There was a short silence before Bongani said, “Ms. de Jong, I have to go now.”
A quiet click, and the line went dead.
The suburb of Florida was built around a lake, and Swan Street, where Lisa Marais lived, was one of the roads that fronted the park, with a distant view of the waters beyond. David supposed the street name should have clued him in, although these days, developers liked to name their suburbs after whatever it was that had been destroyed in the construction.
He had no idea whether there were, in fact, any swans here. But the area was tranquil. The redbrick houses and apartments gave it a seventies feel, which was emphasized by the lack of security. Unusually, there didn’t seem to be much in the way of high walls and electric fences in this part of Jo’burg. Was there no crime here? he wondered, briefly toying with the idea of requesting a transfer to Florida Lake.
He stopped the car on the corner of Swan and Lakeview, where there was a designated parking area. It was an attractive part of the world, and he’d been neglecting his gym in recent weeks. A walk would do him good. He needed some air in his lungs that didn’t stink of crime scene or secondhand smoke.
It was a rarity to find himself in a middle-income neighborhood that actually looked clean. He’d become used to grime, graffiti, litter. Used to the pall of smog that seemed to hang over Jo’burg permanently, with smoke belching from factory pipes and blue-black fumes billowing from car exhausts. Metro Police were too busy trying to enforce the new e-toll rules to worry about emissions, it seemed, and so every year, the roads became filthier.
Perhaps it was the presence of the park and the lake that made this place seem lighter and brighter.
He set off along the quiet sidewalk, enjoying the unaccustomed warmth of the sun on his face.
The only other people he could see were a couple and their son walking their dog in the park. The golden spaniel scampered ahead on a winding route, nose down as it sniffed out scents. The couple strolled hand in hand while the boy, who looked to be about David’s son Kevin’s age, sprinted after the dog.
A family outing. He couldn’t remember the last time he and Naisha had done such a thing. Perhaps after the baby was born . . .
Try as he might, David couldn’t superimpose his and his wife’s faces onto the soft-focus vision of family unity. Naisha disliked walking. David was usually too busy. And Kevin wanted a dog, but pets were not allowed in the townhouse complex where they now lived.
He strode down the paved pathway, becoming accustomed to the suburban tranquility as he counted down the house numbers from fifty to forty, thirty to twenty. David was making a bet with himself on whether number fourteen would have a tree in its garden. And then he frowned as he noticed a glitch in the serene continuity of groomed hedges.
Up ahead, a section of scorched grass fronted a tumbledown wall. Bricks spilled from its top onto the sidewalk, where they lay scattered haphazardly.
David slowed his pace as he approached, feeling his heart sink lower with each stride. “Damn it,” he muttered.
A suburb that resembled a modest Stepford, and he was looking at the only vacant house in the neighborhood.
Number fourteen was not only vacant, it was a burned-out shell.
The walls were blackened and crumbling. Shards of broken glass jutted like teeth from the window frames; the grass near the house was scorched and blackened, with burned streaks stretching through the greenery right up to the damaged wall.
Nobody was living here. With its roof missing, it wasn’t even home to squatters. Lisa Marais must have moved elsewhere and failed to update her address.
But then David looked again. He had missed something. During this time of year, with the rains just starting, grass grew long and wild in three or four weeks. Those burned strips shouldn’t still be there.
Scrambling over the broken fence, he walked all the way up to the building. Insects buzzed, and a grasshopper whirred past his face. The borders where the burning started were sharply delineated. Life, then no life. He breathed in and smelled the acrid, unmistakable tang of smoke.
This was not an old ruin, but a recent disaster zone.
Meaning the neighbors knew something.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
When Jade returned to the safe house, Botha was gone.
She parked in the visitors’ lot, walked down the paved road with her bags, unlocked the townhouse’s front door and paused to listen.
“Botha?” she called softly. There was no reply. She frowned. Perhaps he was asleep on the bed upstairs, but she doubted it. The place felt empty.
She locked the door behind her and took the bags to the kitchen. It didn’t take long to search the small house, look onto the tiny back garden and discover that Botha was indeed gone.
She dialed his number. But his phone was turned off.
Jade let out a frustrated sigh. She paced the thirty square feet of lawn, wondering what to do now. She’d genuinely believed that he’d stay here in safe hiding. Unless he had been lured out . . . or had never been in danger at all.
She didn’t want to just sit around, waiting for Botha to come back or answer his phone. She decided to use the time to find out something about his backstory.
Gillespie had told Jade that Botha had trashed a Sandton bar on the night of the sabotage. She remembered its name—Lorenzo’s. Botha’s behavior there seemed discordant with what she knew of him so far. She needed to know what had happened that night.
Forty-five minutes later, she parked the Mazda in the paved lot behind a cluster of bars and restaurants that looked to be the wealthy Jo’burger’s party destination. Lorenzo’s was nested between a Mexican restaurant called Margaritas and a steakhouse called Fillet Signature Cut. Across the street was an upscale-looking nightclub. Lorenzo’s was a small place, subtly lit apart from a glittering crystal chandelier centerpiece. It featured a large bar area and a small restaurant beyond. With its leather and polished wood décor, it was classier than she had expected, and certainly stood out from its neighbors.
The black-clad manageress who came over to help said that the owner, Lorenzo Rizzo, would be back in ten minutes.
“No problem. I’ll wait,” Jade said. “I’ve come to ask a few questions about the incident that took place early on Friday morning.”
“Oh, I see.” The woman brushed back a strand of perfectly dyed chestnut hair that had come loose from its fashionably high ponytail. “Lorenzo was the only one working front of house at the time. The waiters left at midnight, after the restaurant closed, and I was at our Bedfordview branch.”
“What time did it happen?”
“Around one-thirty a.m.”
“What damage was done?”
“The chandelier was smashed.” The manageress pointed in the direction of the shimmering crystal feature. “This new one was installed yesterday. About ten glasses were broken, and a barstool was damaged. Oh, and some bottles as well.” She pointed to the display of brandies and whiskeys behind the bar.
“What exactly happened?”
“Lorenzo said a customer named Botha got into a fight. He was very drunk. He tried to hit another customer with a barstool, missed, destroyed the chandelier and the other items and also injured the other customer’s partner.”
“Did the police arrive?”
“Lorenzo took photos of the damage and reported it the next morning. The police came around later that day to have a look. The other customer didn’t want to get involved, Lorenzo said.”
“Why’s that?”
The manageress shrugged. “Maybe he just didn’t want the hassle. Could also be that he didn’t want people to know where he was at that time . . . You know, there are so many possible reasons. Lorenzo didn’t push it.”
“How did he know it was Botha?”
“Lorenzo photographed his driver’s license and confiscated his c
ar keys. After it happened, he threw Botha out and said he didn’t care how he got home, whether he called a friend, took a cab, but he wasn’t letting him endanger anyone on the road when he was so drunk. He came back later in the day to collect the keys, apparently. Then yesterday, Lorenzo told me that Botha had agreed to pay all damages in return for him consenting to drop the charges.”
“Were there any other witnesses?”
“I don’t think so. From what Lorenzo said, it was just Botha and the other two.”
The manageress’s face changed as she looked over Jade’s shoulder. Turning, Jade saw a man walk in. He was six feet tall, solidly muscular in build, with dark eyes and a mop of dark hair held back from his brow by a pair of wraparound shades pushed up onto his head.
“What’s going on here, Kim?” Turning to Jade, he addressed her in a strong Italian accent. “I’m the owner. Can I help you?”
“Jade de Jong. I’m a private investigator. I came to ask questions about the incident here last Thursday night. Kim’s been very helpful.”
“Kim’s not authorized to talk about that.” Lorenzo frowned at the unfortunate manageress, who began stammering out that she’d hardly said anything. Turning back to Jade, he asked, “Who hired you to investigate?”
A question she hadn’t expected.
“I can’t answer that. I’m sorry,” Jade said.
“Let me get this straight. You walk in here asking questions about an incident that I’ve withdrawn charges on, and you refuse to tell me who you’re working for?”
“I’m working for the police,” she said quickly.
“Which officers?”
“Superintendent David Patel.” Jade felt her face grow hot. She had not expected Lorenzo to be on the attack.
“Unless you have written authorization from Superintendent Patel, I’m not answering any questions, and you’re not to, either, Kim. I don’t want people interfering. Charges were dropped. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No. Thank you for your time.”
Jade left hurriedly.
On the way back to the townhouse, she puzzled over what had just happened. There were two possible scenarios that made sense to her.
In the first one, Botha had persuaded Lorenzo to drop the charges after he’d agreed to pay damages.
Jade liked that scenario a lot. She was hoping it was the real one.
Because the second scenario was that there had been no other customer, and no injured woman, and that this had all been prearranged between Botha and Lorenzo.
Why? That was easy to answer.
It gave Botha an unbreakable alibi during the attempted sabotage at Inkomfe.
The problem was that if the second scenario was the real one, Lorenzo might call Botha and tell him Jade had been asking questions. And Jade wasn’t supposed to know about this. Gillespie had told her, but Botha had never mentioned it.
She’d better start thinking, and fast, of what to say to Botha if he asked what the hell she’d been doing at Lorenzo’s.
Chapter Thirty
This time, Botha was back at the townhouse when Jade arrived. It was as if he’d never been gone—the spare key was hanging on the hook inside the door, and he was in the garden on his phone. As soon as he saw her, he disconnected and walked into the house.
She had to get hold of his phone.
“Where were you?” she asked.
“I could ask you the same,” Botha said. His face was all hard angles, and his dark eyes were unreadable.
“I came back earlier. You were gone.”
“I had to go somewhere.”
“You called a cab?”
“No. I went in a minibus taxi. Fast and anonymous. Safest form of transport for a man on the run.”
“Oh,” Jade said. “Where did you go?”
“I’ll tell you that if you tell me where you were just now.”
He stared at her, unsmiling. A challenge. She had a sick feeling that he already knew where she’d been.
“How can we work together if I can’t trust you?” she asked.
“I think maybe I’m the one who should be saying that.”
Jade let out a deep breath. “I told you where I was going. To do research. I found out the identity of the murdered woman.”
“Who is she?” Botha still sounded suspicious.
“Scarlett Sykes.”
He blinked. “Only a name? What else?”
“It’s a murder investigation,” Jade reminded him. “Detective Mweli has to notify the next of kin. I can’t go interfering at this stage. She told me she’d keep in touch.”
Botha gave a small nod without looking at her.
“I brought some food,” Jade told him.
“I’m not hungry right now, but thanks.”
“I also picked up a change of clothes for us. I’m going to shower.”
Jade walked upstairs to the bathroom and turned the shower on. Then she tiptoed back to the top of the stairs and listened.
Botha was on the phone again.
“The story’s holding,” she heard him say. Then a pause. “No, still nothing from her. We’ll have to assume the worst. And I found out something else today . . .”
He lowered his voice and she couldn’t hear any more. But maybe she didn’t need to.
Jade stepped back into the bathroom and showered. When she got out, Botha wasn’t on his phone anymore, but she heard the faint tap of computer keys.
She was trembling with exhaustion. The previous night’s lack of sleep was taking its toll. She needed to have her wits about her, but right then, her eyes were begging to close so she could regroup.
The bed had a mattress, and with the afternoon sun streaming through the glass windows, the room was pleasantly warm. She’d better rest up, because who knew what the evening might bring? She pulled on a fresh shirt, programmed her phone alarm for five thirty, lay down and was deeply asleep within a few seconds.
She woke five minutes before the alarm and turned it off. She felt much better—her thinking was clearer now. There was no sign of Botha downstairs, but his bedroom door was closed. Perhaps he was also catching up on rest.
Jade went into the garden. The afternoon was starting to cool and the shadows were lengthening as the sun set in a clear-aired, cloudless sky.
Standing in the shade of the wall, she called David. He didn’t answer, so she left a message updating him on her day’s investigation.
He called back a few minutes later, sounding stressed. “I’ll try to be quick about this. I went to Lisa Marais’s place just now, and it’s a ruin. The retired woman who lives next door told me the house burned down last week. It was a massive blaze; it started around midnight and all the neighbors were evacuated.”
“Do they know the cause of the fire?”
“They don’t. They suspect arson, but there was another small fire in the house last year caused by a cigarette, according to my rather nosy source. Lisa was a chain-smoker.”
“Was Lisa there at the time?”
“That’s the strange thing. The neighbor said she didn’t see her there when the fire happened, and she hasn’t been home since. She hasn’t even been around to take a look or pick through the wreckage.”
“There’s something weird going on with Lisa,” Jade said. “It seems as if nobody’s heard from her recently. The consultant at Earthforce was very evasive when I asked where she was. And she was supposed to send notes to a worker at Inkomfe, but he said they haven’t arrived.”
“Pity she never got to send those notes just because her house burned down.” David’s voice dripped with cynicism. “They could have been important.”
“It seems like they were. Did her neighbor say anything else?”
“She was in and out at odd hours over the past few weeks. Leaving early, coming
home very late, going out in the middle of the night. And the neighbor said she saw a silver Land Cruiser driving slowly past Lisa’s house a couple of times. She actually reported the car to the neighborhood watch. But then, she’s probably the kind of person who’d report an ice cream van to the neighborhood watch if it went past too slowly.”
“A silver Land Cruiser?” Jade felt her pulse accelerate, remembering the car that had crashed into the steel pole. Perhaps it was a coincidence, but if it wasn’t, then Lisa might have known the blonde woman. Either that, or . . .
There was another scenario brewing in the back of Jade’s mind. Her subconscious was telling her something, but frustratingly, she couldn’t seem to grasp it. Perhaps it would come to her later.
“Did you get my message?” she asked.
“Yes,” David sighed heavily. “This whole thing is looking messier and messier. Do you want me to try and make arrangements at a safe house for you? I’m worried, Jade. I spoke to Mweli just now, and she told me Loodts was tortured. The autopsy showed several of his fingers were broken.”
Torture? Jade glanced nervously at the flimsy sliding door. “Thanks for the offer. But you barely have the resources to provide safe houses for people who really need them,” she said reluctantly.
“I know, I know.”
“Where we are will have to do. Oh, hell. Hold on.”
“What?” David sounded as jumpy as she felt.
“Nothing. A light just went on in Botha’s bedroom. I’m outside. I don’t want him to know I’m talking to you.”
“The less he knows, the better,” David agreed.
“Gillespie’s been trying to convince me to walk away from this. He told me to fold my hand, if I remember his words correctly,” she said.
“Gillespie’s right. Jade, if Botha’s planning something, he’s going to use you until you become an inconvenience, and then he’s going to take you out. Has it not occurred to you that he could be manipulating you?”
“Of course it has. But . . .” Jade leaned against the garden wall, feeling its residual warmth on her back as the sun set. “Wait, David. Say that again.”
Bad Seeds Page 16