The African Diamond Trilogy Box Set

by Christopher Lowery

  “I already told you he doesn’t drink or take anything. He’s still at school and he doesn’t know anybody here. You must know better than me that there was trouble near the hotel just after we arrived, Two men were shot in the street. Do you really think I would let my son go out and make friends in a country where people get shot in front of your hotel? Don’t be so idiotic. Why do you keep asking stupid questions?”

  “OK. I’ll ask a less stupid question. Why didn’t you tell me Leo’s father was black?”

  Emma had been waiting for the question, but it still came as a shock. “Because it’s not relevant. Not relevant at all. Anyway, it’s clear from the photo I sent you. His father was black, but that’s got nothing to do with him being abducted from your football stadium.” She looked the man straight in the eyes. “Unless you’ve worked out a really clever theory without any facts to support it.”

  “Was his father South African?”

  “No he wasn’t and that’s the end of this interrogation. I’m not the problem here, it’s the lack of security in your stadium that’s the problem.” She got to her feet again. “Now, either take me to the police station or get a taxi to take me.” She walked to the door, stopped, then turned back to him, her eyes alight. “Wait! Now it makes sense to look at the CCTV video for gate fourteen. We know the approximate time, so we should see something.”

  They found Leo on the video monitor at exactly 21:24, just when Emma calculated she would have been emerging from the toilets. As the security man had described, he was sitting in a wheelchair, his head thrown back, obviously completely out of it. A man, wearing a white cap and gauze mask, dark shirt and trousers was pushing the chair and a black female in a nurse’s outfit, also wearing a medical mask, was leading the way through the crowded area. The camera was situated above the doors at the stadium exit, looking back along the corridor and the shot was about twenty seconds long until they went out of camera range.

  Coetzee looked away from the screen at Emma. Her face was aghast, her hand to her mouth, breathing in short panic gasps.

  “Who are they? Can you see their faces? Why are they pushing my son outside? What’s wrong with him? Why didn’t they come and find me? I was right there just a moment later.” She paused, thinking about the scene. “There must be a vehicle outside if they are taking him in a wheelchair. An ambulance or a van or something. Is there a camera outside so we can see what they do? ”

  “The cameras outside are pointed at the turnstiles, in case of trouble at the gates. There’s some in the car park, but I doubt they went there. They’d get him into the vehicle as quickly as possible, right outside the gate, but we don’t have that covered.” He re-ran the shot, slowing it down and peering intently at the screen. “I can’t make their faces out. I’ve got no idea who they are and I don’t recognise the badge the man’s wearing. They’re looking down and sideways, away from the angle of the camera. I’d say they knew it was there and they’re avoiding it to hide their faces.”

  “So you’re saying they don’t want to be seen. They’re taking my son against his will and they’ve given him something to knock him out. And no one saw anything on the CCTV monitor and the guard wasn’t trained to say anything and we don’t know where they’ve taken him. How could you let this happen in your stadium? What kind of a security manager or whetever you call yourself are you? Oh, my God. I don’t believe this is happening.” Emma collapsed into a chair, her eyes wide with fear.

  “Mrs Stewart, you’ve got to calm down. There must be a reasonable explanation for all this. You told me there is no one in South Africa who has any interest in you or your son, so either he was taken ill, or it’s some kind of mistaken identity. I can’t be held responsible for everything that goes on in a stadium with ninety thousand football-mad fans inside.” Coetzee sounded almost as frantic as Emma felt. “We need to get to the police and find out where they went and why. Just wait a moment.”

  He selected a two minute sequence from the video before and after Leo’s appearance and burned it onto a CD. “I’ll call the police right now and we’ll take this CD down to the station. Come on, my car’s downstairs.” He pulled out his mobile phone and ushered Emma to the door.

  Diepkloof, Gauteng, South Africa

  It took them only 15 minutes to get to the Police Station at Diepkloof, since most of the traffic was going the other way, towards Joburg. The precinct appeared to be in a state of complete chaos, mostly full of drunken and bloodied soccer fans, but Coetzee’s call seemed to have had some effect. They waited only a few minutes before Sergeant Nwosu appeared, looking smart and fresh in his beige trousers and cream shirt and carrying a brown cap. He was a good looking, tall, skinny man, smelling of a powerful after shave or perfume, his head shaved and gleaming with oil. It was now after midnight and Emma was embarrassed by her dishevelled, sweaty appearance, but the man smiled kindly and shook her hand.

  “How do you do, Mrs Stewart, I’m sorry to hear about this problem. Please come inside and we’ll talk about it. Our job is to help our visitors if we can, whatever the circumstances.”

  He led them into a small conference room with an old Sony laptop and a projector on the table top, pointing at a white wall. Coetzee gave him the CD and he loaded it and prepared the laptop. “I understand this concerns your son’s disappearance from the game tonight?”

  “It wasn’t a disappearance, Sergeant. Just look at what happened.” Emma braced herself to view the kidnapping again.

  He adjusted the projector beam and the scene was visible on the wall, much larger and not quite so distinct as on the monitor in the security back room.

  “There! There he is.” Emma put her hand to her mouth again.

  “You’re sure that’s your son, Leo?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I’m absolutely certain of it. But I have no idea what’s happened to him and who those people are. I left him five minutes before and he was absolutely fine.”

  “Hmm. I agree it’s uncommon to get suddenly sick at fifteen years of age.” The policeman reran the clip again, peering closely, as Coetzee had done.

  Emma’s mind was suddenly clouded by an intruding doubt. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was nagging at her subconcious. Something she’d heard. What was it?

  Nwosu stopped the clip with the frame of Leo lying back in the wheelchair. “I see he has African blood in his veins.”

  Emma switched back to the policeman’s words and she shifted nervously on the seat.

  “Now, tell me about his father? Where he came from, where he is? Just a few details so I can get a picture of Leo’s background. It might help us to unravel this mystery.”

  All at once it dawned on Emma what the nagging doubt was. ‘Leo, only fifteen years of age’, he’d said. But I didn’t tell him that and neither did Coetzee. She quickly reran in her mind the security man’s call from his mobile as they drove to the station. He’d mentioned Mrs Stewart and her ‘young son, a schoolboy’, who was missing and had possibly been abducted from the stadium, the guard’s testimony and the CCTV shot of the ‘boy’ in a wheelchair. He’d never mentioned her son’s name, nor his age. How did this policeman know these details? She shivered, her feeling of panic increasing, disbelieving and frightened at this latest revelation. What in God’s name is going on here?

  “Sergeant Nwosu, how did you know so many details about my son? Like his name is Leo and he’s fifteen years old?” She looked intently at the policeman, to see his reaction.

  “His details?” Nwosu coughed and glanced across at Coetzee, who gave an imperceptible shrug without looking away from the image on the wall. “I’m not sure why that would be important, but of course Mr Coetzee informed me when he called. We’re both very concerned with your son’s wellbeing and all information is vital to finding him.”

  Emma’s brain was working overtime. Somehow this police sergeant had known about Leo without being told. He had known before they got there. Maybe even before the abduction. And Coetzee
was involved. He hadn’t asked about Leo being black, not until later and now his lack of reaction to her question wasn’t normal, he’d never even turned his head. In case he gave something away.

  “Mrs Stewart? Emma?”

  “What did you say?”

  “I was asking about Leo’s father. I’d like to get some background on him. Where he came from, where he is now? Are you still together? Those kind of details can be vital to an investigation like this.”

  “Let me think for a moment. My son is missing and I’m trying to remain calm and rational and all you do is keep asking me questions about his father. Just leave me alone for a moment, please.”

  The two men sat back, Coetzee lighting up another cheroot, fiddling with his lighter, trying unsuccessfully to look nonchalant. Emma concentrated her mind, revisiting the last few minutes of conversation, trying to absorb and analyse what she’d heard, what she’d seen. Finally reaching a terrifying conclusion. CONSPIRACY. The word jumped into her mind. These men are conspiring together. The head of a security firm and a police sergeant. Conspiring to abduct my son. But why? What’s so important about a fifteen year old schoolboy? Why would anyone want to kidnap Leo?

  Old, almost forgotten memories came to her mind. Thoughts and worries she hadn’t entertained for many years came flooding back. She tried to push them aside. To concentrate on the present. On finding Leo.

  Her mind started racing again. This is just too far-fetched. Don’t let your crime novels start taking over your imagination. Conspiracies only happen in books and deranged minds. Kids just don’t get abducted in crowded football stadiums. There must be some reasonable explanation to all this. And the last thing you want to do is to alienate these men. They may be your only chance of finding Leo, or at least keeping in touch with events. But don’t answer any dangerous questions.

  Aloud she said, “Before we lose any more time we have to check with all the hospitals around. Leo must have been taken to a hospital or a clinic. If there was something wrong with him, he can’t be very far. And you can put out an ‘all points alert’, or whatever you call it here, for the other police forces to look out for him.”

  “I’ve already set the wheels in motion. My assistant is calling the medical centres as we speak. He’s also preparing a circular to email around. We do know what we’re doing, Mrs Stewart. We’re really quite capable.” Nwosu looked affronted at being lectured to by this young woman.

  Coetzee handed him his mobile phone. “Take this picture for the circular. Mrs Stewart took it just yesterday.”

  Emma was thinking furiously. “I want to call the British Embassy,” she announced. “We have to inform them in the event of an emergency. We were given strict instructions when we got the travel documents. Can you get the number for me please?”

  “Well, until we have some real information I don’t think we can classify this as an emergency yet. It’s only a few hours since Leo’s disappearance and it’s usual to wait twenty-four hours before taking that decision. Let’s wait until we get feedback from the hospitals.”

  “But that might take all night. And if you don’t think that a teenage boy being doped and kidnapped from your stadium is an emergency then I don’t know what would qualify.” She paused, trying to think clearly for a moment, then stood up and walked to the door. “Please call a taxi for me. I’m going back to my hotel. There’s nothing I can do here and I need to make some phone calls. You can contact me if there’s any news.”

  Nwosu looked worriedly at Coetzee. “But we still need a lot of information before we can carry out a proper investigation. Please sit down again Mrs Stewart so I can ask you further questions.”

  Emma struggled to remain calm and assertive. “Sergeant Nwosu. It’s now almost one in the morning and I’m exhausted. I don’t think anything I tell you tonight will change the situation. As you just said, let’s wait for the feedback from the hospitals and we’ll see what transpires before morning. If necessary I can come back and answer your questions then, but now I want to get back to my hotel.”

  DAY TWO

  MONDAY JULY 12, 2010

  SIX

  Johannesburg, South Africa

  Emma put down the phone in her hotel room. It was after three in the morning. Her last call had been to the British High Commission in Pretoria. Coetzee had dropped her off in front of the Packard Hotel after she had refused to answer any more of Nwosu’s questions and told her a car would come to pick her up at ten in the morning to take her back to the station. He drove off looking quite disgruntled. Barry Lambert, the manager, was waiting in reception for her and asked if there was anything he could do. It seemed the hotel staff had taken a liking to Leo and they were concerned for his welfare. He tried unsuccessfully to console her then she took the keys to both of their rooms and went up to the seventh floor.

  She entered Leo’s room. It was as untidy as his bedroom at home in Newcastle, books and papers scattered over the dresser and night table, shirts and shorts lying on the floor and on the bed, towels hung over the bath and his toilet things all over the place. She looked around at her son’s belongings and sat on the edge of the bed, tears pouring down her face. Taking one of his shirts she held it close, breathing in the familiar smell of his body, remembering the feeling of his energy and youth. Oh, Leo. Where are you? What’s happening to you?

  After a while Emma pulled herself together and went next door to her to her own room, stripped off and ran a warm bath. Lying back in the foamy water she forced her mind to revisit the events of the evening. I’ve got to find out what’s going on. Leo didn’t just get sick and pass out, he’s never been ill in his life. And the whole thing’s just too slick. A wheelchair and two people appear from nowhere and push him out of the building. But to where, and why?

  A strange thought came to her mind. It’s almost like one of my thrillers, but the plot is backwards. I have to reconstruct it from scratch if I want to find my son. This isn’t going to be easy. I’ve got to find Leo without telling the police things they don’t need to know. Even if there was something going on between Coetzee and Nwosu, they had the resources and it wouldn’t do to get on the wrong side of them.

  She towelled off and sat in her nightdress by the bed with her notebook. The A4 notebook she used to outline the plots and characters for her novels. Only this time it wasn’t a novel, it was the real life disappearance of her only son. Emma had an almost photographic memory and formidable powers of observation. She cleared her mind then tried to dredge her memory of everything she had observed and remembered that evening, noting the events by time, by scene, by characters and by impressions or possible conclusions or motives for the abduction. For that was what she was now convinced had happened, her fifteen year old son had been abducted and she was perhaps the only person who could be trusted to find him. She started writing.

  After filling three pages of the notebook, she opened her laptop and entered the user name and password for the hotel WiFi network. They had been going to charge her a daily rate for usage but the manager gave her a free pass when he discovered she was a writer. She went online and typed in, Hospitals in South Johannesburg. The screen showed three establishments close to Soccer City; South Rand, Chris Hani Baragwanath and RLR Squalene. She noted down the phone numbers and picked up the hotel phone, it would be cheaper to make local calls than to use her UK mobile.

  The telephonist at South Rand asked her to hold on while she called the night duty supervisor to ask if he’d heard anything from the police about Leo. The answer was no. There had been no call or email from the Diepkloof police department or any other police department that night and there was no record of an admittance of a teenage English boy. The answer was the same from the other two hospitals. Emma had drawn a blank, but Nwosu had apparently done nothing.

  She looked up the other police stations around the neighbourhood of Soccer City. There were ten of them. Randomly, she chose Dobsonville, Kliptown and Meadowlands. Summoning up her best South African accent
, she called the first precinct. “Sorry to ring you so late, but I’ve been circulating a message about a missing British teenager and I’m not sure if I sent it to you. Would you mind checking for me?”

  The operator came back after a few minutes. “We’ve had no emails or faxes about a missing boy. Why don’t you send it again and I’ll make sure it goes to the night sergeant right away.” She called the other stations, but they had received nothing either.

  Emma put the phone down after the last call and sat back, her heart in her mouth, stunned and scared to death by the implications of this news. Now she knew for certain there was a conspiracy to kidnap her son and the police were involved.

  She thought back over the evening’s events, putting the pieces together in her mind. Coetzee had taken her to see Nwosu, so they were definitely working together. Two people had taken Leo out and it was probably one of them who had put him to sleep. That’s at least four people and one of them was a policeman. How high up does this plan go? Nwosu’s a sergeant, would he act without the authority of his superiors? Who else is involved?

  And all this planning and people just to kidnap my fifteen year old son! What reason can there possibly be? We seem to be trapped in the middle of some elaborate scheme, but what on earth for?

  Emma assessed her situation. I’m all alone here in this foreign country, without friends or connections of any kind and for some reason that I can’t begin to comprehend, my son has been taken by a gang involving a police officer. She forced herself to think clearly about her options. How could she find out more about the abduction without going through Coetzee or Nwosu? There must be a way to get around them and find the truth. She needed outside help and she needed it now.

  She found the number for the British High Commission in Pretoria. This time she used her mobile, the hotel rates for long distance calls would be ruinous. A recorded woman’s voice, very English, advised her that the embassy was closed, but in the event of an emergency she could be diverted to speak to a Duty Consular Officer at the Foreign Office Global Response Centre in London. She pressed ‘one, hash’, and a man’s voice came on the line.