The Rwandan Hostage

by Christopher Lowery

  Emma tried to supress a shiver. After her talk with her sister, she realised how dangerous these people could be. She needed to get him out of the room for a few minutes. “Do you think I could have a cup of coffee, please? I was so exhausted that I overslept and I haven’t had anything at all this morning. I suppose Mr. Coetzee is coming, so we have a few minutes to spare.”

  “I’ll get it myself.” He went out into the corridor, leaving the door ajar.

  Emma leaned over the laptop, moved the cursor to ‘Computer’ and left clicked. The screensaver disappeared and the Hard Disk Drive ‘C’ icon came up together with the icon for Removable Disk ‘G’. She breathed deeply with relief, no password was required and the CD must still be in the machine. As she moved the cursor over the ‘G’ icon she heard a step at the door. She turned in her chair with her back to the laptop and nodded to Coetzee, who came in ahead of Nwosu, carrying three plastic coffee cups. “Good morning and good timing Mr Coetzee. Just in time for coffee,” she said, cursing her bad luck.

  The two men sat opposite her, out of sight of the screen. “How are you today, Emma?” Coetzee was more polite than last night. “It’s more than twelve hours now and we haven’t heard anything from the hospitals or the other precincts, so we’ll have to classify Leo’s disappearance as an emergency and that requires a lot of paper work. I hope you’re up to it.”

  “Anything that’ll help to get my son back,” she replied, “that’s all that matters to me.”

  Nwosu commenced the questioning, starting with her and Leo’s personal details. He filled the forms out by hand, with a black fountain pen, it looked to Emma like a Mont Blanc. Strange, she thought, there’s a laptop on the table and they must have a centralised computer system. Why is he writing everything down? Then it dawned on her. Leo’s abduction was not even in the system! They were keeping the case under wraps, so they could control it without any chance of interference from other officers. A disappearance would cause some questions in the station and they didn’t want to answer them. The hair prickled on the back of her neck. This is all just a pantomime, a show, but I can’t afford to make a fuss. My son is in their hands. Jenny’s right, I just have to play along.

  She gave them the basic information they asked for, full names, nationality, address, dates of birth, mobile numbers for her and Leo and her email address. She’d also brought photocopies of their passports, but not the original documents. She thought they looked a little annoyed about this, but no comment was made.

  Nwosu examined the passport copies. “So Leo is short for Leopold. That’s an unusual name. Any special reason for that choice?”

  Emma thought quickly. “He was one of my favourite uncles. I love the name.”

  “I see. And his place of birth was in London?”

  Emma moved uncomfortably on her chair, “That’s right. He was born at the University College Hospital. We’ve always lived in England.”

  “When did you plan to go back to the UK? I assume you’ve got return tickets.” Nwosu took a diary from his shirt pocket. “Today’s Monday the twelfth.” He looked quizzically at her.

  “Our tickets are for Wednesday evening, the fourteenth. We must find Leo before that, or I don’t know what I’m going to do.” She took out her handkerchief and wiped the genuine tears from her eyes. “I checked and there aren’t any seats available anyway, everything’s booked up. This whole thing‘s a nightmare.”

  “I’m sure we’ll find Leo by Wednesday. We’ve got all of the police stations on alert, the hospitals and clinics advised, and we’re planning a TV appeal for information if there’s no news by tomorrow.” At this, Nwosu’s eyebrows raised, but he said nothing. Coetzee continued, “We’re already working on several possible leads, but we need more information from you to point us in the right direction, confirm our suspicions. It’s vital you tell us everything you can about Leo and his father.”

  “That’s right,” Nwosu added, “we need the details of Leo’s birth, his father’s name, nationality, date of birth, etc.”

  Emma had been worrying about how to get around these questions. She had to steer around the subject without revealing anything she didn’t want to. “Let me tell you about my background,” she said. “It will make everything much clearer to you.”

  Nwosu and Coetzee exchanged a look. Now they were getting somewhere.

  “I joined the International Committee of the Red Cross in 1992, when I was twenty three. Well, it was actually the British Red Cross, because I was in London. Before that I worked for two years with a charity organisation in India to get some experience for the job. I started in 1990 in an orphanage in Mumbai, looking after children from one to twelve years of age and then in 1991 …… ”

  Ten minutes later, she was still talking about her work in India and she knew she could continue for several more hours.

  Finally, Coetzee interrupted her. “We’re getting off the subject here, Emma. When and where did you meet Leo’s father?”

  Emma was working out how to get around this question when the phone rang. “Yes?” Nwosu listened for a moment then swore softly under his breath. He looked at Coetzee then said, “We’ll be there directly.”

  He stood up and beckoned to Coetzee. “We’ve got a problem we need to check on, Emma. It’ll take only a few minutes, OK?”

  She nodded, “I’ll get myself another coffee, if you don’t mind.”

  “I’ll bring you one,” he went to fetch the coffee and placed it on the table beside her. He glanced at the laptop but it was on screen saver. “We’ll be back in no time.” He left the room and closed the door.

  Emma stood over the laptop and hit Enter. The ‘C’ and ‘G’ icons came up again. She opened up the ‘G’ drive. There was only one item on it, labelled Leo Stewart. She was wearing a safari jacket with several pockets. Pulling out a USB memory stick she inserted it into the slot on the machine. The icon for ‘Remote Device D’ came up and she opened it up. It was the stick she always carried with a copy of the latest draft of her book, for editing when she was travelling. It had six gigabytes of capacity, with less than a gigabyte used. She was sure it would be enough.

  She put the cursor over the Leo Stewart file and dragged it into the memory stick. It took just over a minute to copy, but it seemed like an hour, glancing over her shoulder to ensure that the men didn’t return. Putting the stick back in her pocket, she closed the two windows and waited nervously until Table Mountain reappeared on the screen. She drained the coffee in one gulp feelingly quite elated. Now, I’m doing something useful, she thought. Thanks, Jenny.

  As they walked along the corridor to the reception area, Nwosu whispered angrily to Coetzee, “That fucking guard, Masuku, is here to claim his bonus. I told the half-wit to come in two hours. We’ll have to get rid of him. You’ll have to do it. I’ll stay with the woman. Shit! Why can’t people just do what they’re told?”

  “What do you mean, ‘get rid of him’? That’s not my line of business. I’m a facilitator, not a fucking executioner.”

  “This is a police station, Coetzee. I can’t let you interview Stewart alone. What if someone comes in? Nobody even knows she’s in the building except us. One of us has to look after Masuku and it can’t be me, so it has to be you.”

  Coetzee said nothing further until they found the little guard, sitting in reception. He jumped up, looking happily at them both, like a dog whose masters have just come back.

  “Jacob Masuku, this is Sergeant Nwosu,” announced Coetzee. The guard put out his hand, which was ignored by Nwosu. “He has some news for you. Some very good news. I have to get back to the stadium, so I’ll leave you with him and see you later. Thanks for your help, I’ll see you.”

  Nwosu looked at him with fury. “You can’t ……”, as Coetzee walked out of the station and got into his car without looking back.

  Masuku hadn’t noticed the altercation, he was too busy imagining what his bonus might be. Nwosu grabbed him by the arm and walked him outside. The g
uard was babbling. “Boss, what you got for Jacob? You got somethin’ nice for me, eh? That kid was drugged, eh? I seen lots of kids like that before. Eyes up in their head. But I don’t say nothin’ to nobody, ‘cos I know you got somethin’ nice for me.”

  The policeman was swiftly weighing up the alternatives. He needed more information from Emma, but she wasn’t going anywhere, at least not until Wednesday, if then. This guard was now becoming a dangerous nuisance and needed to be silenced. “Wait out here for me, Jacob,” he said. “Sit on that bench over there and I’ll be back in just a minute and we’ll go collect your bonus.”

  Emma was sitting sobbing into her handkerchief, her head on the table, when he came back into the room. He sat beside her and took her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mrs Stewart. Everything is going to turn out alright. Things are never as bad as they seem. Just trust us and we’ll get Leo back for you.”

  Nwosu could project a very tender image which women found comforting. He switched on his most charming expression. She turned to look at him. His breath was surprisingly sweet and his gaze was so intensely steady she almost believed what he said. Almost, but not quite. “Thank you, Sergeant Nwosu. I have every confidence,” she replied.

  “I can see you’re very upset again. Maybe it would be better if we wait until this afternoon to talk. Why don’t you go back to the Packard and come here at four o’clock. You can catch up on your sleep and I’m sure you’ll feel better for it.”

  She mumbled her thanks and walked with Nwosu back to the reception. A taxi was just pulling up in front of the door. “I’ll get him to take you to your hotel then bring you back at four o’clock,” he said. “I’ll charge it to the station account.”

  As the taxi pulled away, Emma switched off her phone’s recorder then turned to look out the back window. She saw Nwosu walk across the driveway with a small, wiry black man. She knew the man. It was the guard, Jacob Masuku. She quickly took a snap of the two men with the phone as they were getting into a white Opel Astra with red and blue markings. Her taxi turned the corner and she settled into her seat.

  It was fourteen hours since Leo had been taken.

  ELEVEN

  Gauteng, South Africa

  Jacob Masuku didn’t own a car. He had a clapped-out Triumph motor bike that he spent more time trying to fix than riding. He had seldom travelled in a modern car and never in a smart police vehicle. He was fascinated by the gadgets inside the car and giggled like a child when the radio crackled with a message. After multiple requests, Nwosu switched on the siren and the little guard leaned back, his eyes closed, imagining he was following a dangerous criminal in his souped-up getaway vehicle. This suited Sergeant Nwosu very well as he drove west from Diepkloof along the Moroka Bypass. Makusu was preoccupied with the car and his imaginings and he paid no attention to the journey.

  After they’d driven for about fifteen minutes, he emerged from his reverie and looked around the outside surroundings. “Where we goin’ boss?” He asked. “Where you takin’ Jacob? Someplace nice, where I get my bonus? Where we goin’?”

  “That’s right, Jacob. I’m taking you to a secret place just along the road. It’s where I keep my bonus cash. I don’t take risks with it. It’s for special services like the job you did for us. Then I’ll drive you back to your house, or wherever you want to go. You’re going to have the best day of your life, I promise you. You’ll never have a better one.” He smiled grimly at his own sense of humour.

  Masuku settled back in his seat, luxuriating in the soft upholstery. “I knew you’d look after old Jacob,” he said. “I told the wife, ‘that policeman, he gonna’ look after me, ‘cos he know I seen the kid was drugged. He know Jacob’s no idjit ‘cos I don’t say nothing ‘bout it’. I told her it ain’t my business where you take that kid. Jacob just wants his bonus.”

  “Where do you live, Jacob? Is it around here?”

  “It ain’t too far ‘way. Robertville, off of Main Reef Road. You been there?”

  Nwosu said nothing. He listened to the guard babble on as they passed the Libanon Gold Mine, about thirty kilometres from Diepkloof. He continued on Route 501 until he reached a farm track going north. They passed an old disused sand quarry on their left, with a dilapidated warehouse and a large pond in front of it and Nwosu pulled off the track beside the warehouse.

  Masuku was starting to become nervous, “What we doin’ here, boss? What’s this place? Jacob don’t likes the look of this place.”

  “This is where I keep my special bonus money, Jacob. I promised you your reward and you’re going to get it. Trust me.”

  Reluctantly, the little guard got out of the car and followed Nwosu to the door of the warehouse. The policeman took out a key and unlocked the padlock on the door. He walked in, Masuku following nervously behind. The building was high and large, with a concrete floor and bags of cement and sand still stacked against one of the walls. An office, built from breeze blocks, the windows no longer in place, stood in the corner and Nwosu led the other man across to it. The place was cold, the flimsy construction and missing windows providing no insulation from the weather.

  Masuku looked into the sparsely equipped office. There was a pile of plastic sheets, a large knife, some tools, lengths of steel wire and a coil of rope on the floor. On the desk were rolls of plastic tape and rubber gloves, a bottle of clear liquid. “I don’t like this place, boss. Jacob gotta be headin’ home now. We just forget ‘bout the bonus. I didn’t see nothin’, I was just pertendin’. I don’t want no bonus. Just take Jacob home now, boss. Please.”

  Nwosu smiled his charming smile, “I just want to know one thing before you get your bonus, Jacob. Have you told anyone else about what you saw in the stadium?”

  Masuku was sweating profusely, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “I never said nothin’ boss, like I told you. I ain’t talk with nobody ‘cept the wife. Anyways, like I said, I ain’t seen nothin’, so there’s nothin’ to tell. Boss, I’m sorry I made up that story.” his voice began to shake, tears came to his eyes and he looked frantically at the door. “I just want to get a little bonus so I could take her ‘way for a couple days. But it don’t matter. We just forget it and you let Jacob go now. I can walk back, don’t need a lift in your nice motor car. Just you let me go, boss, and we forget this whole thing.”

  “That’s not possible, Jacob. It’s just too risky.” Nwosu took his Vektor SP1 pistol from the holster on his belt.

  “Boss. Please boss! I promise I don’t gonna say nothin’.” Masuku lost control of his bladder and a dark patch appeared on the crotch of his jeans.

  The policeman pulled the trigger twice and blasted the little guard backwards onto the concrete floor outside the office. He lay completely still, a pool of blood appearing from beneath him and gradually surrounding his upper body. Nwosu leaned over to check the pulse in his neck. There was none.

  Sergeant Nwosu put on the rubber gloves from the office, went across to where the bags were stored and brought back a sack of cement in a wheelbarrow. He wheeled the cement over to a concrete step at the edge of the lake and dumped the sack onto the step. He then took a plastic sheet from the pile in the office and laid it alongside Masuku’s body. Scrupulously avoiding any contact with the blood, he rolled the corpse onto the plastic and wrapped it tightly around, fastening it with duct tape. Upper torso first, he loaded it onto the wheelbarrow, the feet sticking out over the end. He wheeled the body over to the step and dumped it beside the cement sack.

  Pushing the wheelbarrow over to the end of the warehouse, he returned with a large wooden box, which he placed on its side next to the dead man. He rolled the body into the box then manhandled it over, the open side up. Then he slit open the neck of the cement bag and poured the material into the box until it covered the corpse. With a hammer and nails from the office, he fastened down the lid of the box, tight. The lid had small holes punched into it, just enough to let a trickle of water enter, slowly but surely.

  Nwosu looked
carefully around the warehouse and checked the interior of his car, then returned to the step. He pushed the box over the edge of the step, until gravity took it and it slid into the murky depths of the lake, committing Jacob Masuku’s soul to a concrete grave which would never be uncovered until the fifteen foot deep lake dried up or was emptied. He carefully put all of his tools and materials away then hosed down the floor of the warehouse. The concrete would soon dry out and there would be no evidence of how the last day of Jacob Masuku’s life had ended. As Sergeant Nwosu had promised, ‘You’ll never have a better one’.

  Emma got back into her room after braving the remarks of sympathy and encouragement from the hotel staff in reception. She would have liked to think their support might be useful, but she doubted it. She didn’t know how wide Coetzee and Nwosu had spread their web and these people might be under their control. She was remembering Jenny’s admonishment, “Behave as if everyone you meet there is your enemy.”

  She took her mobile phone and the memory stick from her jacket pockets and laid them on the desk, then opened her laptop to check her emails. There was nothing urgent or special to reply to. Some fan mail asking about her next book and no message from Jenny, but it was only eleven forty-five, so she wouldn’t have arrived in Marbella yet. She inserted the memory stick to check that the clip had properly copied. The police station laptop was a Sony and hers was an Apple so she crossed her fingers that it was compatible. Thank heavens, it was just as clear and precise as the original. She didn’t watch the film again, it would make her too distressed, just saved it to the hard disk, filing it, after some conflicting emotions, under Pictures, Family, Leo’s SA Trip.

  Taking up her mobile, she found the photo she’d taken. The two men were easily identifiable and she wondered what problem had caused Coetzee to leave and Nwosu to meet the guard. Strange, it was important enough to interrupt my interview and get rid of me. She emailed the image to her laptop and saved it in the same folder as Leo’s clip, under Nwosu & Masuku July 12.