Thirteen Hours (26 page)

'I asked that they check the national register. There is no
firearm ...'

'No, I'm not saying we must search it. Just gauge their
reactions. Use the usual search warrant story ...'

'What search warrant story?'

'The one "we can get a search warrant, but if you give
us permission that won't be necessary".'

'OK. But the ex, Benny, it might have been him, this thing is
a fucking circus. I'm going to phone Bloemfontein, see if they can find
something. I'm going to let Josh and Melinda go ...'

'You can do that. Or you can let them wait in the conference
room. Let them sweat a little until you hear from Bloemfontein. And talk to
your sexy girlfriend at reception. Where was Barnard last night? Look at his
diary, search his office, check his email...'

At first Dekker did not respond, then he said: 'OK.' But he
wasn't happy.

'Sorry, Fransman, I'm taking over again.'

'I'm trying to chill, Benny. Trying to chill.'

Over the phone, Vusi Ndabeni said to Vaughn Cupido: 'Let me
get their email address,' and he went over to the young man in the apron
sitting on the veranda with his staff.

'Do you have email here? Our Organised Crime Unit will mail
photos of people I want you to look at.'

'We do. The address is info at Carlucci's dot co-za. But it
won't help much.'

'Why?'

'There's no electricity. The PC doesn't work.'

Vusi's shoulders sagged, but he told Cupido: 'Send it anyway,
Vaughn, here's the address ...'

Fat Inspector Mbali Kaleni came to stand next to Vusi and
asked the young man: 'Are you sure about the Land Rover's registration number?'

'I'm pretty sure it was CA and there was a four, a one, and a
six.'

'They say there is no Land Rover Discovery with a CA, a four,
one ...'

'It wasn't a Discovery.'

'It wasn't?'

'I told the guy it was a Defender. Long wheelbase. And new.'

'Men,' said Kaleni shaking her head.

'What do you mean?' asked the young man in the apron.

'Not you,' said Kaleni and took out her cell phone. 'The
fools I have to work with.' She called the Caledon Square charge office and
listened to it ring for a long time before someone picked up. She asked to talk
to the Constable who had done the initial registration number search.

'It wasn't a Land Rover Discovery, it was a Defender. You
will have to search again.'

'I can't,' said the Constable.

'Why not?'

'The power is down.'

Benny Griessel was panting and perspiring when he walked into
John Afrika's office - from the heat of the day, from the four sets of stairs
because the lifts wouldn't work without power and from the sense of urgency
building inside him.

The Provincial Commissioner was seated opposite John Afrika.
Both looked severe. 'Afternoon, Commissioner.' Griessel checked his watch, saw
it was still twenty-five minutes to twelve; it felt like three o'clock already.
'Morning, Commissioner,' he corrected himself.

The little Xhosa stood up, very serious, and put out a hand
to Griessel: 'Congratulations, Captain Griessel.'

That caught him off guard. Griessel shook his hand and in
confusion looked at John Afrika who winked at him and said: 'Congratulations,
Benny.' 'Uh ...' Griessel said and wiped the sweat from his brow 'Uh ...' And
then: 'Fuck it, Commissioner.' The Xhosa laughed and put a hand on Benny's
shoulder. 'You had better sit down, Captain. I suspect you are going to earn
your promotion today.'

In the garden of the Victorian house, beside the three prints
of running shoes in the soft earth, tall, skinny Jimmy from Forensics held open
the plastic bag of dental cement and watched as fat Arnold poured in a measured
amount of water.

'She's so fat, when she weighs herself, the scale says
"to be continued" ...' said Arnold.

'Hee hee,' chortled Jimmy.

'She's so fat, she's got her own postal code,' said Arnold.
'There you go, shake it up.'

'If only she wasn't so bloody bossy,' said Jimmy, zipping up
the bag and shaking it. 'I mean, you're not exactly thin yourself, but at least
you're not a bitch.'

'Is that supposed to make me feel good?'

'I'm just saying,' said Jimmy, and shook the bag with great
concentration. 'All I want to know is what the heck she wants to do with these
casts. They know they are the girl's footprints. This is just pissing in the
wind.'

'That stuff is ready. Knead it.'

Jimmy kneaded the plastic bag of green goo between his hands:

'I'm not nearly as fat as she is.'

'You're just taller, that's the difference,' said Jimmy. 'Get
the mould ready.'

Arnold took a long mould, adjusted it to fit over the
footprint and carefully pressed it into the soil. He picked up a bottle of
talcum powder and sprinkled it over the print. 'Pour,' he said.

Jimmy opened the bag and held it over the centre of the
mould. The paste dribbled out.

'I've got a slow metabolism, that's my problem,' said Arnold.
'But she's quite the eater - I hear it's KFC, morning, noon and night...'

Inside the Victorian house, behind his net curtains and only
ten metres from where Thick and Thin knelt, the old man could not hear their
conversation. But he could see them. Just as he had seen the girl jump over the
fence, the Land Rover driving past soon afterwards, those young men, searching.
And the Constables who had run down Upper Orange Street with such purpose, and
the black lady detective who had stopped in thought at the picket fence, and
then investigated the flower bed.

He knew who they were looking for. And he knew where she was
hiding.

Captain Benny fucking Griessel. Could you believe that?

He sat there savouring the glow of his promotion, wishing he
could go home to his flat and type an email:
My dear
Carla, your father is a captain today.
Tonight he would walk into Primi
Piatti where Anna would be seated at a candlelit table and he would bend down
to kiss her on the cheek and say: 'Captain Benny Griessel, pleased to meet
you,' and she would look up at him in surprise and say 'Benny!' and kiss him on
the mouth.

'How did Dekker take the news of Kaleni?' John Afrika broke
through his reverie.

'I told him it was still his case, Commissioner,' said
Griessel. 'He accepted it.'

Afrika looked sceptical, but merely nodded. 'Have you told
her yet?'

He had forgotten. Totally. He would have to move his
backside. 'I haven't had the chance yet.'

'Do you know what Mbali means?' the Provincial Commissioner
asked. 'Flower. It means a flower in Zulu.'

Afrika grinned. 'She speaks five languages and has an IQ of a
hundred and thirty-seven. Not bad for a flower.'

'She'll be sitting in my chair one day,' said the little
Xhosa.

'She thinks she's sitting there already,' said Afrika, and
the two officers laughed congenially. Griessel grinned, not sure whether it was
proper for a Captain to laugh with them.

The Regional Commissioner suddenly went serious. 'Benny,
there's a new development. Rachel Anderson's father said she can't go to the
police. He thinks she means she can't trust us.'

'Can't trust us?' queried Griessel. The two senior officers
nodded in unison and waited for him to come up with the solution for them.

'That's what she told them over the telephone?'

They nodded again.

'Wait a bit,' he said, leaning forward on the grey cushion of
the steel-framed government chair. 'We are looking at this from the wrong
angle, Commissioner. Vusi has a theory that she is a drugs mule, both she and
the deceased. It would fit with a lot of things - the way they came into the
country, the nightclub, the Russians, the rucksack that was cut away, the whole
chase. It's not that she can't trust the police - it's because she's a
criminal. She can't walk into a police station and say: "Help me, I've
brought in a half a million worth of drugs and then cheated Demidov".'

He saw relief flood the faces of the two senior men. But then
John Afrika frowned.

'We can hardly say that to the Consul General or her father.
Not without proof.'

'We promised her father we would call him,' said the
Provincial Commissioner, and when Benny didn't look very enthusiastic he added
'Captain' expressly.

'Immediately,' said John Afrika.

'To reassure him,' said the slight Xhosa.

'It would relieve a lot of pressure.'

'If he knew a senior officer was in control.'

'But we mustn't be too hasty with the drugs idea.'

'I'll get you the number,' said the Provincial Commissioner
and rose to his feet.

'Use Director Arendse's office,' said John Afrika. 'He's on
leave.' Afrika stood up as well. 'Come, I'll show you where to go.'

Then the power came on with a shudder that travelled through
the entire building.

'Aren't you going to arrest him?' Willie Mouton asked in
disbelief as the fluorescent light above his bald pate began to flicker, then
reflected brightly off it.

'At the moment there are no grounds for arrest,' said Dekker,
standing at the door. 'Could I ask you a few questions?'

'What, me?'

Dekker crossed to a chair near the lawyer. 'Please. About
Adam Barnard. And the Geysers.'

'Oh. Of course. Please, take a seat ...' said Mouton without
much sincerity.

Dekker sat. 'This morning, at Barnard's house. You spoke
about Adam's "ways" just before Mrs Barnard ...'

He saw Mouton glance at Groenewald for approval.

'The newspapers have written about some of this already,
Willie ...' the lawyer said slowly.

Mouton cleared his throat and rubbed his hand quickly over
his shaven head. 'Sexual harassment,' he said warily.

Dekker waited.

'I don't believe that has anything to do with his death.'

'Let them decide on that, Willie.'

'Yes, Regardt, but fifteen years ago a guy could still have a
go and the woman could say "no" and it wasn't an issue. Now all of a
sudden it's sexual harassment.' Again the hand on the head, a gesture of
uncertainty. He fiddled with the silver earring and then leaned forward
quickly, a decision made. 'Everyone knows Adam had a thing for women. And they
loved him for it, I'm telling you. Fifteen years ago I was promoting and
managing tours for pop bands and I heard the stories way back then: Adam had
Xandra at home, but that wasn't enough, he wanted more. He came and asked me to
join AfriSound, as full partner, to do production and promotion. He told me:
"Willie, just so you know - I like women." He wasn't ashamed of it.
But harassment? That's a load of crap. Of course he had a go. But he never told
a woman he would offer her a contract if she slept with him. Never. He would
listen to demo CDs, or go to a show, and then he would say yes or no.
"You've got potential, we want to sign you" or "no, you're not a
fit for us." I'm telling you, there were singers who tried it on with him,
who just walked into his office, all tits and legs and make-up and fluttering
eyelashes and he would say straight out: "I'll nail you, but I won't sign
you."'

'I'll nail you,' Dekker savoured the term and thought the
whiteys really had their own language.

'You know what I mean.'

'What about the harassment?'

'A year ago, Nerina Stahl had a huge offer from Centre Stage
and all of a sudden the papers were full of how Adam had harassed her ...'

'I'm not sure I understand.'

'Nerina Stahl... the star.'

Dekker shook his head. Never heard of her.

'You probably listen to Kfm - they are missing the Afrikaans
boat altogether.'

'Five-FM,' said Dekker.

Mouton nodded as if that explained it. 'Adam
made
her. Four years ago she was singing ...'

'You're talking about Nerina Stahl?'

'Yes, she sang for McCully in an Abba tribute, a month in the
Liberty in Johannesburg, a month at the Pavilion, one of those shows that come
and go. Adam went one evening. Pretty girl, cute voice - young, she was twenty-four
then, comes from Danielskuil originally, or Kuruman ... If we hadn't made her
she would have been selling houses for Pam Golding in Plattekloof, I'm telling
you. Adam took her out to lunch and told her she could have a solo career. She
signed that very afternoon. We got her a boob job and Adam translated a bunch
of German pop songs and we spent a bit on a music video. That CD went to
twenty-five thousand and two years later she was on that huge show,
Huisgenoot Skouspel.
She still had a year to go on
her contract with us when Centre Stage offered her more and she went to the
papers with the fucking sexual harassment story, because that was the only way
she could get out of her contract. Then there were three others who jumped on
the bandwagon, two has-beens ...'