“Then you won’t mind if we bring him in.”
The werewolf was so tall it had to duck slightly as it came through the door. Silence fell in the shop. Not a bird stirred. The rabbits huddled, pink eyes staring. Even the hamster jumped off its wheel and dove into a pile of torn-up newspaper. Only the fish seemed undisturbed, gliding slowly behind the scratched glass of their tanks.
“Just let him have a quick sniff around, Samuels,” said Lategan.
“Uh.” Mr Pranesh watched as the werewolf and its handler made their way around the shop. “There are a couple of creatures near the back that might excite its interest, captain, but they are all legitimate, I assure you. I have papers...”
“Sir?” said Samuels. “Something over here you might want to have a look at.”
The controller and the werewolf had reached the back of the shop and were standing in front of a cage. Gia had a glimpse of a cloud of black fur and large blue eyes.
The werewolf was clearly fascinated, sniffing intently. Mr Pranesh had a file open. “That’s a miniature Inkling,” he said, “I’ve got the permits for it right here, all above board—” He turned the file to show Lategan.
“Hm.” Lategan glanced at the permit. “This is just the permit slip. It hasn’t even been stamped. We need the full certificate.”
Mr Pranesh stared at him, lips twitching, but no words came out.
“Got something else here, sir,” said one of the other constables, who’d wandered to the aquariums. “This looks like a needlenose. A male one too. Aren’t those on the prohibited species list?”
“Oh, no, sir, indeed.” Mr Pranesh sidled out from behind his counter and went to the tank the constable was inspecting. “It is an easy mistake to make, but that’s not a needlenose. It’s a variety of Malawi cichlid, called a ‘little emperor’ and it’s quite, quite harmless. See, the silver dot near the tail?” His eyes darted from Lategan to the constable, but neither looked particularly impressed.
“I don’t know, Pranesh,” said Lategan. He tapped on the permit. “First this and now you might have these fish— We don’t know anything about fish. We should get some experts in here, shut the place up, confiscate the stock...”
“Oh, captain, please, I can assure you, this is all a mistake!”
Lategan sighed and closed the file. “Of course, I could have the cat by the tail, and then we’d be messing up your business for no reason. You often sleep on the premises, Mr Pranesh?”
The change of subject caught the shopkeeper by surprise. “That is correct,” he said carefully.
“So you are here a lot. Anything unusual happened lately?”
“Unusual?”
“Yes. People like coming in here to chat, don’t they. Maybe gossip a bit...”
“Oh,” Mr Pranesh said faintly. “I understand.” He looked down at his hands. “I really don’t know much, captain, I’m not an important man, but I do hear things, sometimes.”
Lategan waited.
Mr Pranesh closed the file and put it away. “I have heard,” he said without looking at Lategan, “that the ah, escort service on the top floor had an incident last week, some customer claimed that his, um, lady-friend not only stole, but ate his wallet and then apparently she tried to eat him too. But there are always stories about that place, I don’t think the girls there are really what they seem to be.”
“Anything else?”
Mr Pranesh looked even more uncomfortable, but it was clear Lategan was not going to let him off the hook.
“I keep seeing more of these street children around lately and they’re all selling something they call ‘naaldekoker’. It comes in a little box like a box of matches. Red. And there’s a man who comes here every Wednesday, who seems to be keeping an eye on them. Skinny white guy, in his thirties, got red hair that he wears in a ponytail?”
Lategan nodded. “I think I know who you mean. Go on. Anything else? Anything happen in the last few days?”
“Well, I think Mr Soapstone got robbed last night.”
Lategan looked interested for the first time.
“He was running about shouting early this morning,” said Pranesh. “And those men of his even came in here, poking in among the bird seed, can you believe it.”
“I can,” said Lategan. “Well, I’ll let you get on with things then, Mr Pranesh. Good morning.” He turned and gestured at the rest of the team. “Right, guys, let’s go give Seepie a visit.”
They headed around to the side of the Werdmuller Centre where a ramp led into the building. It was not a welcoming place. The ramp sloped in beneath a frowning overhang, dark and weather stained. The walls were scribbled over with graffiti and covered with the layered remains of ancient posters. In places the stone facing had been torn off, leaving ragged patches of exposed concrete.
As they went deeper into the centre, Gia saw rows of abandoned shops and offices. Pick ’n Rainbow Paint’s, announced one sign and another advertised a toy shop. All had been gutted, windows smashed and doors ripped out. Even in the middle of the morning it was dark and Gia shivered a little at the chill breathing from the damp concrete.
High over a central open space washing hung on a line. Pot plants that must once have been carefully tended now crowded up towards the light that filtered in through dirty windows far above. The thin strains of a radio bled from somewhere close by. There were other, less pleasant signs that the place was still occupied. There was a strong scent of urine and a group of rats watched their approach, quite unafraid until Bandiet lumbered into view.
The patrol came to a place where the walkway was blocked by a brick wall, clearly not part of the original construction. The only way through was a rusted gate.
Lategan went first, looking carefully around then jerked his head for the rest to follow. Beyond the wall the walkway was divided into a hive of living spaces. The original walls were hidden behind structures of plywood and corrugated iron. Parts of this maze were neat enough, with perfectly normal windows and doors. Other sections were flimsy skins of cardboard held together with wire and duct tape. Cables snaked everywhere and Gia had to step carefully to avoid tripping.
Clearly the people here liked to sleep as high up as they could get. Gia saw beds balanced on top of cupboards and nests of bedding stuffed on high ledges. The patrol had to duck under hammocks and edge past sleeping spaces screened off by curtains or opened out cardboard boxes. The only light came from an assortment of lamps and the occasional fluorescent tube taped to the ceiling.
The constables had to walk in single file, stepping over cables and ducking through doorways. Gia was careful to stay close behind Robertson. A movement caught her eye. Three small, furry faces with bright eyes and fox-like ears watched her from a mattress wedged on top of a row of filing cabinets. A flowered curtain fluttered aside and she caught a glimpse of a paper-white woman feeding a baby. Further along a sheet of translucent plastic stretched between a portaloo and a pile of packing crates. For a moment, something pressed against it and she saw the distinct silhouette of a hand with too many, twiggy fingers.
“Most of these guys spend their days asleep,” Constable Robertson explained in a low voice. “You should see this place by night. You wouldn’t believe— Okay, dude, watch where you’re going!”
A hunched thing like a bundle of barbed wire had emerged from a nearby door and was pushing its way through the patrol, muttering and grumbling to itself. Gia stepped back to avoid it, catching the gleam of its tiny, piggy eyes as it brushed past her.
At last they reached a place where the walkway opened out again. Lategan led them up a flight of steps. Here the corridors were open again and lights had been set into the ceiling, some of which worked. The patrol passed many doors, most of them closed. Gia guessed these must once have led to offices. One of the doors was heavily barred, as was the window next to it. A number of sofas and armchairs had been arranged into a semicircle nearby. The people who sat there seemed human, but Gia no longer trusted her ability
to judge. The air was heavy with the scent of whatever they were smoking, a potent, green scent that made her want to cough. The group watched the patrol approach, but nobody spoke.
“Morning,” said Lategan. “Looking for Seepie. Is he here?”
“Seepie!” shouted a thin-faced woman. “Got company.”
A man appeared in the door. “Hey?” Although the light was dim, he squinted as though staring into the sun. “Oh.” He unlocked the burglar gate, not hurrying about it and then stood there, hanging on the gate. He was a young man in his early twenties and wore a suit and tie, but he seemed to have slept in his clothes and he clearly had not shaved yet. His sandy hair stood in a lopsided crest made worse as he ran his fingers through it.
“Mr Soapstone,” said Lategan. “We heard that you had some unwelcome visitors last night.”
“Yeah.” The man closed his eyes and sniffed noisily, swaying a little where he stood. “That’s right.”
Lategan waited for something more, but Seepie seemed to have fallen asleep on his feet. “We’ll have a look then,” he said and Seepie’s eyes popped open. “You what?” He blinked sleepily. “I don’t suppose I can stop you, can I?”
Lategan nodded to the constables to follow him.
It was dark inside the shop. The only light came from the front windows, which had been painted white. Gia could make out a small space, half filled by a scratched plywood desk. There were shelves full of box files and several solid-looking metal cabinets.
“Okay.” Lategan glanced around irritably. “No need for everybody to crowd in here. Everybody out except for Samuels. Samuels, you get Bandiet to have a sniff around.”
Lategan followed them out and went up to Seepie, who was holding a cigarette and patting his pockets in search, presumably, for a lighter.
“Mr Soapstone,” said Lategan. “So can you tell us a little bit more about this incident? Was there a break-in? Anything stolen?”
Seepie looked up at him. “Got a light for me? No, never mind, forget it.” He tucked the cigarette into a shirt pocket and sighed heavily. “Right. I guess you’ll bug me about this ’til I tell you something. No, actually there was no break-in, if you mean a smashed window or something like that. That’s what’s so strange.” He gestured to the heavily barred windows and the burglar gate on the door. “I mean, I’ve got some good locks on there and I locked it up last night like I always do, but when I got in this morning, the place was tossed.”
“Anything missing?”
Seepie shrugged. “Can’t really say, hey.” His gaze slid away from Lategan’s. “Could be. One or two items. Difficult to say.”
“Doesn’t look too bad to me,” said Lategan. “You tidy up already?” And when he got no answer to this, “So, there was no sign of the locks being forced?”
“Nope.”
“And your security footage? I see you’ve got a camera set up there. Can I see the footage?”
For a long moment the two men stared at each other. Finally, Seepie turned and walked away, further down the corridor.
“Robertson, you come with me,” said Lategan. “The rest of you, stay here.” Then his eye fell on Gia and his mouth quirked in irritation. “Oh, hell, you better come along too.”
They followed Seepie down a narrow stairwell and then another corridor till he stopped at a door. Seepie rattled the burglar gate. “Petrus!” he shouted. “Open up, man!”
Somebody answered, the voice too muffled to make out.
“Move it up, man,” shouted Seepie, giving the gate another bang. Then he stepped back and gave Lategan an ironic look. “Real paranoid dude, this. Nuts about his security. Useful, though.”
The door shook a little and Gia heard a series of clanks and rattles, the sound of several locks being undone. At last, the door swung open revealing a tall man in a very dirty bathrobe. “Oh it’s you,” he said to Seepie. “What do you want?”
“Had a little break-in last night, Petrus,” said Seepie. “And these gentlemen want to look at the footage.”
The interior of Petrus’s apartment reminded Gia of Brakman’s flat. It had that same barren feeling, although there was plenty of evidence that Petrus spent most of his time here. Everywhere she looked were drifts of takeaway food containers and empty beer cans and the floor was strewn with cigarette butts. The only furniture was a desk with a computer and an ancient, sagging office chair, but what drew her eye were the screens that lined the wall above. There were tiny black-and-white monitors, ancient bulging colour screens and flat panels, most of them old and dusty, but all showing a variety of interior spaces.
These must be from security cameras all over the building, Gia realised.
Many of the images were too dark or grainy to make out easily, but some were sharp and clean. She recognised the entrance to the Werdmuller Centre, a downward angling scene hazed in black and white. Another screen showed somebody’s sitting room; she could make out a pretty sofa and chairs, but people were sleeping everywhere a body could be crammed. There was even someone curled up underneath the glass coffee table.
In one corner on a tiny screen, she could see Mr Pranesh busy with a customer at his counter, the parrot now perched on his shoulder.
“So you had a break-in, hey?” said Petrus. “Why didn’t I see anything?”
“I was wondering that myself,” said Seepie.
“Probably I was asleep.” Petrus seated himself in the chair, bumped the computer screen into life and started typing on the keyboard. “Soapstone, soapstone,” he muttered. “Here we go. So what time frame?”
“I left at about...eleven, I think,” said Seepie. “So after then.”
Petrus pointed at a screen halfway up the wall, a small black-and-white one. It showed the interior of Seepie’s shop from a camera up against the ceiling opposite the door. “There, that’s yours.” He typed some more and the screen flickered and changed, the timestamp in the corner scrolling backward rapidly.
“Hold it, I think I saw something there,” said Petrus. “There. Let’s see now.”
They all stared up at the screen and for a minute or so, all that changed was the flick, flick, flick of the numbers in the time-stamp.
11:45:10.
11:45:11.
11:45:12.
11:45:13.
“You sure—” said Seepie, but Petrus held up a silencing hand. “The door. See it? It’s moving a little.”
“How can you possibly see that, dude?” Seepie peered at the grainy display. “Hey! Check at that!”
They could all see it now, the doorknob moving then the door swinging open.
“And here they come,” said Petrus. “Looks like they had a key. Or picked the lock or something. You sure you locked it?”
“What about my alarm?” said Seepie, staring at the screen as if fascinated. “Why didn’t my alarm go off, man?”
Petrus shrugged. “There are ways around that. Especially for crooks, you know, and I’d say these individuals are definitely crook, wouldn’t you?”
Gia could see them now. Indistinct shapes, one large, one small, and there was another one that hovered just inside the door.
“Well, waddaya know,” drawled Robertson and Lategan gave a laugh. The smaller figure had stepped into a patch of light, showing a flare of white around his head. It was hard to see on the tiny screen, but he seemed to be almost inhumanly thin and Gia had an impression of long, white fingers. The other one was still indistinct, but she could see enough of him to remind her of Mandla’s description.
...one is big and hairy, got him a really grand old-school bush of dreadlocks...
So these might be the people Mandla had warned them about, his contacts? And what about the third one, who stayed just inside the doorway? There was something about that shape that pulled at Gia’s eye. Small and was that a pale flash of face she saw? Mandla had mentioned a dog, but although she could not see enough of this figure to see if it was human, it was certainly not a dog.
“Hey, up!” sai
d Petrus. The skinny person had suddenly gotten bigger and Gia realised it must have climbed up close to the camera somehow. It reached out a hand towards the camera. There was a white flash and the screen blanked out.
-oOo-
“You know,” said Robertson, “that it’s kind of a coincidence? I mean—Mandla warns us to look for somebody and, bingo, there they are?” They were in the truck again, on the way back to Valkenberg. The driver was taking them through the smaller streets, driving as slowly as the traffic allowed. The weather had cleared up and everything was shiny in the sunlight.
“Hm,” said Lategan. “I saw Mandla talking to some of the other patrols too, so it’s not only us he warned.” Lategan seemed more relaxed now. He sat back, looking out through the windscreen through half-closed eyes.
“Still,” said Robertson. “He specifically asked us if we were going to look in on Soapstone.”
“You noticed that too, did you.”
“And we never did find out what they stole.”
“Hm.”
For a while neither of them said anything. They’d reached a busier intersection now and soon were back on Main Road. The driver hooted at a taxi that was blocking the road. “Bloody Nigerians,” he said. “They drive like the entire street’s just one big parking lot.”
“I guess it is, from their point of view,” said Robertson. “Oh, man, look at that guy.” The taxi was reversing through the intersection, blithely ignoring the increasingly irate chorus of hoots.
Gia was by now too curious to stay silent any longer. “What do you think they stole?” she asked.
Robertson looked at her in surprise, as though he’d forgotten she was there. “Good question. Although I’ve got some ideas. What do you think, sir? Brights, or ghosties? Pixie dust?”
“Nah,” said Lategan. “From what I’ve heard, Mr Soapstone is not so much into the drugs. Well, apart from the obvious stuff. Dagga and that. He plays more of a dangerous game. If we’d looked in those cabinets, we might have found some small arms, stunners, that kind of thing. Ammunition. Cartridges. Maybe even something more hardcore, like a couple of thorn-bombs. Those things are getting smaller and more lethal all the time. Did you hear? They found a shipment of these tiny spore grenades in a woman’s luggage. She was coming in by bus from Zim. Tiny little things, small enough to hide in your fist, but they’re supposed to have a radius of like ten metres.”
Wolf Logic Page 20
