Random Violence (26 page)

A dry chuckle. “Not your style.”

“No,” snapped Whiteboy. It was all right for his contact. He wasn’t the one who had to look left, right and left again before reversing out of his damn garage, in case the Scorpions were jumping over his wall. He wasn’t sure if the cops were up to speed with the situation yet. He hoped that the emer-gency precautions his other contact had taken would have quashed the investigation before it had moved any further in his direction.

On the bright side, it wasn’t as if Whiteboy’s photograph was stuck up on the wall with a caption “Wanted Dead or Alive.”

As he had discovered, most white people in South Africa wore invisible blinkers that prevented them from being sus-picious of anyone the same color. It made his job laughably easy. Although he was probably not the most savory looking guy they’d ever seen, with his goddamn ugly skin they could tell a mile away that he was white. And that made them trust him, even on a dark night, even when they were alone.

All he had to do was pull over, climb out and stroll towards them, and every single one—so far—opened their window to talk to him. The next—and last—thing they’d see was the barrel of his gun. He owned three different Colts, not counting the one he had recently sacrificed in Diepsloot, a Z88 and two Berettas. All kept scrupulously clean and oiled, in prime firing condition. Unlike the average thug on the street, Whiteboy couldn’t afford to miss a shot. But he didn’t want the ballistics people linking up too many of the shoot-ings, if he ever lost one of his weapons. Better for everybody to think there were hordes of criminals out there, trying their hand at hijacking with an endless supply of guns. Well, that was no lie. There were.

Cell phones and wallets provided a useful excuse for a shooting. He changed his MO every time. Sometimes he broke gate motors in advance, other times he cable-tied them shut to get the owners out of the car and into the open. Occasion-ally he’d go for a completely different scenario, like a house robbery.

There was other stuff, too, that he had found helpful. One guy had half a kilogram of hash stashed in the cubbyhole of his BMW. Whiteboy had been careful to leave traces of it in the car when he removed it. As a result, the evidence gath-ered by the oh-so-slow police force had sent that particular investigation limping off in the wrong direction.

So he wasn’t too worried about hiding out. If he obeyed the traffic rules and didn’t get caught in any police roadblocks, he’d be fine. Till tonight. When they could get moving and end this goddamn problem once and for all. He hadn’t been able to get the girl earlier. Truth be told, he had been reluc-tant to kill her when capturing her would be so much more fun. He smiled, remembering the furious pursuit. His contact had been right. She was spunky. All the more to look forward to later.

Now she was in hiding, he supposed. There wasn’t time to flush her out or track her down from wherever she might be. But he wouldn’t need to. He had a foolproof plan in place for getting her to the party. Better, really, than his original strategy.

He smiled. More than one step ahead. That was the way to play it. He’d stay put until the afternoon. Then he had a few errands to run before the fun could start. He jingled his keys in his hand. It wouldn’t be long now before he climbed in his car and set off to pay a surprise visit to the broken-kneed Graham Hope.

36

By late afternoon, Jade had the information she needed. Her back was sore and she was stiff from hours of driving through traffic-clogged roads. Her head hurt where she had hit it on the roof of the car. But these were minor worries.

Robbie was a more major worry. She’d called him while she was stuck in a queue of traffic and demanded her gun back. He told her he couldn’t return it just yet.

“I’m very busy, babe. I’m catching up with the creep who sold us out. I’ll keep you posted, OK?”

“Robbie, I need it now. For God’s sake, it’s my weapon. I paid you for it. Use one of your own guns.”

“I can’t. They’re all out with my staff at the moment.”

Jade would have laughed if she hadn’t been so angry.

“Have you found out who quashed the Hirsch case yet?” she asked him. “Who the corrupt cop is?”

“Well…” Robbie drawled. “It’s not as easy as it sounds. There’s different levels of corruption, you know. I’ve got contacts in the police service who pass information to me. In theory, they’re corrupt. But they don’t know who quashed that case. I’m asking around, babe. I’m asking. Don’t panic, be cool.”

Back at Annette’s place, she concealed her car behind the house and hurried inside. She pulled her cell phone out, and started dialing the first of the numbers before the door had closed.

Her first conversation was with the previous owner of what, today, was Sun Valley Estate. Set in a gorgeous part of Jo’burg, it overlooked a wooded hill whose trees had not yet suc-cumbed to the developers’ chainsaws. The homes inside had looked spacious and elegant. Enough room to swing a large cat. Perhaps even a leopard.

The woman who spoke to her informed her in brisk tones that her husband had been shot and killed outside the prop-erty shortly before she made the decision to sell. Jade detected a hint of a British accent in her voice. Probably, the woman was concealing her heartbreak behind a businesslike manner, as the British seemed to like to do.

“He was parked at the gate,” she told Jade. “He was waiting for it to open. I always told him he should never park in the driveway. He should wait parallel to the road, so that he could pull off if anyone came along.”

“And he didn’t do that?”

“The car was facing the gate when they found him. His window was down. He must have opened it. Stupid, stupid.” She sighed. “Perhaps they pointed a gun at him and said they’d shoot him through the glass. I don’t know what happened.”

“Did they take anything?”

“Cell phone and wallet. The police thought he must have threatened or insulted them. Perhaps he refused to get out of the car. But that wasn’t like George. He always said he would cooperate with hijackers, if it ever happened to him.”

“I’m sorry,” Jade said.

“They told me criminals are getting bolder nowadays. They’ll shoot to kill, so that there are no witnesses. He said I was lucky they didn’t come down the driveway and attack me. It’s a frightening thought. I was in the house. The gate was open. The doors were unlocked. They could have walked straight in from the road.”

“You sold soon afterwards?” Jade asked.

“I always wanted to sell. I felt the house was too big for us. And security wasn’t good. I live in a flat now, in Cape Town. I feel much safer.” She laughed, a short, sorrowful laugh. “Our land was a prime spot, apparently. It’s sad to think that if George had sold when the developers approached him, this might never have happened.”

“Just to get the situation clear,” Jade continued. “You were approached by a number of buyers, but you didn’t sell. Then after this happened, you sold up immediately.”

“Yes. It was my husband who wanted to hang onto the house. Not me.”

Who would have known that, Jade wondered. She looked at the sheet of paper. There wasn’t much space left on it.

The woman continued. “We had offers regularly. Agents on our doorstep all the time.”

“Anyone in particular?”

She laughed, a brittle sound. “Everyone in particular.”

“Who did you sell through in the end?”

“The developers handled the sale directly. White &Company. Their agent was excellent. Mark, his name was. Very charming. And persistent. He was helpful after it all happened. Kind. Supportive. I was falling apart at the seams, of course. So he handled everything. He wanted to get me out of the house and put the sale through as soon as pos-sible. I remember he told me that when the house had been knocked down and they’d built over it, the bad memories would fade. I think, somehow, he was right.”

“May I ask you what they paid you for the land?”

She sounded vague. “A reasonable amount, I suppose. He said the shooting had affected property prices in the area, which was unfortunate for me. There had been a few other crimes there recently. Another good reason why I wanted to get out as soon as possible.”

“You didn’t consider negotiating with another buyer for a better price?”

The woman’s voice sharpened. “No, dear. My husband had just died. I had more important things on my mind.”

Touché, thought Jade.

“My apologies,” she said. “I understand.”

37

It was home time for most people in Johannesburg, but not for David. Because he didn’t have anywhere he wanted to go. He couldn’t go back to his room above the garage. He couldn’t spend the night there, knowing that Jade was next door. She had betrayed him. She was involved with a gangster. He didn’t know why, or what the extent of the involvement was. And he didn’t want to know.

The other option was to go back to his house in Turffon-tein, where he had spent the previous night. That was equally unappealing. Naisha had welcomed him in delight when he had arrived. But when he’d told her he would be sleeping on the couch, she had broken down in tears. She felt rejected. Didn’t he want her? Did he think she had picked up a disease from her lover? Because she hadn’t. She could ask a doctor to confirm it, if he liked. Which left only one question for her to ask, the one he was now hoping to avoid. Didn’t he love her any more?

He sighed as he remembered their mind-numbingly endless argument, conducted in hushed voices for the sake of Kevin, who had been doing homework in his room. Eventu-ally she’d stormed off to the bedroom and he’d fallen asleep on the couch with Kevin, who had stopped doing homework as soon as the bedroom door slammed and sneaked into the lounge to watch TV with his dad.

He didn’t think he could take another round with Naisha. Last night’s had worn him to the bone.

So here he was, sitting in a bar where he had been since lunchtime. His interview with Home Affairs had been a disaster. He’d sat through an hour-long interrogation by a twenty-year-old manageress. He could tell she didn’t like his attitude. He wondered if she knew the feeling was mutual. A series of questionnaires and forms had taken him another hour to complete. All for the dismal prospect of a low-grade, paper-pushing job he was absolutely certain he didn’t want.

David called the barman and ordered another Coke. He’d started with beer but stopped after the third one. He felt quite sober now. More sober, in fact, than he thought he had ever been before.

Hunched over the wooden counter, he was only vaguely aware of the noise of the traffic—the honking of taxis, the rumble of engines, the faint sounds of sirens as the emer-gency services rushed to sort out yet another collision.

He knew he should take the unmarked back to Johan-nesburg Central. They’d already phoned and demanded its return. Then he wouldn’t have a car. Or a house. Because Naisha drove his car. And lived in his house. Where to go? Catch a taxi and shack up in a motel room for the night?

Images of Jade flashed into his mind. Fast asleep, her legs in a warm tangle with his. Smiling at him across the table, her green eyes promising mischief. Telling him a story in the car, something frivolous to make him laugh. Damn it, she was everywhere in his head, and right now he didn’t have the defenses to fight her off. Why had she done what she did?

The ringing of his cell phone provided a welcome distrac-tion. He was less pleased when he discovered the caller was Graham Hope.

Graham spoke rapidly. “Superintendent. I hope you don’t mind me phoning. I called the station and they gave me your cell number.”

David supposed he could thank bureaucratic inefficiency for that. No doubt the front desk hadn’t yet been informed of his suspension.

“Mr. Hope. What can I do for you?”

“I need help urgently, sir.” The man sounded shaken.

“What’s up?”

“I’ve just got home. My gate’s wide open and my front door looks like it’s been forced. I locked everything up when I went out this morning.”

David opened his mouth to tell the man he should contact the flying squad, but before he could, Graham continued. “My neighbor phoned me while I was on my way home. He said he’d driven past my house and seen the gate open and an unfamiliar car nearby. A black Mercedes without plates. He called to make sure I wasn’t being hijacked.”

David sat bolt upright. “Where are you now?”

“I’m inside. In my car. Parked in the driveway.”

“Are you hooked up to armed response?” What a question, David thought, coming from a police detective. A ridiculous admission of the way things were in South Africa.

“I am. They’re not very reliable, though.”

“Call them now, quick. See if they’re in the area. Ask them to come round and keep an eye on the place for you. And in the meantime, stay in your car and lock the doors. Drive out of there immediately and go round to your neighbor, or somewhere else nearby where you’ll be safe. Your life is more important than your household possessions.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Give me your address. I’ll come round and check things out.”

Graham Hope’s house was a short drive from where he was now, although the wealthy suburb of Houghton was a world away compared to the run-down area of northern Yeo-ville, where he was attempting unsuccessfully to drown his sorrows in a public bar.

Nelson Mandela had a house in Houghton. He had heard somebody talking about president Thabo Mbeki making plans to retire there, too. David wondered what his security precautions would be like. Probably the house would be so well guarded he wouldn’t even bother to lock his front door in the evenings.

David paid his bill and left. He didn’t like coincidences. He didn’t think a simple housebreaking had anything to do with the case they were working on, but the presence of a dark Mercedes was troubling. He believed Mr. Hope was a busybody who’d been poking his nose into the investigation wherever he could. Perhaps his actions had alerted Whiteboy. He would have to question Hope in more detail as soon as he got there.

David called Moloi as soon as he was on the road. He asked him to send armed backup over to Hope’s address immediately, because the man could be in danger. Moloi was a good officer. He didn’t ask unnecessary questions or waste valuable time asking David why he was still giving orders when he’d been officially suspended. He just said yes and got off the phone to get it done.

David reached Hope’s house in evening semi-darkness. The gate was wide open—a solid structure lined with huge wooden and metal panels. He pulled into the gateway fast and roared down the long drive. He stopped and jumped out, service pistol in his hand.

A white Lexus was parked at the bottom of the driveway, headlights on and driver’s door open. He could hear the faint sound of the radio. The keys were in the ignition. He took a quick look inside. The car had an automatic transmission. And on the passenger seat was an envelope addressed to the Deeds Office. Hope was nowhere to be seen. There was no sign of the security company either.

“Shit,” David breathed.

He called Hope on his cell. The phone was turned off and David found himself listening to a recorded message.

He hurried towards the open front door. It was framed by two tall plants in pots. A delicate spiderweb stretched between them, silvery in the gleam of his headlights. It was at the level of David’s cheek. Most people would have been able to walk underneath it. Ahead, the hallway was dark. He ducked under the strands, reached for the light switch and flipped it on.

The hallway was empty apart from a polished wooden table, which looked antique and expensive. He saw a padlock key in a porcelain bowl.

“Graham?” David called.

He heard nothing.

What the hell had happened? Had the man been abducted?

David stood, momentarily indecisive. What should he do?

This situation was downright weird. The sensible reaction would be to return to the car and wait for backup. He turned back towards the door. As he did, he saw something at the foot of the stairs, in the darkness beyond the hall. He whirled back again as he realized what the shape was. A pair of crutches, lying on the floor.

He walked over silently and stared down at the metal objects. They lay at an angle, half on the floor and half on the bottom stair. He didn’t think a man with a gammy leg would drop his crutches at the foot of the staircase. Unless he’d been forced to.

David saw a brief flicker at the edge of his vision and spun around again. There was nothing to be seen. Only the shadow of the plants, backlit by the glow of the headlights, moving in the chilly wind that had started to blow.

Where was Hope now? Had he been dragged up the stairs?

Against his better judgment, he turned back again and climbed the stairs, his shoes quiet on the carpet. If this was a trap, he’d already walked into it. But Graham’s life might depend on what he did now.

The first door at the top of the stairs led into a palatial master bedroom with an en suite bathroom that had a giant sunken bath. The bedside lamp was on, but the room was empty. Felt empty. David hardly bothered to check the cup-boards in the walk-in dressing room.

He checked three other bedrooms, three other bathrooms. Nothing except for tasteful furnishing in dark wood and pol-ished brass and a silence that echoed in his ears.

He walked downstairs again, past the discarded crutches. His palms were sweaty and the gun felt slippery. He gripped it more firmly and checked the ground-floor rooms.

Still no sign of Graham Hope. The house seemed prepared for show day. It looked as empty as his heart felt.

David hurried back to the hallway. There was no time to lose. Hope had been kidnapped, and he had just wasted five precious minutes searching the house. Now he needed to alert the control room, and fast.

As he reached the front door, he saw the figure of a man standing by his unmarked.

His heart suddenly accelerated and his gun hand tensed.

“Put the gun down, policeman,” a voice called.

David took a slow step forward through the doorway. The spiderweb stretched and snapped and the broken strands drifted over his face.

“Put the gun down. Or your friend dies.”

Graham Hope was in front of the unmarked. He was leaning back against the passenger door and his hands were tied behind his back. His legs were tied too, at the ankles. The cast was more of a hindrance than a help. Hope was obviously having difficulty supporting his weight on his good limb.

Whiteboy stood behind him, using him for cover.

“Would you like me to prove I have a loaded gun?” he called. “It would be so easy to shoot this cripple’s other leg, you know. Then it would be wheelchair time for him. And the next shot he gets will be in the head.”

David lowered his weapon and placed it on the ground.

“Walk forward now.”

He walked onto the grass, towards his car.

As he approached Graham he saw that the man had been tightly gagged. He gazed at David in a silent plea for help.

“Thought you’d be all night in that house.” Whiteboy smiled at him out of the shadows. The cold air had brought two slashes of crimson to his pale face. His scarred skin looked bloodshot and irritated. He was holding a Beretta fitted with a silencer and it was trained on David’s chest. David wasn’t wearing any Kevlar. The winter wind blew his shirt against his skin. The fabric felt cold and flimsy.

“Thought you were thinking of buying. Or squatting.” He smiled again. “Anyway, you’re out now. Time to go.”

“Go where?” David squared his shoulders. Bravado was useless, he knew. But at least it would delay the inevitable. By a second or two.

“Wherever I tell you. Seeing as I have the gun.”

“This is stupid. I’m telling you upfront. You’ll be caught.”

Whiteboy regarded him with a cool stare. “By the time anyone gets caught, I’ll be long gone. Now pick him up.”

David quickly assessed the situation. Whiteboy was standing too far away to try and get at him, past his gun. And too close for David to make a run for it. His army training showed in his stance and in the confident familiarity with which he held the Beretta. David knew that Whiteboy was a killer who wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. And in any case, it wasn’t only himself he had to worry about. Graham Hope was unarmed and immobilized. There was no way he would be able to run, even if David tried to help him.

David shrugged. “Your choice.”

He glanced up the driveway. The backup car should be here any time now. All he had to do was survive the next few minutes and Whiteboy would be trapped.

The gate at the top of the driveway had been closed.

It was massive. Like the surrounding wall, it was topped with three double strands of electric fencing. Through the tiny gaps between its inlaid steel panels, he could see the flicker of headlights as a car pulled in from the road and honked loudly.

“Pick him up.” Whiteboy’s smile didn’t falter. “Or I shoot him in the leg, right now. Then you in the leg. I’ll shatter your kneecap.”

What the hell was the man playing at with the police right outside the gate? Was he trying to create a hostage situation? If so, what did he want to bargain for?

He bent forward and hooked one arm under Hope’s knees and the other under his back. He straightened up with the man’s full weight in his arms, holding him like a sleeping child. The cast made both Graham’s legs stick out at an awkward angle, which made carrying him more difficult. The ties around his ankles would be impossible to undo or break. Graham’s breath was snuffling out through his nose and the fabric of the gag was biting deeply into his cheeks. His body was tense and unwieldy in David’s arms.

“This way.” Whiteboy kept the gun trained on them.

David staggered ahead. Years ago, when he started in the police force, one of his first arrests had been a knife-wielding teenager who had been threatening to stab his girlfriend. With more bravado than experience, David had aimed his weapon at the young man and had ordered him to move away from the terrified girl. While he watched the boy drop the knife and back away, he’d wondered how it would feel to be powerless and unarmed and at the wrong end of a gun.

He was finding out now.

Whiteboy directed him to a paved path that led through the garden. It led away from the lights at the top of the driveway. He heard the car honk again, but the noise was more distant now.

Walking was difficult with Hope’s full weight in his arms. David was strong, but Graham must have weighed eighty kil-ograms. His arms were trembling and his muscles had begun to burn. His breathing sounded as rough as Graham’s and he was seething with frustration. He couldn’t believe that help could be so close and yet so bloody unobtainable.