Stolen Lives

by Jassy Mackenzie

  David’s own phone rang, providing a welcome distraction. The caller was the security manager at Cell C, an acquaintance of David’s who he’d contacted earlier that day about the cellphone number which had been used to access Salimovic’s messages.

  “Good afternoon, Superintendent.”

  “Afternoon,” David replied. “Have you received the subpoena for the line tap yet?”

  “Not yet, but I’m sure it’ll be served tomorrow.” The man sounded sympathetic. David knew that if he’d had a choice, he would have begun tapping the line immediately, but procedures had to be followed.

  “I do have some information on the number for you in the meantime, though.”

  “Great. Fire away.” He reached for his pen.

  “It’s a cellphone contract that’s been running for three years now.”

  David’s eyebrows rose. “Not a pay-as-you-go?”

  “No. A contract. I don’t know if this will help you, but it’s in the name of a Miss Tamsin Jordaan.”

  “Tamsin Jordaan?” David repeated, so loudly that Thembi, who was now busy on a call, clapped his hand over his own phone’s mouthpiece to muffle the sound.

  “That’s the one. I hope it helps, Superintendent. I’ll let you know as soon as we get the tap up and running.”

  David thanked the man and rang off. For a moment this new discovery distracted his attention, allowing him a brief reprieve from the acid worry burning in his gut.

  In all probability, Salimovic himself was using Tamsin’s cellphone.

  “So there is a connection between the two disappearances,” David muttered. “He’s got Tamsin, for sure. Has he got Kevin as well?”

  He let out another frustrated sigh and saw Thembi replace his receiver and look round again in concern. The black detective cleared his throat in a hesitant way that made David think he was about to ask him if anything was wrong, but before he could speak, they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

  Looking up, David saw Jade standing in the doorway. Her face was strained, and her hair was escaping from the ponytail she’d scooped it into and hanging in shiny locks around her shoulders. The reddish-brown lowlights gleamed among the darker strands.

  She nodded distractedly to Thembi, then turned to David.

  “We need to talk,” she said in a soft voice. She didn’t say the words “in private” but she didn’t need to. Thembi was already on his feet.

  “Got to go and check some information in the archives,” he said, heading for the door.

  As he hurried out, he glanced at Jade and then at David, in a way that made David realise the captain had just reached a somewhat erroneous conclusion about what was troubling his boss.

  Problems on the domestic front.

  Jade pulled up a chair and sat opposite David. Its vinyl seat was hard, and it squeaked when she sat down.

  “Have you got any news on Kevin?” she asked, although she could see from David’s face that he’d heard nothing. He shook his head and rubbed his forehead.

  “Did you speak to Francina?” he asked.

  “Yes, I did.” Jade had spent fifteen minutes chatting to the domestic worker in the kitchen of the house where she worked. “I couldn’t fool her with the “thank you” story, though. She’s a sharp lady, and the family she works for have made her very aware of security threats in general and kidnapping in particular. She was in no doubt about what she saw. I made her promise to keep it a secret.”

  “What did she see?” From David’s deliberately casual tone, Jade guessed he was trying to suppress his anxiety about the answer.

  “She saw Kevin walking back from the school towards the parking lot with a woman that she didn’t recognise, but who looked like a teacher. Or so she thought at the time. She had dark brown, jaw-length hair and a navy-blue skirt, and was carrying some books.”

  “So they intercepted him on the way into the school,” David said.

  Jade nodded. “You know that long paved walkway that leads up to the school buildings? I reckon the woman must have been waiting there, looking out for him. I’m sure she was ready with a plausible story. My best guess is that it was something to do with you. “Come with me, Kevin. We’ve just heard your father’s been in an accident and we need to take you to the hospital straight away.” I would have believed that if I’d been his age. It would explain why he followed her so willingly.”

  David nodded, feeling a cold fist squeeze his heart.

  “The woman opened the back door of a white Mercedes, and after that, Francina says, everything happened very fast. The next moment the door slammed and the car pulled away. Francina wasn’t sure, but she thought the driver was black. She didn’t manage to get the car’s number plate, but she did notice it had a Cape Town registration.”

  David blinked, narrowing his eyes in the way that he did when he was thinking hard.

  “This sounds as if it could be the same woman who was at Tamsin’s house,” Jade said. “Raymond’s description of the hair was similar, and I know the Cape Town number plate isn’t conclusive, but he mentioned it as well. Do you think …?”

  David turned away and took a cardboard folder from his filing cabinet. He slid it across the desk.

  “I do think it’s the same person. Or rather, the same people. Xavier Soumare and Mathilde Dupont. They’re fugitives, wanted by Scotland Yard. Dupont resisted arrest during a brothel raid and Soumare helped her get away. They’ve been playing catch-up with a lowlife called Salimovic, the brothel owner and a human trafficker, who’s also fled here. Here’s the file. Their photographs are inside, and you’ll find some interesting info on Salimovic as well. Seems he has a history of torturing people with hot coals, so there’s a probable link between him and Terence Jordaan. It’s all in there. Open up and have a look.”

  Jade took the folder from him, trying not to show the shock she felt at David’s words.

  The photo of Xavier Soumare was blurry and heavily pixellated. The man’s features were in shadow, his eyes a vague smudge of hues in the darkness of his face. Jade shuddered as she examined his face, but it was more because of the evil he represented than because of what she could see on the printed page.

  Mathilde Dupont’s image was clearer. An attractive-looking middle-aged woman with strong features and a self-assured demeanour that reminded Jade of Pamela’s moneyed confidence.

  The rest of the file contained a fair-sized wad of printed and handwritten notes. The information was confidential, but Jade knew that David could, at his discretion, share it with a private investigator if that investigator was helping him with the case.

  “Can I read through all of this?” she asked. “I’ll be quick. I don’t have much time, because I’ve got to get back to Pamela. She’s waiting for me at the cottage.”

  David made a “go ahead” gesture. “You won’t be wasting your time.”

  Propping her forehead on her hands and pulling the pages closer towards her, Jade began scanning the contents of the file.

  When she had finished, she lifted her head and stared at David in shock.

  Everything was connected.

  Pamela’s missing daughter, Terence’s torture, Kevin’s kidnapping, and the fugitives who had fled to South Africa and were now trying to evade the police.

  The four different cases were one.

  39

  As Jade pulled up outside her gate, she heard shrill and familiar barking.

  It was Bonnie, the little Jack Russell. It seemed the dog was becoming a national champion at fence-burrowing. Jade had found her in her garden again that morning. This time, she was happily roaming the empty plot on the opposite side of the road. Jade’s mouth twitched as she opened the driver’s door.

  “Come here, girl,” she said, trying not to sound amused.

  Bonnie sat down in the sandy soil and started barking.

  With a sigh, Jade climbed out of her car and went over to fetch her.

  She picked her way through the dusty soil and coarse, scra
tchy grass, only to have Bonnie scamper deeper into the undergrowth.

  “This is not a game,” Jade called. “Come here, you silly dog. I don’t have time for this. We are not going for walkies.”

  She ducked under the branches of a shrub, disturbing a roosting bird that flew out with an annoyed squawk and a clumsy flapping of wings.

  What kind of bird? She had no idea.

  She’d been able to tell the difference between a Beretta and a Glock when she was still in primary school, but her father’s interests hadn’t included an appreciation of the country’s fauna and flora. Jade didn’t have a clue what kind of shrub it was, either. All she knew was that it had dark green leaves with a waxy sheen … and that, in the pool of shade next to the shrub, where Bonnie was now sniffing around intently, the grass was oddly squashed and flattened.

  Jade also noticed a distinctive pattern in the sandy soil nearby, which Bonnie thankfully had not disturbed.

  A large footprint.

  Nearby, another series of marks. Three small but clear indentations in the ground. They formed a neat triangle, with one of the dents pointing towards the window of Jade’s cottage. Jade realised what they were in an instant. The ends of a tripod.

  My God, somebody had been crouched in the shade, concealed by the overgrowth, staring at Jade’s kitchen window and aiming … pointing … something at it.

  Only two pieces of equipment would require a tripod in this situation. A camera or a gun.

  From here, the window looked small and distant. Jade knew that with a telescopic sight it would appear so large and clear that the hidden viewer would have felt that they could reach out and touch it.

  Jade had no idea how recently the watcher might have left. It could have been an hour or a week ago.

  She automatically recalled David’s words. Somebody had been asking about her. Asking questions, down in Richards Bay, at the hospital where she was born.

  And now this.

  Jade squinted at the window, but with the late afternoon sun reflecting off it she couldn’t tell whether the glass had been shattered by a bullet or not.

  Pamela, she thought.

  She straightened up and ran back towards the house, skidding in the sandy soil, the dry grass whipping her shins. Bonnie hurtled after her. The dog’s short legs pistoned as she dodged the bigger tufts of grass, sailing over the rocks and branches in her way.

  Let Pamela be all right.

  A camera, Jade prayed. It must surely have been a camera.

  She and Bonnie arrived at the gate together, and Jade fumbled in her pocket for her remote control.

  At the same time the security gate rattled, then swung wide open and Pamela stepped out. She looked worried and tired, but she was alive and unhurt.

  Jade felt sick with relief.

  “What’s the matter?” Pamela called. “I saw you running. Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s ok for now,” Jade said. She picked up the Jack Russell and carried her to Pamela. “This is Bonnie. Please hold her while I bring my car inside. I’ve got some news on Tamsin that I need to tell you about.”

  Jade drew the curtains across the kitchen window while Pamela went indoors and sat down on the same sofa she’d occupied when she’d first come to ask Jade about bodyguarding services. She held the little dog in her lap and stroked her with her red-painted nails, staring anxiously at Jade as she did so. Jade hadn’t labelled Pamela as a dog person. She’d thought the blonde woman was far too immaculately groomed to take kindly to animal hair and dusty paws.

  But now Bonnie was revelling in the attention. Her little body was wiggling with pleasure and her stump of a tail was wagging madly.

  There’s no way of softening the blow, Jade thought, sitting down next to her. Better to get to the point straight away.

  “Tamsin’s fake aunt is wanted by the British police after escaping a brothel raid in London. The brothel owner, a human trafficker, has also fled to South Africa, and the police have just discovered that he’s been using Tamsin’s cellphone.”

  Pamela stopped stroking the dog, and sat very still. Bonnie looked up at her inquiringly and grunted before settling down on her lap again.

  Jade hated having to break bad news. She just hoped that the shock of this revelation might force Pamela to open up and tell her the full truth.

  Tamsin was in terrible danger now, and so was Kevin.

  “Any information you can give me will be helpful. David told me that your husband was arrested for employing trafficked workers a few years ago. Do you know anything about that?”

  Pamela remained silent and stared fixedly at the wall, her lips slightly parted.

  Jade got the bizarre impression she might not even have heard the question.

  She tried again. “Pamela …?”

  Still nothing. Jade reached forward and gently tugged her arm.

  Snapped out of her reverie, Pamela turned to Jade, with the same distracted look on her face.

  “This can’t be happening,” she said in a shrill voice. “It absolutely cannot be.”

  Bonnie jumped off Pamela’s lap, perhaps sensing the woman’s tension. Jade heard the click of the little dog’s claws as she trotted into the kitchen.

  “Pamela, what can’t be happening?”

  “Any of this. It’s not possible. He was arrested. I read a report about it just the other day on The Daily Telegraph website. They said the brothel was raided and the manager, an Eastern European, was taken into custody.”

  Now it was Jade’s turn to stare.

  “How do you know who Salimovic is?”

  Pamela gave an impatient shrug, ignoring Jade’s question. “Salimovic’s in prison. He must still be there. He couldn’t have escaped, could he?”

  “He was never arrested, Pamela. I’ve just read all the information on the case.”

  “He was.” Her chin was high but she sounded unsure. “I know it for a fact.”

  “The brothel manager is Salimovic’s cousin, Rodic,” Jade explained in a gentle voice. “He is the one who was taken into custody after the raid.”

  Pamela was quiet for a moment. Then she leaned forward and covered her face with her hands. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “Oh, dear God.”

  “Why is it so important to you that Salimovic was …?” Jade fell silent as her own thoughts raced ahead. Suddenly she remembered the photo she’d seen in Tamsin’s cluttered house, the unsmiling young woman arm in arm with the unsavoury older man.

  Now she thought she understood.

  “Tamsin knows Salimovic, doesn’t she?” Jade said. “She’s been—or maybe even still is—in a relationship with him.”

  Pamela nodded. Huddled in her chair, she suddenly looked very small.

  “You’re right,” she said. “But that’s not all. There’s something else, Jade, something terrible, that I haven’t told you.”

  She turned towards the D-shaped arch where Jade had placed the photo of her mother cradling the newborn in her arms, her eyes filled with all the love in the world.

  Pamela stared at the portrait.

  “That was me, once upon a time. I was so happy when Tammy was born. She was a loving, lovable, beautiful little girl. Oh, God, why did it all go so wrong?”

  Then she burst into floods of tears.

  40

  Where had it all gone so wrong?

  Salimovic turned away from the guesthouse window where he’d been looking out at the view of Jo’burg city. A crisscross of roads, now twinkling with the headlights of cars as it grew dark. The skyline against the setting sun—a postcard-perfect picture; not that he gave a shit about the way it looked.

  The Hillbrow Tower with its spindly stem and dome-shaped head; the tall cylinder of Ponte. Other high-rise buildings, although he didn’t have a clue what they were. Why should he? This wasn’t his goddamn city. It was a place he came from time to time, to do business, and now it was a place where he’d been cornered, trapped, all his escape routes cut off one by one.r />
  Salimovic pulled down the sash window with a bang. It didn’t wake the sleeping girl sprawled on the bed, snoring gently, the sheet damp with sweat wherever it touched her. He’d known it wouldn’t. Tammy slept like the dead after ghb and she slept like a corpse after sex, and right now that meant that she was out for the count. Doubly dead.

  He sat down hard on the squeaky bed.

  It had been sheer luck that he’d avoided the police raid. Total dumb luck. He’d been booked to fly home to Sarajevo the previous week, which meant he should have been back in London by the time the raid took place, but crap weather and traffic jams had meant he’d missed his first flight. As a result, he had already landed at Butmir airport when the detectives banged on the brothel door.

  He could have been arrested at his penthouse apartment in Ciglane, Sarajevo. Thinking about that made him shiver, because it had been such a close call.

  He’d switched on his mobile phone in the taxi on the way from the airport, and the first message had been from Tammy. Her voice had been high, breathless, worried.

  “Sam, call me as soon as you can. It’s urgent. I just found out the detectives are raiding Number Six.”

  A shock, like a block of ice against his back.

  “This the building?” the cab driver had asked, slowing down outside Salimovic’s apartment.

  Christ, if Scotland Yard was involved, the local police could already be outside his front door, waiting for him.

  Thinking fast, he’d told the cab driver to keep going. “I’ve just had a message that the meeting here has been cancelled. You can take me straight to my hotel.”

  He’d asked the driver to drop him outside the Hotel Michele. He’d walked inside and waited in reception for half an hour, edgy and paranoid, then got into another cab and driven to the Hotel Kovaci.

  There, he’d called Katja, one of Rodic’s many girlfriends in the uk. A short while later she’d called back and confirmed that Rodic was in jail.

  Cold panic had descended on Salimovic. He needed to get out of Bosnia, and fast … but how? It was far too risky to travel under his own name now, and he hadn’t brought his other passport; a fake South African one. He’d gone and left it in his goddamn house, so by now it was doubtless in the hands of the police.