Blood Safari

by Deon Meyer

  ‘In any way we can,’ said Maggie.

  Jeanette Louw. Who knows people in high places. She had been busy.

  ‘I need to get to the theatre.’

  They ignored that. ‘We have a hospitality suite we would like to offer you. And you need a change of clothing, obviously,’ said Maggie.

  ‘I will leave you in Mrs Padayachee’s capable hands, Mr Lemmer. Just so you know, we are at your service any time.’

  ‘Please, I have to talk to Emma’s … Miss le Roux’s doctor.’

  ‘Of course.’ Soothing voice. ‘But they’re still in theatre. Let’s make you comfortable first. Do you have any luggage we can fetch for you?’

  * * *

  The hospitality suite had a sitting room, a bedroom and a bathroom with a shower. Luxurious. Air conditioning. Original oils. Kelims.

  There was a set of hospital pyjamas and a dressing gown on the bed. Slippers on the floor. The bathroom had a toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, shaving cream and deodorant. I wondered exactly what Jeanette Louw had said to the managing director of SouthMed.

  I took off my shirt. It was stained with Emma’s blood. So much of it, dry and dark red now, like wine.

  My torso looked like an abstract painting in sombre shades of red, black and purple. My ears rang. My heart thudded. The pain had backed off, thanks to the injection. I undressed and got into the shower. I was cold. I turned the taps open wide and turned my back to the stream. My body shook.

  Emma mustn’t die.

  She must not.

  I had never lost a client.

  What had I done wrong? The train. I should never have jumped on the train, but there had been no other way.

  I should never have doubted her. I should have believed her. Three men. Balaclavas. The same as the attack in Cape Town. Why? Why cover their heads? Why hadn’t the sniper worn a balaclava? And the gloves. Why the gloves?

  I ought to have spotted the sniper sooner. I should have climbed deeper between the freight cars. I should have held Emma behind me. I should have taken the bullet. I should have held her tighter.

  She couldn’t die. I must finish up, I had to guard her. They would come back. She was dead, I knew it. Because I wasn’t good enough.

  I had to protect her.

  I contacted the theatre from the phone in the sitting room. ‘I need to know Miss le Roux’s condition, please.’

  ‘Who is this speaking?’

  ‘Lemmer. How do I get the operating theatre?’

  ‘You’re calling from the VIP suite?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I’ll call you back.’

  They were soon knocking on the door. I opened it in the hospital pyjamas and dressing gown. It was Maggie and the rotund doctor. ‘Dr Taljaard is worried about you.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Fine my arse,’ said Taljaard. ‘Did you take the pill I gave you?’

  ‘Dr Taljaard …’ said Maggie sternly.

  ‘Don’t Dr Taljaard me. Did you take the pill?’

  ‘No, Doc’

  ‘I thought not. My name is Koos. I don’t like “Doc”. Come on. I’m giving you another injection. Lie on the bed. Maggie, you wait outside.’

  ‘Dr Taljaard, he’s a VIP.’

  ‘That’s your problem. Those eyes of his are my problem, they’re wilder than a wild dog’s. Come on, pal, lie down. If you won’t listen, you have to take the pain.’

  ‘Please, Doc, I don’t want…’

  ‘Hey!’ he said. Fierce. ‘You have a hearing problem?’ Threatening.

  I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there.

  He closed the door. ‘Let’s be reasonable.’ He spoke quietly in an easy tone. ‘I don’t know what happened, but you have trauma, and it’s not physical. Right now your brain is not working properly and you are going to make a fool of yourself. You’ll be sorry later. Let’s get you a little calmer. I’ve just come back from the theatre. No news yet. However, the fact that they’re still busy should be good news to you.’

  ‘I have to protect her.’

  He steered me towards the bed with a firm hand. He never stopped talking.

  ‘There’s nothing you can do right now. Lie down. Face down. That’s it. Just a quick injection, we’ll use the right buttock this time, left one’s a bit over-utilised. Let’s get this gown up. That’s good. Here we go, this will sting just a little. There you go, easy as that. No, don’t get up yet. Lie still for a minute. Give the stuff time to kick in. It will make you relax. A bit sleepy, too. Wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a little rest. Don’t you think? Just a little breather, just to catch your breath.’

  A great weight sat down on me.

  ‘Come, let’s get these slippers off. Ugly mothers, anyway. Let’s get you under these blankets. Wait, shift up a bit, just a bit more, there you are. Sleep tight, pal. Sleep tight.’

  22

  The pain dragged me from sleep. Pain in my shoulder, in my arm, right hip, left knee. I didn’t know where I was at first. The dressing gown was twisted uncomfortably around me. Behind the curtain the window was dark. The sitting-room light shone through the crack in the bedroom door.

  There was someone in the sitting room. I heard a quiet deep voice.

  I got up. My legs felt unreliable. I straightened the dressing gown. Checked my watch: 19.41. I had slept nearly six hours. Where was Emma? I opened the door. Inspector Jack Phatudi was sitting there. He was talking on his cell phone. He frowned at me. He said, ‘I have to go,’ and folded up his phone.

  ‘Martin Fitzroy Lemmer,’ he addressed me.

  I went over to the room’s phone and picked it up. I saw my black sports bag beside Phatudi’s chair. Had he brought it?

  ‘She is critical, Martin. She is in a coma and they don’t know if she will make it. They won’t be able to tell you more than that.’

  I put the phone down. ‘She needs protection.’

  ‘I have two people at the door of the ICU.’

  ‘Those two?’

  ‘Yes, those two. Come and sit down. We need to talk.’

  ‘What are your arrangements for controlling access to her? Do they know what they’re doing?’

  ‘Do you think we’re morons because we’re black, Martin?’

  ‘No, Jack, I think you’re morons because you behave like morons. Besides, one of your morons is white. The arrangements?’

  ‘There is a list of two doctors and four nurses. They are the only people allowed access to her.’

  ‘Put me on the list too.’

  ‘Why? When did you become a doctor?’

  ‘She’s my client.’

  ‘Client? You are Martin Fitzroy Lemmer, who served four years of a six-year sentence in Brandvlei for manslaughter. Tell me, what kind of service do you provide to a rich young woman like Emma le Roux?’

  I didn’t answer. He had done his homework.

  ‘What happened today? Road rage again, Martin? Tell me about it.’

  My head felt thick. My body ached.

  ‘Sit down here.’ I stood.

  ‘We took your prints off the R5.’

  ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘Why are you with Emma le Roux?’ His tone was reasonable.

  ‘I am employed by Body Armour, a company that provides protection services. She hired us.’

  ‘Not very good protection, Martin.’

  He wanted to provoke me. He used my first name to annoy me. ‘It was an ambush, Jack. They shot out the tyres with a rifle. How do you prevent that?’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘You were the one that sent people because you were concerned for our safety. You tell me who they were.’

  ‘The people I was worried about don’t lay ambushes with high-velocity rifles. What happened?’

  ‘We were on our way back from Mogale. They were waiting for us. Shot out the tyres. I couldn’t control the car. So we ran for it. There was a train. We
jumped on the train and they shot Emma.’

  ‘How many were there?’

  ‘Three.’

  ‘Describe them.’

  ‘They were too far away.’

  ‘Not good enough.’

  ‘They were wearing balaclavas. They were men, that I know. They were never closer than fifty or sixty metres.’

  ‘And you got away? Miss le Roux was shot and your shoulder was dislocated?’

  ‘We were lucky.’

  ‘Lucky? Tell her that.’

  ‘Fuck you, Jack.’

  ‘Are you going to assault me now, Martin? Are you going to beat me to death like you beat a twenty-three-year-old articled clerk to death?’

  ‘The articled clerk had three mates, Jack. It was self-defence.’

  ‘That’s not what the court said. You have an anger management problem. I could see that yesterday.’

  ‘You threatened Emma physically. She asked you to let her go. That’s police brutality.’

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Where have you and Miss le Roux been since you arrived in our area?’

  ‘To Mogale, Badplaas and Warmbad.’

  ‘What were you doing in Badplaas and Warmbad?’

  ‘She went to talk to Cobie de Villiers’ former employer and his fiancée.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing. They know nothing.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘What do you mean, “what else”?’

  ‘Something must have happened. Someone is angry with you.’

  ‘You were the one who was angry with us, Jack. It makes me wonder.’

  ‘What about the message?’

  ‘What message?’

  ‘You know what I’m referring to.’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘The woman at Mohlolobe said somebody left you a message at the gate. The gate guard said he gave the letter to Emma le Roux. What was in the letter?’

  ‘I don’t know. She didn’t say.’

  He leaned forward, chin propped on his hand, like the Thinker.

  ‘I want to shower, Jack.’

  He waited before responding. ‘Why did she need you, Martin?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why did she hire a bodyguard to come and look for her brother? It’s not that dangerous in the Lowveld.’

  ‘Ask her.’

  ‘I’m asking you.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  He got up slowly and stood right in front of me. ‘I think you’re lying.’

  ‘Prove it.’

  ‘I know your type, Martin. Trouble magnets. We don’t need more trouble here. We have enough. I’m watching you.’

  ‘Jissie, Inspector, you make me feel so safe.’

  He scowled at me and turned those big shoulders and went to the door. He opened it and then he said, ‘Next time it won’t be four years, Martin. I’ll put you away for a long, long time.’

  Only once I had showered did I spot the envelope on the bedside cabinet. The room must have been a hive of activity while I slept.

  I tore it open. It was neatly typed under the letterhead of SouthMed Clinics.

  Dear Mr Lemmer

  We have brought your luggage, which you will find in the lounge. Miss Le Roux’s bags are in safe keeping. Should you need them, please contact me.

  You are welcome to use our restaurant facilities on the ground floor at your leisure. Also, a Ms Jeanette Louw called, and asked that you call her back once you feel up to it.

  Dr Koos Taljaard, who has been treating you, is at your disposal. His telephone number is 092 449 9090. The surgeon in charge of Ms Le Roux’s care is Dr Eleanor Taljaard, and you can reach her on extension 4142.

  Should you need any assistance, please do not hesitate to call me on 092 701 3869.

  Very best wishes

  Maggie T. Padayachee

  Client Services Manager

  I recognised the trauma surgeon immediately. It was her picture in the silver frame on Dr Koos Taljaard’s desk.

  ‘I’m Eleanor,’ she said in a lovely modulated voice. She was taller than me.

  ‘How is Emma?’

  ‘Are you Mr Lemmer?’

  ‘Oh, sorry. Yes. I …’

  ‘It’s understandable. Miss le Roux is your client, I believe.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Can you help us to contact her next of kin?’

  ‘No. I mean … There aren’t any.’

  ‘Not any?’

  ‘Her parents and her brother are dead. There is no one else.’

  ‘Dear me. An employer? Colleagues?’

  ‘She works on her own, a consultant.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Doctor, tell me, please. How is she?’

  ‘Come sit down, Mr Lemmer.’ She steered me by the elbow to an office. On her desk was a photo of Koos. In a silver frame. He looked rotund. She sat down. I sat opposite her.

  ‘All I can tell you at the moment is that her condition is very serious. It’s the injury to the brain that makes it more complicated.’

  ‘What brain injury?’

  ‘There was a direct trauma to the brain, Mr Lemmer.’

  ‘What sort of injury?’

  ‘Look, the details are not important…’

  ‘Doc, the details are important.’

  She looked at me, sighed, and said, ‘It is typical coup-contrecoup. The problem is that she is not stable enough to scan yet. I suspect an epidural haematoma. Possible brain damage. Can you tell me how the injury occurred?’

  ‘Doc …’

  ‘Eleanor.’

  ‘She fell. Her eye was bleeding … here …’I pressed my fingers to my cheekbone.

  ‘No. The zygomatic wound is superficial. I’m referring to the parietal trauma.’ She dropped her head and indicated with her hand the left rear of her skull. ‘This is the parietal bone of the cranium. It protects the parietal lobe of the brain. The impact must have been severe.’ She assumed I didn’t understand the medical terms, not knowing that I had previous experience.

  ‘We were on a train. When they shot her, she fell. She fell off a train. It was travelling fast.’

  ‘Dear me …’

  ‘I didn’t see how she landed.’

  ‘Who on earth …?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  She wanted to pursue the topic, I could see that. But she reconsidered and gathered her thoughts. ‘Mr Lemmer …’

  ‘They just call me Lemmer.’

  ‘When this type of injury occurs, the impact is so great that the brain literally bounces back and forth against the sides of the cranium. The first impact we call the coup, the second is the contrecoup, when the opposite side of the brain rebounds against the cranium. Usually the injury is to the cerebral cortex. That’s the outermost layer of the cerebrum, between one point five and five millimetres thick. The bruising varies according to the nature of the impact. The process is popularly called concussion. The Afrikaans term harsingskudding describes it well, like a brainquake. Are you with me?’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Concussion appears in varying degrees and symptoms. Light concussion can make you dizzy for a second, serious concussion can leave you unconscious. Miss le Roux’s injury is serious. She has lost consciousness, which is not a good sign. With this type of injury, where an object or a fragment of skull has not penetrated the brain, unconsciousness is usually a symptom of brain damage. Not always, but usually.’

  ‘Doc …’

  ‘Please don’t call me “doc”. My name is Eleanor. You need to understand, Lemmer, it is impossible to know yet whether there will be permanent brain damage, or what the nature of the damage will be, if there is any. The area of the brain that is injured determines that. Miss le Roux is in a coma and the best indicator of the degree of possible damage is the length of time she remains comatose. But there are two good signs. She doesn’t have bilateral dilation of the pupils. That means both pupils
respond to light – they contract when we shine a light on them. Statistically only twenty per cent of brain trauma patients with normal pupillary response die. So there is hope, but I must reiterate: we don’t know whether there is epidural haematoma. In common terms: bleeding on the brain. Once she is stable enough, we will do a CT scan.’

  ‘What is the other good sign?’

  ‘In cases like this, we use the Glasgow coma scale. The scale runs from three, which is very bad, to fifteen, which is normal. The position of a patient on the scale is determined by their best response in the first twenty-four hours after the injury. We are not working with exact science here, but the good news is that Miss le Roux is outside the three to four zone. Currently, she is six on the scale, and we hope she will show improvement in the next twelve hours. The Glasgow scale tells us that thirty-four per cent of patients who register between five and seven will live, with or without a mild degree of handicap.’

  Thirty-four per cent.

  ‘You can give us some information that might help us, Lemmer. How soon after her fall did you get to her?’

  ‘I’ll have to think about it.’

  ‘One minute? Two, four, five?’

  I shut my eyes. I saw the sniper in the grass, the sights of the weapon tracking us, the shot inaudible over the noise of the train, only the white vapour from the barrel, like the mist on your breath on an icy morning. Emma jerking in my arms …

  ‘The gunshot wound, Eleanor? What about the wound?’

  ‘Explain the trajectory.’

  ‘About thirty degrees, shooting from below.’

  ‘That’s what saved her. The bullet missed the lungs and arteries. But the bullet wound is not our primary concern.’

  How long did it take me to reach her?

  How long had I waited after she fell, after the T-shirt had torn?

  I was jumping again. The train on my left was a rust-brown blur, the grass, the sleepers, the gravel beside the tracks flashed past. I was suspended in air. I hit the ground. Shoulder first, a hard impact, sudden pain, face in the grass, winded, something cut my arm. I rolled over and over and then lay in the grass, looking at brown earth. How long had I lain like that? I didn’t know. How long was it before I could get up?