by Deon Meyer
In Cape Town they went with a few others to the Van Hunks nightclub, unaware that Jason would turn up later.
They had both been drinking, Erin with great fervour. She began to scold Rachel in an escalating flood of complaints - at the table, on the dance floor. At first just with words like razors, later with tears of drunken melancholy. About friendship, trust and betrayal.
The alcohol had weakened Rachel's resolve. It made her emotional, feel the urge to lighten the burden of her secret and deny the horrible accusations against her. Eventually, with their heads close together at the table, she told Erin everything. Erin calmed down. She said it couldn't be true, it must be a misunderstanding. Not Jason and Steven. Impossible. Rachel said she had watched the video many times over in the early morning hours. There was no mistake.
Let's ask them, let's clear this thing up. This was the reasoning of a fairly intoxicated, naive arch-optimist who never saw evil in anyone. No, no, no, Rachel had protested, promise me you won't say anything, never, let's go home, my father will know what to do.
Erin had promised. They danced. Erin went off somewhere, came back to the table. She said Jason and Steven were here, she had asked them about it, they said she was dreaming. Rachel looked up across the sea of faces and found Jason's eyes on her. He had a cell phone to his ear, and an expression of chilling determination. She had grabbed her rucksack and told Erin to come, they had to get out of there, now. Erin had argued, she didn't want to leave, what was Rachel's problem? Rachel had grabbed her arms and said, 'You come with me. Now!'
They were a few hundred metres from the club down Long Street when Jason and Steven emerged. They looked left and right, saw them and began to run. The other three had joined them from somewhere. Barry, Eben and Bobby.
She knew they were running for their lives.
In the Toyota bakkie, Steven Chitsinga and Barry Smith turned out of Scott into Speke Street and saw the police vehicles in front of the African Overland Adventures warehouse, a horde of blue lights flashing and uniforms everywhere.
Steven said a word in Shona; Barry was silent, braked sharply so that the big off-road tyres squealed. He jerked the gear lever into reverse, released the clutch, depressed the accelerator and shot backwards into something. In the mirror he could just see the roof of the vehicle, only once he turned his head in panic did he realise it was another SAPS patrol vehicle. With an ambulance behind that was blocking most of the road. He ground through the gears and shot forward. If he could go left into Stanley, and then left again in Grant...
But Stanley was closed, police vans, Opels, blocked the street. Uniforms came running with guns in hand.
'Fuck,' said Steven beside him.
Barry said nothing. He stopped the bakkie and lifted his hands slowly off the steering wheel and held them above his head.
'He's coming with me,' said Rachel Anderson as they carried her to the helicopter on a stretcher. She pointed at Griessel, who walked beside her holding her hand.
'There's no room,' said the paramedic.
'Then I'm not going.'
'Rachel, I'll be there in a few minutes,' Griessel soothed.
She fought to get off the stretcher. 'I'm not going.'
'Wait,' said the paramedic, 'he can go with you.' To Griessel he said: 'Where's your car?'
Benny pointed at the van. 'The keys are still inside.'
They loaded her into the helicopter, and Griessel shifted in beside her with difficulty. 'Wait a bit,' the paramedic said and ran back into the building. He returned with the toes in a little bag and passed the gruesome cargo to Griessel. 'They can sew them back on,' said the man. 'Maybe ....'
In the helicopter she tried to talk but the rotors made too much of a racket.
Once they had landed on the roof of the hospital and when they were ready to wheel her into theatre, the same one where they had operated on Mbali Kaleni and Eben Etlinger, she asked them to wait. She told Griessel there was another thing, last night. After they had cut Erin's throat.
'We'll talk later,' he pleaded, because he had to get back to Vusi, there was a lot of work to do.
'No. You have to know. They killed another man.'
She had seen them cut Erin's throat and she had run blindly in fear and shock back to the street, chose the first possible street away from them. Somewhere not long after that she had seen a building on the left with an entrance through to an inner garden. She wanted to get out of sight. She ran in there.
A big, middle-aged man in a suit, handsome, was standing at a fishpond and watching two other men walk away. He shouted something angry before they opened a glass door and disappeared inside. On the wall was a logo of a bird, she could remember that.
'Please, help me,' she said with huge relief, here was help. The big man had looked at her and the anger on his face had quickly changed to concern. 'What's wrong?' he asked.
'They want to kill me,' she had said and went to stand with him.
'Who?'
They heard their running steps and looked at the entrance, where Jason and the others had appeared. Jason had a gun in his hand now.
'We just want her,' he said to the big man. The man had put his arm protectively around Rachel's shoulders and said: 'Not before we call the police.'
'She stole from us. We just want our stuff back, we don't want trouble.'
'Even more reason to call the police,' and he had started to feel in his pocket, probably for his phone.
Jason pointed the pistol at the man. 'Then I'll have to shoot you.'
The man took out a cell phone.
She realised she was not going to be responsible for another death and she started running again. The big man tried to stop them.
She heard two shots. She looked back. The big man in the black suit fell down.
Then she was gone, around the corner. In the street a municipal lorry had pulled away, a smelly truck transporting rubbish bags. She jumped up against it, saw them coming. The truck picked up speed so that Jason became smaller and smaller. She thought they had given up when she had nearly a half a kilometre lead on them. But then the traffic lights at the top of the street turned red. She jumped off then.
'Two men went into the building just before he saw you?' he asked her as they wheeled her into theatre.
'Yes,' she said.
Griessel followed. 'What did they look like?'
'I can remember only one. He was ... eccentric. Very thin, his head was shaven .. . Oh, and he had a silver earring,' and then the doctor told Griessel he would have to leave. 'He was dressed all in black,' she called before the theatre doors closed.
16:41-17:46
Chapter 47
Detective Inspector Vusi Ndabeni finally lost his professional cool in the interrogation room at the Caledon Square police station.
They deposited Steven Chitsinga in a cell. They asked Mat Joubert to question Jason de Klerk in an available office, as Griessel said he couldn't, because if he did he 'would beat the fucker to death'.
Vusi took Barry Smith to the official station interview room. Griessel took charge of Bobby Verster in another office. Verster was the last one to come out of Rachel's torture chamber, the one who had left Jeremy Oerson alone with her. They suspected he was the weakest link.
Joubert got nothing from Jason de Klerk, despite his skill, his intimidating size and the fact that Jason was in agony from his smashed elbow. He ignored every question, just sat and stared at the wall.
To every question from Vusi, Barry Smith mumbled 'Fuck off.' Vusi felt the unease growing inside him, but he suppressed it and asked the next question.
'Fuck off.'
In the other office, Bobby Verster told Griessel he hadn't been on the tour. Last night by chance he had been with Barry and Eben at the Purple Turtle when Jason had phoned. Barry had jumped up and told them to come, and outside they had seen Jason and Steven chasing two girls down Long Street. So they joined in the chase.
Griessel's body was sore, but he was filled w
ith euphoria from the breakthrough and the relief at finding Rachel. He stood up from his chair and approached the table. He looked at
Bobby. Bobby looked away. 'Have you heard the one about the little dog?' Griessel asked.
'What one?'
With suspicion.
Benny sat on the table, folded his arms carefully across his chest and said in a mischievous, playful and friendly voice: 'The one about the young dog that heard the big dogs talking about sex and how good it felt to fuck. "What is fucking?" asked the young dog. "It's the best thing ever, let's show you." The dogs ran up the street and found a bitch on heat. The bitch ran away from the pack. They chased her, around and around the block. After the fourth time around the block, the little dog said: "Guys, I'm only fucking one more round and then I'm going home."'
Bobby Verster didn't laugh.
'You didn't get tired of all the chasing, Bobby?' Benny Griessel asked.
Verster said nothing.
'Not even when they cut an innocent girl's throat?'
Bobby said he was shocked when Jason did it. He had protested. But Steven Chitsinga told him: 'You're next if you don't shut your mouth and help.' It scared him. But he didn't know what the hell was going on with Jason and them.
'So were you forced?'
'Yes.'
'So actually, you are innocent?'
'Yes!'
'Would you make a statement to that effect? Just so we can close your part of the case?' Griessel asked him.
'I will,' he answered eagerly.
Benny shifted pen and paper closer. Bobby wrote. 'Sign it,' said Benny. Once Bobby was finished, Griessel read the statement out loud to him. He asked: 'All this is the truth?'
'It is.'
'Then you are an accessory to murder. You are going to jail, and you will sit there for a very long time.'
Bobby Verster's eyes widened. He protested, just as he claimed he had done the previous night. 'But you said I was innocent!'
'No, I asked you if you were. Come, there's a police van outside that will take you to Pollsmoor.'
'Pollsmoor?'
'Just until the bail hearing. In about a week or two. Three.'
'Wait...'
Griessel waited.
Bobby Verster thought for a long time. Then he said: 'You're looking for Blake.'
'Who is Blake?'
'Do I still have to go to Pollsmoor?'
'Everything is negotiable.'
'Blake is the owner. Of Overland. We bring the people in for him.'
'What people?'
'The blacks.'
'What blacks?'
'The blacks they put in the bins under the trailer. From Zimbabwe. But they're not always Zimbabweans.'
'Illegal immigrants?'
'Something like that. I don't know. I've only been helping with unloading about a month, but they won't tell me everything yet.'
'What is Blake's name?'
'Duncan. But we call him Mr B. He lives here in the city, that's all I know.'
'Thank you very much.'
'Do I still have to go to Pollsmoor?'
'Yip.'
Fransman Dekker brought another two uniforms along with him to AfriSound. They walked through the pack of journalists in the little garden. He ignored the questions. One of the two Constables guarding the door opened up for them. Dekker said: 'All of you come with me.' They climbed the stairs in step, the detective in front, four uniforms behind him. They walked through the reception area. Dekker smiled at Natasha. He felt self-confident
for the first time today. Down the passage as far as Mouton's office. He didn't knock, he just walked in.
The lawyer wasn't there.
'What now?' Mouton asked.
'The best thing about my job, the thing I enjoy most of all, is arresting a whitey bastard,' said Dekker.
Mouton's Adam's apple bobbed wildly up and down, but he couldn't get a word out. Dekker asked two Constables to keep an eye on Mouton and walked out, beckoned the other two uniforms closer and opened Wouter Steenkamp's door. The accountant was seated behind his computer.
'We know all about last night,' he said. Steenkamp didn't bat an eyelid.
'He doesn't phone anyone, he doesn't move, he just sits here,' said Dekker to the two uniforms. 'I'll be back soon.'
Griessel called Vusi and Mat Joubert. He held a quick meeting in the station commander's office. He told them what Bobby Verster had said. Once the detectives had finished discussing it, Vusi went back and told Barry Smith: 'We're bringing in Mr B. We know everything.'
Barry Smith turned white. 'Fuck off,' he said, with more venom.
'Murder,' said Vusi to him. 'Life sentence.'
'Fuck off, you black bastard.'
The injustices of the day bore down incredibly heavily on Vusumuzi Ndabeni, but he shook them off one last time. Then Barry Smith said: 'Fucking motherfucker,' and Vusi's temper exploded over him like the mighty breakers on the Wild Coast. In one lightning move he reached the young white man, and his fist struck his temple with all the power in the lean, neat body behind it.
Barry's head jerked back and he toppled backwards, chair and all. His head hit the floor with a dull thud. Vusi was there, on him, jerking him up by the collar, shoving his face into Barry's and said: 'My mother is a decent woman, do you hear?'
Then he let go of him and stood back, breathing heavily. Vusi adjusted his jacket, realised his knuckles hurt and saw that Barry's eyes had trouble focusing. Barry got unsteadily to his feet, looked back, slowly picked up the chair, set it right and sat down. He put his hands on the table in slow motion and dropped his head onto them, his palms obscuring his face.
It was quite a while before Vusi realised that the young man was crying. He pulled out a chair and sat down. He said nothing, not trusting his voice: his rage had not subsided, the guilt was just a small dark spot in his belly.
They sat like that for over a minute.
'My mother is going to kill me,' said Barry through his hands.
'I can help you,' said Vusi.
Barry sobbed, making his whole body shake. Then he began to talk.
Dekker sat opposite Mouton. He said: 'I know you didn't shoot Adam Barnard. I know about the girl and the four guys chasing her.'
'Five,' said Mouton, and then looked as if he could bite off his tongue.
'Five,' said Dekker in satisfaction.
'I want to phone my lawyer,' said Mouton.
'Later. Let me tell you what happened. Barnard phoned you, last night, just after nine. You knew we would find a record of the call, that's why you volunteered it so easily ...'
Mouton's Adam's apple moved, he wanted to say something, but Dekker silenced him with a hand. 'Adam didn't phone you to tell you how silly Ivan Nell's accusations were. He was worried. Nell told me Barnard was disturbed. He wasn't himself. He had a suspicion. He had a feeling, he knew someone was fucking with the money. I don't know why yet, but I will find out. In any case, Adam said he wanted to see you. Did he tell you to come to the office, you and Wouter? Or was it your suggestion - keep trouble away from home? So you came in here, probably very worried, because you are guilty. What time was that, Willie? Did he tell you to come at eleven so he could look at the figures first?
I know he worked on his computer last night. He was so upset by what he saw that he never turned his laptop off. It was still on this morning. Maybe he loaded all the records on a CD so that you couldn't go and fiddle with them. You sat here, or maybe in his office, and he confronted you. Did you deny everything, Willie? How am I doing so far? Never mind, let me finish. You argued and fought from eleven o'clock to half past one in the night. Barnard must have said something like; 'Leave it, we'll talk more tomorrow.' He must have been tired. Thinking of his drunken wife at home. And you and Steenkamp followed him out into the garden. Argued some more. You went in just when the girl arrived. You got lucky, in more than one way. Because if you had been standing there, you might also have been shot. But then they shot Adam. P
roblem number one solved. There you two were, looking out the window at the body, and you thought: what now? Your big problem was Ivan Nell. Because, whatever you did, if Ivan came and told us there was a snake in the grass, you were in trouble.
'So you wondered how you could make it look different, as though you had never been here. Give someone else the blame. Then you remembered about Josh and the Big Sin. And Alexa and the pistol. Fucking brilliant, Willie, I have to tell you. So you carried Barnard to the car. If he was in your or Wouter's car there will be blood and hair and fibres and DNA, and we'll find it.
'Now, I must say, I couldn't figure out the shoe and the cell phone. Until about half an hour ago, when I put the whole story together. The shoe came off when you picked up Adam to carry him to the car. You must have picked him up by the feet. And the cell phone was in his hand when he was shot. So you picked up the phone and you remembered that he had phoned you. So you deleted his call history. And you put the cell phone in the shoe and the shoe in your pocket, or on top of Barnard, we will probably never know. And then when you reached the car and opened the boot, you put the shoe on the roof of the car. Just for the mean time. And then in your hurry you forgot about the shoe. You drove off, Wouter in front with Adam's car and you following.
Something like that. And up there on the corner, as you turned, the shoe falls off and you don't even know it. How am I doing, Willie? I'm telling you, I had a really hard time figuring out that shoe, until I went up there to the corner again. It came to me in a flash. Fucking brilliant, let me tell you.'
Mouton just stared at Dekker.
'You and Wouter carried him up the stairs and you put him down there with Alexa. And you went and got the pistol out of the safe that you installed in the house. Somewhere you fired off three shots. I'm guessing you couldn't do it in the house. Even if you used a pillow or something to reduce the noise, you were too scared of waking Alexa, drunk or not. You must have driven somewhere, Willie. Up the mountain? Somewhere that it wouldn't matter. Then you went back and put the pistol down there. Clever. But not clever enough.'