Blood Safari (34 page)

The cottages were on the side of the hill in a crooked row, clearly visible in the soft light of the setting crescent moon and stars, an amazing firmament out here where no other light burned. I would begin with the one on the left, closest to the homestead. I had a
problem. Squint Septimus lived in one and I didn’t want to wake him. But which one? It was impossible to say. Probably not the very first one – you don’t want to sleep too close to the boss. I bet on the second one.

And the man I was looking for? The fourth or the fifth cottage?

It could be either. I began the long trek across the hard-baked open ground, pistol ready. I thanked the gods for the absence of watchdogs. I put each foot down quietly, so it would not disturb a sleeping man. I aimed for the long grass just left of the first house, taking my time carefully, wondering whether he was asleep in house number three or four, and guessing what he would say when I pressed the Glock to his temple and gently shook him awake.

Fifteen metres to the grass, then ten. I had to concentrate in order not to rush the last five. Mustn’t make a noise. When I was safely there, I squatted down and stared at the windows of the first house. No curtains. Upper and lower door of wood, the paint peeling.

I walked, crouching, through the grass to the next house. Dirty white lace curtains with a long rip in them. Where was Septimus? There was Septimus, sleeping, unconscious and unimportant. I crept on another seven metres and squatted on my haunches. I saw the faded yellow curtains in the window of house number three and I remembered Melanie Posthumus saying she had bought some pretty yellow material that was nice and cheerful and I knew where he was sleeping.

I’ve found him, Emma le Roux, I’ve found the elusive pimpernel Jacobus le Roux, also known as Cobie de Villiers. Murderer, missing person, activist and enigma.

Something cast a sudden shadow beside me in the thick grass and someone pressed a gun barrel softly against my cheek and said in a very nervous voice, ‘Put down the pistol before I blow your fucking head off.’

Sudden rage or fright stimulates the medulla to excrete the hormone epinephrine. I knew this because I had read up on it in jail in my eternal search for answers. Epinephrine speeds up the heart rate, raises blood sugar levels and blood pressure, constricts the pupils and the capillaries in the skin, so blood loss will be decreased should you be hurt. It prepares the body to better manage a physiological crisis and is referred to as the ‘fight or flight’ response.

The books don’t say what it does to the brain, which is that it ignores the temporary madness, the red mist.

But with a delicately vibrating gun barrel at your temple, fight, flight or madness are not useful responses. All you can do is fight for control and to try to neutralise the effect of the hormone with absolute concentration by breathing slowly and deeply and sitting dead still.

That was not what the shadow beside me wanted.

He banged the barrel hard against my skull and said, ‘Put the fucking thing down.’

His tone was not that of a man in control. It was filled with anxiety and a shrillness that I didn’t like. I slowly lowered the Glock and put it on the grass.

‘Who are you?’

I wanted to look at him, but he pressed the firearm harder to my temple.

‘I am Lemmer,’ I said soothingly.

‘What do you want?’

‘I work for your sister, Jacobus. For Emma le Roux.’

‘I have no sister.’

He was a wire stretched too taut and the trembling of the barrel intensified. I couldn’t see it, but I felt it in front of my ear, and I wondered whether his finger on the trigger was as taut as his voice.

‘Then I’ve made a mistake and I’m sorry.’

That was not the answer he expected. He was dumb for two hammer beats of my heart and then he said, ‘Don’t lie.’

I kept my voice quiet and even. ‘I’m not lying, Jacobus. I’m truly sorry. Especially for Emma. She has such a terrible desire to see her brother again. I think she really loved him.’

‘I have no sister.’ His voice had risen half an octave. My attempt at calming was not very successful.

‘I know, Jacobus. I believe you. My work here is done. I will go and tell her that she no longer has a brother.’

‘That’s right.’

‘May I get up now? I’ll go. I won’t bother you again. You can keep the pistol.’

He thought about it, and as he did, the barrel of the firearm moved a few millimetres away from my temple.

‘Why did you look for me here?’ Less desperate and shrill.

In an easy conversational way I kept to the truth. ‘Emma and I were here last week. I saw three coffee mugs in the shed. But Stef said there was only Septimus and himself. That’s what made me think someone was hiding here.’

He didn’t respond.

‘You heard the birds I disturbed,’ I said. ‘You’re very good.’

‘Francolín,’ he said.

‘You move well in the bush. I didn’t hear you.’

He just stood there, indecisive, like the dog that chased the bus and caught it and then didn’t know what to do with it.

‘Jacobus, I’m getting up now. I’ll do it slowly. Then I will walk away and I won’t bother you again. My work is done.’

‘No.’

I knew why he didn’t like the idea. ‘I won’t tell anyone that you are here. I swear to God.’ Maybe that worked in Hb circles. I turned my head very slowly towards him. I saw him looking at the homestead and then back at me. It was Cobie de Villiers, the man
in Jack Phatudi’s photograph. He was sweating and his face gleamed in the moonlight. His eyes were unsettled and he held the firearm with straight arms. It looked like a MAC 10. The cheapest machine pistol on the market, but just as effective as the expensive ones.

He didn’t like me watching him. That was a big danger signal. It’s harder to kill a man once you’ve looked him in the eye. I tried to make eye contact with him. His eyes flicked back and forth, as though he couldn’t make up his mind. His mouth was half open and his breathing was rapid. I knew I had to do something but I couldn’t afford to wait for his decision. He was wanted by the police and he was a fugitive killer who was very seriously considering shooting me. I waited until he looked away for a fraction of a second, then I jerked up my left hand to knock the MAC aside and swung my right leg through. Shots boomed near my ear, deafening me, and I felt a burning sensation at the back of my head. I knocked his feet from under him with my leg and he fell. The machine pistol clattered through an arc, his left arm tried to block his fall and I hit him hard with my fist against his cheek as I grabbed at the MAC with both hands.

He took the blow well, because he didn’t loosen his grip on the weapon. I felt something warm run down my neck which I suspected was blood.

Cobie jerked the machine pistol back and forth. He face was distorted like that of a madman and he made a low moaning sound. He wasn’t much bigger than me, but he was strong and he believed that he was fighting for his life.

I let go of the MAC and hit him again. Aiming for his jaw, I hit his eye socket. His head jerked back, but he swung the machine pistol towards me. I grabbed the barrel with my left hand and hit him against the ear with my right with no noticeable effect.

Behind us a light went on in the second labourer’s cottage and I could see Cobie’s anguished face. His eyebrow was bleeding.

I hit him again, as hard as I could. He jerked his head away and I connected with his chin, but with little momentum. I moved to get
above him. My right hand searched for his throat as he squirmed and grabbed my forearm with his left hand.

A door opened and a beam of light shone on the ground. If it was Septimus and he was armed I was in serious trouble. I let go of Cobie and dived into the grass in search of the Glock. I saw it shining, grabbed it, and rolled back to Cobie. He was still down, but he was turning the MAC towards me. I wasn’t going to make it so I dived at him. He aimed and pulled the trigger. Only the sharp click of metal. The magazine was empty. I was on him, bashing the Glock’s barrel violently against his cheek, while looking at the door.

Squint Seppie stood with a hunting rifle pointing at the stars and a bewildered expression on his face. ‘Cobie?’ he said.

‘Drop the rifle or I’ll shoot Cobie,’ I said.

Cobie grabbed at the Glock. He was beyond fear, desperate and mad. I banged the pistol against his head, rolled away and came up on my haunches. I gripped the Glock in both hands, pointed it at Cobie and said in the most reasonable tone I could muster, ‘This is a .45-calibre, Cobie. I will shoot you in the leg first, but there are some big veins there and I can’t guarantee that you won’t bleed to death. It’s your choice.’ Then I looked at Septimus, who stood frozen with the rifle in his hand.

‘Septimus,’ I barked.

He looked at me with an expression of pure fear.

‘Put the gun down. Now.’

‘OK.’

He bent slowly and put the rifle down on the slab of cement in front of his door with great respect.

‘Lie down,’ I ordered Septimus.

‘Where?’

‘Anywhere you want, you idiot. Just away from the rifle.’

He lay down on his stomach.

I stood up and moved closer to Jacobus.

‘Cobie, put the gun down.’

He was reluctant to do so, even though the MAC was empty. I didn’t know whether he had another magazine in his pocket.

‘Get up,’ I said.

He stood up. I kneed him as hard as I could just above his navel. He fell forward, mouth agape, winded.

I jerked the MAC from his hand and flung it far out into the veld. ‘That’s because you wanted to kill me, Cobus. And to calm you down. Fuck knows, you’re mad as a rabid dog.’

Cobie curled up like a foetus, desperately gagging for air.

I touched my head with my left hand where it hurt. I felt the wound, a long deep groove starting just under my ear. It was bleeding. One centimetre closer, one fraction of a second, and I would have been dead. I felt like kicking him again. I suppressed the impulse, went over to Squint Seppie, pushed the Glock into my belt and picked up the rifle. I took out the magazine, worked the bolt to pump out the round in the barrel and threw it and the magazine into the night. Septimus watched me anxiously with one eye. I dropped the rifle down beside him and took out the Glock again. I went over to Cobie, put my knee in his back and pressed the pistol against the back of his head.

‘Septimus, look at me.’

He raised his head and looked.

‘I want you to go into your house and bring me some electric cord. The longest piece you have, OK?’

‘Yes.’ He was unsure.

‘I’m going to wait here with Cobie and if you come out of that door with anything except the cord, I will shoot him.’

‘OK.’

‘Off you go, Seppie. Be quick.’

He hesitated for only an instant, then scurried into the cottage. Under my knee Cobie de Villiers would not lie still.

‘Jacobus, I don’t want any trouble from you. I swear to God I’ll shoot you if you don’t cooperate. The police will give me a medal.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Still that manic tone.

‘I’m going to tie you up, Jacobus, because you have more tricks than a monkey. And then we’re going to talk. That’s all. If our discussion goes well, I’ll let you go and I’ll leave and I won’t breathe a word about you to anyone. But if you don’t cooperate, I’m taking you to the police. It’s your choice.’

He didn’t reply. He just lay there gasping.

Septimus came out very warily. He had a length of electric cord which he carried in front of him with outstretched arms like a peace offering.

‘Bring it to me, Septimus, and go and lie down on your stomach again with your arms behind your back.’

He did as I commanded with great obedience and concentration. I waited until he was lying down, picked up the cord with my left hand and pushed the Glock into my belt.

That was what Cobie was waiting for. He moved suddenly, trying to roll away and hit at me in one movement. I was expecting it. My patience with him had run out. I grabbed his hand, twisted it behind his back and pushed his wrist up towards his neck, expecting to hear the pop of his shoulder dislocating. He was tough, but not tough enough to ignore the awful pain. He went limp.

‘Mad and stupid is a bad combination, Jacobus,’ I said as I thumped both my knees into his back with my full weight behind them. I heard the wind explode out of him again, grabbed one hand, forced it against the other, reached for the cord and began tying up his wrists. I got off him only when I was dead sure that his hands wouldn’t come loose.

‘Seppie, I need more cord.’

‘I haven’t got any more,’ he said in a small voice.

‘What have you got?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Go and look in Cobie’s house.’

‘OK.’

‘And hurry up, Septimus, or I will shoot Cobie. First in the left leg, and then in the right.’

‘OK.’ He sprang up and ran to the cottage with the yellow curtains, jerked open the door and switched on the light. He came back with an electric cord still attached to a bedside lamp.

‘Break the lamp off, Seppie.’

He did that.

‘Now, lie down.’

He knew the position well enough. I took my knees off Cobie, took the new cord, sat on Septimus and began to tie his wrists.

Cobie de Villiers jumped up.

‘Jacobus!’ I shouted to no avail. He ran away down the hill with his arms behind his back.

‘I’ll shoot your friend, Cobie.’ It didn’t seem to be much of a friendship, because Cobie disappeared into the dark.

‘Fuck,’ I screamed in frustration. What now? First, I had to immobilise Septimus. I worked quickly, winding the cord around Squinty Sep’s ankles and making a hasty knot. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ I told him. Then I kicked him lightly in the ribs, pulled the Glock from my belt and set off after Cobie.

What was driving the man?

The dark gave him the advantage. He knew the terrain, too. Luckily a man with his hands bound doesn’t have good balance.

I couldn’t see him, but I heard him fall somewhere to the right, a hundred metres or more away. Branches cracked, I heard a dull thud and I ran in the direction of the noise.