by Jon Zackon
The Boy Scouts looked mystified. I offered no explanation.
***
It was well after dawn by the time I limped back to my flat. James looked at me questioningly.
“James, I want you to be on your guard from now on,” I said, as if he wasn’t always. “There’s a really bad man who has been chasing me.”
He looked at me dubiously. Perhaps he thought I was drunk.
“He is this tall …” I held my hand up “… and he’s got yellow hair and he says he is a detective, a policeman, But don’t let him near my flat, OK?”
“Never, my baas,” said James.
“I know it’s your job, James, but this man is very, very dangerous and he wants to kill me.”
James giggled, which, oddly, restored a little of my sanity.
“Yes, it does sound funny,” I said. “Being hunted to death.”
Once inside my flat I threw my wet clothes on the floor and myself on to my bed. In seconds I fell gratefully into the sort of oblivion only a man back from the dead could truly appreciate.
Chapter 19
I woke up after midday in the grip of a non-narcissistic rage. I went round the flat punching cushions. Then I put shoes on and kicked the furniture. I’d never felt so frustrated. Koos operated on a level that was beyond me. He’d chased me, threatened me with a knife, used me for target practice and left me in shock. I felt in a state of unreality, with nothing tangible from the night’s events to hold on to. Not a single witness, not a single discernible trace of Koos’s terror tactics. I wouldn’t have blamed an outsider for thinking I’d made it all up.
But someone had to listen to me. I tried phoning Gordon Clare. There was no answer and I presumed he’d taken his kids to Umhlanga, where he owned a beach shack. I tried Conrad. No reply.
Ruth and I were going to see Breathless later and I was due to meet her at the hospital at four. So I spent the next hour or two rehearsing what I was going to say to her. I just hoped she wouldn’t think I was a fool, which I most certainly was, or a madman.
I felt like a fugitive as I set out on foot through crowded streets to collect my car. I’d spent a long time during the night looking over my shoulder to see what Koos was up to. Now I was doing it again. I knew Koos wouldn’t be around in the daytime and would carefully plan any new attack, but I couldn’t help myself. It must have looked to random shoppers as though I was suffering from a nervous affliction.
***
Ruth listened wide-eyed. As I went on she put her hand to her mouth. I’d seriously wondered whether she’d be in the least bit interested in my travails. But it was obvious from the start that she was. So I spared her nothing, from Ivan Leitener trying to scare me off, to the probable violation suffered by Fazal, to the chase on the beach. A part of me was gratified with her response. She cared!
I had not overtly gone looking for sympathy. But as I spelt out my story I began to feel sorry for myself and probably began to look a bit sad.
“It’s hopeless,” I said. “I have no idea what to do next.”
We were sitting in her room in the nurses’ home. I’d arrived an hour earlier than planned and found her dressing. I sat on the edge of her bed as she did her face. Then she sat down next to me.
“Danny, this is all so weird,” she said. “It just can’t happen. This is Durban, not some godforsaken little dorp in the middle of nowhere.”
“You know, that’s exactly how Koos operates. He sees Durban as a dorp that he can control at will.”
“Have you spoken to Steven?”
“I’m not sure what he could do about it, Ruthie.”
“He is a lawyer, Danny. Everyone says he’s clever and he might be able to point out a course of action. You can’t just do nothing.”
Before I could demur she leaned across to her dressing table, picked up her phone and dialled.
***
Ruth had borrowed her mother’s Hillman Minx for the weekend. It was a lot more comfortable than my Anglia, so she drove us to Steven’s house. He led us on to a terrace that overlooked a large pool. My previous visit had been at night and I hadn’t even noticed the garden. The Falls, I decided, lived like plutocrats in a Hollywood movie.
For the second time in a very short while I found myself telling a story that was becoming increasingly embarrassing and distasteful. The only plus was that I was getting practice honing it down to essentials, which would make it easier to convey to my superiors at The Messenger.
Steven listened without interrupting. When I’d finished he exclaimed, “Jesus, this country!”
He shook his head and said, “I’ll come to you in a moment, Danny, but first let me tell you about something that happened a few weeks ago. I came out of court in Pietermaritzburg and saw one of the Halpern brothers standing against a wall. They are well-respected attorneys. And he was crying. A grown man, a professional, crying in the courtroom foyer. So I ask him, what’s wrong? I’m thinking he must have suffered some kind of personal tragedy. But he tells me the police have stitched up one of his African clients in a murder case and this boy has been sentenced to death even though the judge bloody well knows he’s innocent. The case rested on identification and his client had a perfectly good alibi. Five people vouched for him. Five! But he just happened to be a bit of an activist, an ANC member, so the police grabbed the opportunity to eliminate him. And that’s justice in our police state for you. Everybody acts as if they believe every word the police say.”
“So I’ve got no chance,” I said. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me, Steven?”
“Well, there is something you can do to protect yourself. You have to lodge an official complaint. The actual complaint may come to nothing, but it might just put this Van Blatter guy off. And if you are attacked again the fact that you’ve made a previous complaint could make a big difference in bringing him to justice.”
“What difference, Steven? Not to me. If I’m attacked again by this madman I won’t be needing any further protection. Ever.”
“No, seriously Danny, it’s something you have to do.”
“You’re assuming that after such an attack you will know what has happened to me. There’s no chance of that. Next time he has a go he will not only kill me but he will then dispose of my body in such a way that it will never be found again. It’s just possible that he has already done precisely this with one or two other victims. So without a body and no witnesses, he’ll never face justice.”
We argued about it for a while but in the end I had to concede there was some merit in what he was saying. In any case, he’d given me an idea that could soon prove useful.
“The strange thing is, Danny, you look and sound pretty normal. In your position I’d be quaking in my boots.”
“It is a bit weird, I agree. I get scared when I lie in bed worrying about it. But I’m really more angry than scared. I’d like to see Van Blatter put out of action. I just haven’t worked out how yet. Deep down I can’t believe he’s going to win.”
I asked about the jazz club. Steven said that Frankie had been refused a liquor licence on two separate occasions but had simply carried on selling drinks.
“Nothing terrible will happen to him. He’ll be given a fine, perhaps a few hundred rand, and will probably reopen the club under a new name. That’s Durban for you.”
“Yeah, but he nearly got me killed,” I said.
Steven’s mother gave us an early supper. I was going to suggest to Ruth that we skip the movie. Perhaps we could go on to her parents’ house, where she could play the piano for me. Or, if she was willing, adjourn to my flat to, er, talk. But I was too slow on the draw.
“What are you kids doing tonight?” asked Steven.
“If Danny’s up to it, we’re off to see Breathless,” said Ruthie.
“Breathless? I’ve heard it’s good,” he said. “Mind if I join you?”
***
That night I began to shake uncontrollably
as I lay in bed. I got up several times and sat in a chair trying to reason with myself. And each time I went back to bed the heebie-jeebies returned in force – until exhaustion finally overtook me.
***
The editor was back from his conference but always took Sundays off. This meant Gordon Clare was in charge of the paper. I figured he wouldn’t get into the office until two so I gave him an hour to settle in before phoning him.
He didn’t sound overwhelmingly pleased to hear my voice. Nevertheless, I came straight out with it. “Gordon, I want you to know that I will be filing an official complaint against Detective Van Blatter.”
“What? What for?” he shouted down the phone.
“He tried to kill me on Friday night – that’s what for! He threatened me with a knife and shot at me twice.”
I could hear Gordon breathing heavily, nervously.
“Do you have any witnesses, Danny?”
“No, of course I don’t. The bastard’s too clever for that, Gordon. That’s what you don’t understand – and that’s precisely why I am going to file the complaint. As protection. If I had witnesses I’d go straight to the police. What’s more I honestly think the paper should back me up. The complaint will be that much more powerful if it is made through The Messenger.”
“Wait a minute … wait a minute … let me think this over …”
There was a hint of panic in his voice. After a minute or two he said, “Look Danny, let’s not do anything hasty here. Come in tomorrow morning. We’ll go through to the editor and thrash things out. I’m sure you realise there’s a lot at stake for the paper. I’ll speak to Soames in the meantime so he’ll know what it’s all about by the time you come in. Is that all right? Yes? Say about eleven or eleven thirty?”
At last I had the undivided attention of my employers and I readily agreed to the meeting.
I spent the rest of the day on the beach, only occasionally looking over my shoulder.
Late in the afternoon I went back to my flat, showered and put on Brilliant Corners, a wonderfully inventive Monk LP. The phone rang. It was Ruth, on a tea break in the middle of her shift.
I told her about the Monday morning meeting.
“That’s great, Danny, perhaps some good will come of it.”
Then she said, “Danny, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Chapter 20
RELAX. Breathe evenly. Focus. I lectured myself while taking the stairs two at a time. I knocked on Gordon Clare’s door and stepped into his office. He didn’t bother to greet me. “Come on,” he said, getting out of his chair and leading me across the corridor to the editor’s office. His haste threw me a little. The man who had hired me was now seeing me as a problem to be shelved at the shortest possible notice.
The editor’s office, with its panelling, thick carpets and rows of books always felt cool and inviting. The editor drummed fleshy fingers on the edge of his desk as Gordon and I sat down opposite him.
Pritchard Soames wasted no time. “I don’t have to tell you, these are serious allegations you are making, Daniel,” he said. “They threaten the cordial relations The Messenger has always enjoyed with the Durban City Police and the CID. You know, there are far worse forces in this country. We should count our blessings in that regard.”
Large grey eyes glared at me, making sure I was getting the message.
“Gordon has told me what happened to you but I’d like to hear it again, in detail, in your own words.”
I was able to race through my well-prepared story in little more than ten minutes. The editor did not interrupt. But when I’d finished he said, “There are certain things I don’t understand. Surely, someone must have seen you run on to the beach? It’s usually crowded down there.”
“It was raining, sir, and virtually deserted.”
His fingers were drumming again.
“And you honestly think that if you’d have got into his car he would have what, murdered you?”
“That’s precisely what I think, sir.”
“The whole thing is just so … ah yes, there is something else I was going to ask. How come you know this Detective Van Blatter in the first place, Daniel? Where did the two of you meet?”
“I was introduced to him by Marty Blaine.”
“One of our reporters, Martinus Blaine, introduced you to Detective Van Blatter? Why?”
“It was some months ago, sir. Marty asked if I played poker and when I said yes he invited me to a game. Van Blatter was one of the regulars.”
“So there’s a personal element in all this?”
“Not really, sir. It has been directly triggered by Fazal’s investigation and what has happened to him since. Van Blatter seems to have got wind of the fact that I think he is to blame for Fazal’s state of shock.”
“And how would he have ‘got wind’ of that?”
I hesitated. I’d already mentioned Marty once, but that was a relatively harmless reference. I wasn’t the sort to grass on colleagues. “I don’t know, sir. I was angry about Fazal. I even went to his house to see him. Perhaps after that I spoke out of turn – but I really can’t remember.”
“Hmm. Well, let’s say you did speak out of turn, where would that have been, do you think? Here in the office?”
He was forcing me to reveal more than I wanted to. But I couldn’t go on lying.
“Yes. It’s possible.”
The drumming stopped and the editor put his hands together as if in prayer.
“Daniel, I’m sure you’ll understand that I am bound to pursue this matter in the best interests of the paper. The Chief of Police is an acquaintance of mine and as soon as we have finished here I intend to phone him.”
I took all this to mean that I was about to be thrown to the wolves.
“Now think carefully, Daniel. Have you mentioned anything about being chased to anyone else?”
“I have told a girl I am close to” – I didn’t know how else to describe Ruth – “and I’ve spoken to a lawyer. He was the one who advised that I make a complaint.”
“You’ve not spoken to anyone in the office, apart from Gordon, that is?”
“No. I tried to phone Conrad but couldn’t get him.”
“Good. Well, don’t try again. In fact, I am putting you on your honour that you will not mention any of this to anyone from now on. I would also ask you to ask the girl to keep it confidential. I presume the lawyer will do so without having to be asked. As for your complaint, I beg you to put it on ice while I try to sort out this mess, Daniel. Can you do that?”
“For how long, sir?”
His large frame shifted uneasily, as if I’d said the wrong thing.
“I’ll tell you that when I’ve spoken to the police,” he said.
***
I sat at my desk fretting. I’d let the editor talk me out of my one and only plan of action. He had it in his means to protect me. He only had to ask his police chief chum to guarantee my safety. But would he bother? I went out to get a sandwich and coffee and when I returned the room was half full of reporters just beginning their shifts.
Marty came into the room, looked at me, turned and walked out again. I was busy wishing he wouldn’t come back when I saw a familiar, bulky figure through the glass partition. Theo! He was in the corridor with another tall man who was in uniform. Then Gordon appeared and ushered them into his office.
Half an hour later the editor joined them.
Why weren’t they calling me in? My future was being decided in abstentia. It wasn’t fucking fair.
Eventually the meeting broke up. I watched them shake hands in the corridor. Theo was obviously of lower rank than the uniformed policeman. The editor and Gordon shook his hand last.
Ten minutes later I was called in to learn my fate. Not for the first time lately my hands were shaking.
The editor spread his fingers wide on the desk and put on his gravest face. What a portentous twat he was turning out
to be. In suitable raiment he could have passed for a medieval pope.
“Look, Daniel,” he said, “Gordon and I both think you are a first class reporter. There is no doubt you’ve been an asset to the paper since you joined. And believe me, we don’t blame you in any way for your present predicament.”
I could feel a big “but” coming on.
“Hard though it may be, you have to see things from our point of view. There’s too much at stake here. The Messenger has to tread a very fine line. The Verwoerd government detests the English language press. You know this as well as I do. And the truth is, you do not have a shred of evidence to back your allegations. We’ve had two senior officers in, Captain McCreedey of Durban City Police and Captain Oudenstad of the CID …”
So Theo’s got his promotion early, I thought.
“… And we’ve discussed the issues at length. They are not unsympathetic, believe me. But we cannot leave things as they are.”
Get to the point you big fat hypocrite.
“The two detectives were adamant that Jacobus van Blatter is a first class detective. They say he has a very high clear-up rate and he’s the sort of man the force needs. They accept that there may be friction between the two of you but they cannot accept your allegations. And so, Daniel, painful though this is for all of us, we’ve decided to let you go.”
He held up a hand to stop me saying anything.
“But we have to be fair. So we’ve decided to give you six weeks’ severance pay plus a one-month bonus with the simple condition that you leave Durban. Now that’s more than we normally give. We really don’t want to part with you on bad terms and nor do we want you pursuing this matter any further. Is that understood? You have to realise that there will be no turning back. The offer is conditional on you leaving the city for good. Have I made myself plain?”