouthed.
“But you … ” he began, in a voice that sounded strange and didn’t seem to belong to him.
Then, in his pocket, his cellphone began to ring. Without even thinking about what he was doing, he pulled it out and answered.
“Mr Patel.” It was the school secretary. She sounded relieved; happy, even. “There’s nothing to worry about. I spoke to your wife a few minutes ago and she said she kept Kevin home from school today because they’ve both come down with a bad cold. I do apologise for the scare earlier. Francina must have made a mistake.”
“I see,” David said, unable to contradict her. “Thanks for letting me know.”
At that point, Naisha’s knees gave way. Feeling strangely disembodied, David lowered her gently onto a chair. She slumped onto the table and buried her face in her arms. For a short while the only sound in the quiet space was her gasping cries.
34
David crouched down beside Naisha, stroking her shoulders and murmuring words of comfort that, even to him, sounded hollow.
Meanwhile, his mind was racing.
Kevin had been abducted. And he’d been targeted deliberately. Naisha had been ordered not to call the police, and specifically not to call David. So Kevin’s captors had done their homework. They knew who he was and who she was.
By knocking on Naisha’s door, had David already signed his own son’s death warrant?
The thought made him feel physically ill. He clung to the hope that the kidnappers’ words were only a threat, and that Kevin’s captors, whoever they were, didn’t have anybody watching Naisha’s house. After all, his coming here was entirely due to a series of coincidences—the forgotten maths book, the traffic delays, the domestic worker noticing the unfamiliar car.
When Kevin was younger, one of Naisha’s relatives had given him a hamster in a cage. The tan-coloured Brownie had proved to be a wayward animal. It bit both Kevin and him on numerous occasions and was prone to fits of frantic activity, where it would climb onto its wheel and run for hours, spewing wood shavings and fine yellow dust all over the desk in Kevin’s bedroom.
Brownie hadn’t lasted long. The hamster had escaped after giving Kevin’s thumb a well-timed bite as he was taking it out to clean the cage. Despite its aggressive personality, David privately hoped that the small animal had gone on to live a happier life outdoors.
Right now his thoughts too were going round and round, in a frantic and repetitive sequence.
Who had taken Kevin? Why had he been snatched? Would his captors follow through on the threats they had made?
Dear God, let it not be so.
Naisha’s wailing had calmed down to a rough, intermittent sobbing. David got to his feet and tore off a couple of sheets of kitchen paper. He handed them to her, then helped her up and led her outside into the small, walled back garden.
They sat down on a bench in the shade of the eastern wall and in a croaky, halting voice, Naisha told him her story.
She’d received the phone call on her way to work after she’d dropped Kevin at school. A private number which she nearly hadn’t answered because she was wary of being caught on her cellphone while driving.
“Mrs Patel?” A man’s voice, soft and cold. “We have your son.”
At first she hadn’t understood. Then she hadn’t believed him. He’d warned her not to phone the school, not to phone anyone, or it would mean instant death for the boy. He’d told her he was sending an mms image from a sim card that would be discarded as soon as he’d ended the call. A moment later, her phone had beeped. She’d stopped at a traffic light outside the Home Affairs building and peered down at the screen, and there it was—a picture of Kevin, in his school uniform, his eyes closed, with a copy of that morning’s Beeld on his chest. She’d driven past a street vendor and noticed the headlines just a few minutes ago.
“Why are you doing this?” she’d asked her unknown caller. She’d been on the point of tears, but somehow managed to control herself. At first, she’d suspected that this had something to do with one of David’s cases. It was a scenario she’d always feared; that she and Kevin would become victims as a result of one of his investigations.
The man’s reply was short and sharp. She’d interfered with something she had no business in. She was to take the day off work but, before she left the building, she was to reactivate all the passwords that she had disabled yesterday in the security clampdown, so that “business” could go on as usual. If she did this, Kevin would be returned to her, safe and sound, at the end of the day.
“Don’t go anywhere,” the man had warned. “Stay home all day. You can expect another call on your landline later.”
Someone had hooted behind her, signalling that the light had changed, but, gasping in shock, she’d stalled the car.
This wasn’t about David. It was about her. It was about what she did.
She’d started to curb the activities of the criminal syndicate that she’d suspected was operating within the Home Affairs building. But already, it seemed, the syndicate was biting back.
No police, the man had warned. Tell nobody. Not even your husband. If you do, your child will die.
After the man had hung up, Naisha noticed two missed calls, one from David and the other from Devon Downs College. The school secretary had left a message to say that a domestic worker had seen Kevin leaving the school grounds in an unfamiliar car.
Panic had crushed Naisha like a lead weight. She’d sped through the underground parking garage, tyres squealing on the smooth floor. Then she had rushed up the stairs and into her office. Heads had turned as she’d run through the open-plan admin section.
Who was involved in this? Which of the people watching knew that she had just been coerced, in the most dreadful way, into letting them continue with their crimes?
How was she ever going to face any of them again?
Unable to fight her emotions anymore, she’d started to cry uncontrollably. People would notice; she must think of an excuse. She’d logged on, reactivated the passwords and then gone straight to her boss’s office and lied. She’d ju
st had news that her sister had been involved in a serious car crash, and was being rushed to hospital. Naisha had to leave the office immediately to be with her. She’d be back as soon as she could, but she would like to apply for a day’s leave.
Of course, her boss had said, looking at her tear-streaked face with concern. Of course. Go straight away. What are you waiting for?
She’d reactivated the passwords, Naisha had told him, so that the issuing of passports and id documents could continue in her absence.
“I appreciate that,” her boss had said—and he was surely not one of the people involved in the syndicate, because if so, he would have prevented her from disabling the passwords in the first place. Knowing that he trusted her, that he believed her, had made her cry even harder. “Call me if you need anything at all,” he’d said. “We’ll carry on with the security clampdown when you’re back.”
She’d stumbled out of the building and, when she got home, called the school and told the secretary another, different lie.
She’d been pacing in her bedroom, weeping hysterically, when, to her horror, she’d heard David banging on the door.
Think, David urged himself. Think.
But looking at his wife’s anguished face, he couldn’t form any coherent thoughts except for the obvious one—that all this was his fault.
He had begged Naisha to turn down the overseas job. He had pleaded with her to take the position at Home Affairs’ head office in Pretoria. He’d done it all because of Kevin, because he didn’t want to be parted from his son.
Now, if Kevin ended up being hurt or killed, David would have only himself to blame.
He couldn’t stay at Naisha’s house any longer. He needed to leave, for Kevin’s sake, and hope that nobody had seen him arrive. But he did need to stay in touch with Naisha.
David scrolled through the menu on his cellphone and diverted all his incoming calls to Jade. She would be able to handle the situation. In a crisis, there was nobody he trusted more.
Stolen Lives Page 21
