by Ian Patrick
‘OK. I’ve also heard that. For some time.’
‘What I’ve been thinking through, since the phone call I received this morning, is this. More than a decade ago a whole swathe of illegal casinos in Durban operated with the knowledge of both the police and certain provincial officers of the Department of Justice. Shady places manned by bouncers, none of which had licenses to operate, were making big money. How were these guys doing it?’
‘You’ve got me there.’
‘Can you believe it? There was actually a formal agreement in place between the police, the Department of Justice, and some of the worst criminal types you could imagine who were running illegal operations. The agreement allowed those operations to continue to run under the police radar.’
‘You’ve got to be joking. A formal agreement?’
‘And guess what? Our colleagues in Pine Parkade at the time decided to raid one operation. If I’m not mistaken they also had the army supporting them in that particular action. They removed illegal equipment and bust the big guy concerned. Guess what next? He promptly produces the formal agreement signed by both Justice and Police showing that he’s allowed to operate. The police are humiliated, have to acknowledge that the agreement is genuine, and then have to return all the equipment. That's how it came to light that there was this undercover agreement. Some clever lawyer for the illegal operators then had the police over a barrel for wrongful arrest and wrongful impounding of equipment. Wrongful in the sense that they had a written agreement with the police to operate their business, so how could it be wrongful? Never mind that it hadn’t been authorised through the correct channels. So what does he do, this clever lawyer? The police are scared of massive damages in the courts, so they sign a further undercover agreement with him that these particular operations are to be allowed to continue in return for dropping charges for the wrongful raids.’
‘Jeez, Captain.’
‘Sibo.’
‘Sibo. So this agreement remained private?’
‘Well. Depends on what you consider to be private. It actually included a clause not to make the agreement public!’
Ryder, still astonished, probed for more detail, which Nyawula happily provided, taking the detective through the intricacies of the legal arguments at the time, the outcomes of some of the cases, and the PR disasters. He concluded by describing how the whole illegal gambling scene after that little episode started to be cleaned up with the new legislation and the tightening of gambling regulations. Then he paused, while the waitress cleared dishes, before continuing.
‘The new regulations didn’t change things overnight, although there were some high-profile busts, both before and after the new policy. I remember reading that back in about 2004 there was one instance where slot machines worth about six hundred thousand rands were found by the KZN Gambling Unit in a police raid in Matatiele and they were busting quite a few illegal casino operations at that time, but what bothers me is the follow-up. Who controlled the confiscation of those machines? Where did they end up? And who got paid what?’
The waitress returned to refill Ryder’s coffee and there was another pause while she did so. Then the Captain continued.
‘OK. Now to my phone-call this morning. It was from a guy I trust who works in Gauteng. He’s been tracking through a whole lot of history for me, and he’s finally come up with an identity for the guy who Pillay took out in Overport. The guy who killed Ed.’
‘Who is he?’
‘His name is Antonio Vietri. Tony Vietri.’
Nyawula took from his briefcase a large envelope and spread four or five photos on the table.
‘He has an interesting history. You remember that a few years ago – it was before your time here but when you started in Durban I remember you telling me about the stuff you had read in preparation for moving in – there was a lot of stuff happening which included allegations against the head in this province of the Organised Crime Unit?’
‘Allegations of police taking bribes in return for not shutting down illegal gambling operations.’
‘That’s it. Well, one Tony Vietri was a section 204 witness in one of the trials.’
‘Exemption from prosecution in return for giving evidence?’
‘Yes. This guy was one of the big players and I remember friends groaning when they heard he was to be let off the hook.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Well, he did the dirt on his accomplices and then disappeared. Surfaced in the Cape a few months later, then in Gauteng and then finally made his way back down here. But probably played a back-seat role in whatever he was involved with. My contact is networked into the Forensic Technology guys in Silverton and in the last twenty-four hours he has run a whole lot of things through IBIS which show our Mr Vietri popping up all over the place during the last ten years in a whole string of – until now – unsolved shootings. Once they got the stuff on his weapon from the Overport scene, and the GSR and the other evidence putting him at Montpelier Road, and ran all of this through the systems, all the dots started to get connected. Then he did some research for me and took it even further than I had asked. I owe this contact of mine big time, because what he took me through this morning gives me a lot more than I thought we had.’
‘So we’ve got the confirmation evidence from Montpelier Road?’
‘Yes. It’s all come together. He’s without doubt the guy who did Ed, and in addition to that, hold on to your hat for this.’
‘What?’
‘Vietri’s prints are all over the guy who was strangled in Addington Hospital on Monday.’
Ryder stared at the Captain, thinking through the implications.
‘We can come back to that. But first, back to the illegal gambling scene. One of the things that had been pinned on Vietri at the time he was bust was his involvement in a very interesting little business which involved the interception of illegal gambling equipment – slot machines as well as wheels and tables and all sorts of other things – merchandise that had been confiscated by the police and then, while in police possession, mysteriously disappeared. This included machines that had been supposedly destroyed. Also newer stuff that had been imported from abroad – mainly China – and discovered in police operations. These machines were then sent to warehouses to await destruction or some other fate, and time after time the warehouses were opened and the goods had disappeared. There was huge suspicion about police involvement, but they could never nail the guys. Then it went quiet when the new legislation came in and the whole gambling thing tightened up under the National Gambling Board.’
‘And you think that Vietri was part of a new operation trying to resurrect all of this?’
‘Exactly. I think we might be on to quite a sophisticated operation, and we think Swanepoel is a key part of it. He’s been on top of the information about police operations. He knows when there’s going to be a raid. He knows when illegal machines have been confiscated, and he knows when they are taken to state warehouses to await proper claims. He has his grubby fat fingers in a whole lot of these pies, and now we’re on to him.’
‘Ed and I talked a helluva lot about how so many of the unit’s carefully planned operations were blown at the last minute. We often thought that there might be some inside information getting out to people to warn them. But every time we came down to it, we thought it can’t be. We scrutinised every one of our guys. Even you, Sibo, I have to admit.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Yeah. Well, the good news is you came up clean each time so we dropped it.’
‘Pity you didn’t look harder at the Major.’
‘Yeah.’
‘And me, too, dammit. I should have looked harder at him. In retrospect it seems so obvious. All his irritating questions about detail. When were we planning to bust, where, who was involved? All of that I put down to the guy just trying – tiresomely – to prove that he was the know-all and that he was gunning for me, trying to derail me, for no other reason than his r
acism. I never for a moment thought it could be anything else.’
They covered more ground, first looking back at some of the history, and then coming back to the anticipated events of the day. They played back and forth various likely and various possible actions once the warrants were in place and the arrests were made. They also mapped out a PR strategy for the coming week. A Major being bust for corruption. That was going to bring the journos in big time, so Nyawula wanted all bases covered.
Nyawula agreed that Pillay should be called in to accompany Ryder on the arrest of the Major. Her arm was still in a sling, Ryder told him, and she was feeling a bit frustrated being left on the side-lines. Ryder made the call and she responded instantly. She would come down to the casino immediately and join them for a briefing. By the time she got there the Captain expected to have the go-ahead and the papers signed off.
11.10.
Mkhize had sent a message back with one of the staff at Nomivi’s. Tell the policeman asking for him at the front entrance that he would meet him in the road. Tell him to wait in his car. She had come to the back room in some agitation worrying about why the police were there. Maybe it was something to do with that murder around the corner on Tuesday. Whatever it was, it felt bad for business to have the police visiting all the time.
Mkhize had then gone out a few minutes later and had got into the detective’s car so that he could take the cell-phone and charger from Dippenaar without being observed by anyone else. Dippenaar told him that he wouldn’t have to do anything with the instrument. It was already primed and set up, and all he had to do was let them know once Thabethe had taken possession of the phone. He wouldn’t be called upon to do anything else from that point on. They would handle everything.
The cop had driven off and it was just over half an hour later that Thabethe arrived and after scouting the place satisfied himself that it was only Spikes and the normal staff on the premises. The two of them sat in the same seats Thabethe and the young Afrikaner had occupied on Tuesday. Spikes was cackling loudly.
‘Struesbob, Skhura! The cop he gives me money. Me, Spikes, police informant! Paid with police money! Maybe they promote me to detective one day. Maybe I get a raise! Hayi! These guys. They know nothing. Nothing! They think I sell out my friends.’
‘Is good you tell me, Spikes. Is good.’
He was relieved, after what he had observed the previous night. He needed Spikes. He would have had no hesitation in cutting the guy’s throat or giving him the spoke, but at least he knew now that Spikes was on the level.
‘This one is funny, Skhura. You like this one. They ask me, they ask What you think of Skhura? What kind of man is Skhura Thabethe?’
He guffawed, spluttering his coffee and then, after a fit of coughing and more laughter, he continued.
‘I tell them Skhura Thabethe, that one, that one he is a skelm number one. Tsotsi big time. Bad man. Spikes never like that one. Is joke, you know, Skhura. Is big joke, ‘cos you know me, nè?’
‘I know you, Spikes. I know you.’
‘But this inspector Ryder, I’m scared of that one, Skhura. I must play along with him, you know? I don’t say no way, I’m not wanting your money. ‘Cos then he makes things bad for Spikes, you know?’
‘I know, Spikes. I know.’
‘So I say things. Now he thinks I am against Skhura. You know?’
‘I know.’
‘So he asks me, that one, he asks me to say where you live. I say I don’t know but if I find out I will tell them. He says they will give me money if I tell them. I say give money first and they say no, they want something from Spikes first then they give money. Then I have a big idea, Skhura. You like this one. I tell them something and then they give me money.’
He collapsed in another hysterical fit of laughing, wiping tears from his eyes.
‘What you tell them, Spikes?’
‘I tell them….’ He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned in to Thabethe as he continued conspiratorially. ‘I tell them I got a big idea. I see it on television. I see the cops do it on television, so I get a great big idea.’
‘What, Spikes? Tell me, mfowethu.’
‘I tell them they must fix a police cell-phone for you with bugs and things like that and I give it to you then they can trace you where you are.’
‘Whaaat?’
‘Easy, broer. Easy my bra. Is a trick. Is a trick from Spikes. You take the phone, you see, you throw it on a train or hide it on a bus, or put it in some lorry going to Jo’burg in the middle of the night, and they follow you to kingdom come, you know? Is a good idea, nè? They think Skhura is there by Pretoria and Skhura is here all the time. Fokken moegoe police.’
Thabethe calmed down. He saw some merit in the idea.
‘Is good, Spikes. Is clever. But then they come for you again.’
‘Is no problem, Skhura. I tell them, then, I tell them Hayi! That Skhura he is a clever! He maybe found out the bug! He is clever! He is a big skabenga!’
Another fit of laughter.
‘Is good, Spikes. Is good. When they think you going to give me the phone?’
‘I tell them when I tell them. I say Skhura he has now got that phone. Until then, nothing. They wait for Spikes to tell them.’
‘Is nice. Give me the phone.’
Mkhize handed over the phone and the charger.
‘Ready to go one time, my brother. Me, I know nothing how this bug thing works, you know. Inside there somewhere. That bug she has got ears. They can tell when you are talking, when you are moving, when you are shitting. Hayi! these police they want to know everything we do.’
‘OK, Spikes. OK. Good thing. You wait for me and I tell you when to tell them. We send them far away just when they want to catch me. But you wait for me, nè? Only when I say tell them now, Spikes.’
‘I wait for you, Skhura. Nothing from me to them until you tell me. You can trust good old Spikes, nè?’
Thabethe nodded, and they punched fists.
‘You say you lost the car, Skhura? You want ‘nother one? I can get ‘nother one Monday. No problem. I can get new papers. I get you Mazda. Or Toyota? I got a Ford 1974. You want?’
‘Maybe, Spikes. Maybe. Maybe I come next week. For now, is safer with a taxi. I let you know.’
‘Anytime, my broer! Anytime. Spikes works for Skhura. We are big friends. I know if I have trouble with guys who come to mess up my place I find Skhura and say these guys must go, and Skhura will sort it out, nè? With Skhura my friend ek is skrik vir niks.’
‘Is right, Spikes. Is right. You call me and I fix you up. I know. I trust you.’
They punched fists again, finished their coffees and Thabethe left, after checking through the windows to see that the street was functioning exactly as it should on a Saturday morning.
13.25.
There had been frustrating delays as a call from the Colonel had caused a hold-up while they got more information to him. Then Ryder finally got the go-ahead, along with paper warrants hand-delivered by a trusted constable from the Cluster Commander’s office. All of it was sweetened by an additional personal call from the Brigadier, confirming everything, and they set off. He and Pillay stepped out of the elevator and walked briskly down the passage to Swanepoel’s room.
The Major hardly hesitated after checking the peephole, and opened the door, having doubtless decided that jollity was the best defence.
‘Jeremy! What a nice surprise.’
‘Only my friends call me Jeremy, Major. We have a warrant for your arrest.’
‘You have the right...’ Pillay started, but the Major, sensing immediately that they must have more information than he had assumed possible when looking through the peephole, changed tactics and interrupted her.
‘I know my section 35 rights, detectives, so there’s no need for that...’
‘Not good enough, Major, we still...’
‘Lissen, girlie, I was doing this long before you...’
Nothing could rile Pilla
y more. She was on to him immediately, her wounded left arm proving no deterrent to her ability with the handcuffs as she produced them from nowhere and pushed past Ryder, forcing the major back into the room, thrusting the cuffs into his chest with her right hand as she spoke.
‘No-one calls me girlie, fatso. Now listen to your lesson on constitutional rights and be a good fat boykie. Your rights are as follows...’
Rather than her small physique having anything to do with him staggering backward, the Major deliberately over-reacted to her forward movement. Before either she or Ryder could work out how her action had managed to propel him backward against the desk, his enormous buttocks almost crushed the HP desktop as he tilted back, and his right hand stretched out behind him, apparently in an effort to prevent his bulk from crashing through the desk. But he suddenly steadied himself and brought his right hand high overhead. He had retrieved the desk clock mounted on its slab of inch-thick glass and brought it smashing down on Pillay’s head. She went down instantly, crashing to the floor. The Major maintained the momentum forward and to his left, stumbling now toward Ryder, who had followed Pillay into the room.
Ryder could deliver a punch that would drop most two-metre, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound men instantly. He could wriggle his way out of almost any adversarial grip that a powerful wrestler might offer. He could kick his way out of most close-combat situations with any of the top kick-boxers around. But here was an adversary who broke all the rules. He had never encountered in hand-to-hand combat an opponent this shape, size and weight. Ryder wouldn’t get two arms around the man’s girth. Any blow he landed on the huge torso would be dissipated, its energy being swallowed up by layers of fat interwoven with flabby muscle.