See No Evil

by Michael Ridpath

  ‘Get Kobus up there as soon as he has finished his business in the Cape.’

  ‘I was going to do just that,’ said Steenkamp.

  Visser slammed down the phone. If only he had been more decisive earlier! He slumped into his chair. Suddenly he felt very tired. His chest hurt: it never stopped hurting, nor would it stop until the end. And he felt the end was rushing towards him like an express train out of a tunnel. At that moment he felt like lying down on the tracks in front of it.

  Zan was driving through the broad Franschhoek valley. The landscape was green and lush, dotted with farmhouses and vineyards, enclosed on three sides by high rock walls. She was heading for the pass at the top of the valley.

  She thought about her conversation with Alex Calder. It looked as if he was getting somewhere. She definitely wanted to be there when he found the diary, if he did. She picked up her cell phone and called her husband, saying that she was going up to Johannesburg for the night. It was an interesting new property that she would have to move fast on: she’d explain later. Piet had learned to tolerate her erratic movements. Florence, the maid, would be there to take care of the kids until Piet got back from the office.

  It would be strange to see her father again after all this time. She had followed his career in the press and seen countless photos of him, but she hadn’t actually spoken to him for over ten years. At times in her youth they had fallen out, but she had always admired him: his strength, his power, his integrity. She still hadn’t got over her disappointment at the way he had left the country after Martha died. Since then she had never really felt she could trust him. She wondered what his reaction to her would be.

  She passed through the town of Franschhoek with its bijoux galleries and shops and its monument to the Huguenots who had settled there three hundred years before. She followed the road sharply upwards. As she crossed over the pass, the landscape changed. Before her was a bleak expanse of fynbos, punctuated by outcrops of grey rock, sloping down to a plain and a lake shimmering light blue in the distant sunshine. No signs of cultivation, or even habitation. It certainly was a lonely spot, and presumably that was why it had been chosen for the meet.

  A couple of kilometres down the slope from the pass Zan reached a dirt track. She followed this as instructed for a further four kilometres and came to a halt at a turn-off. She checked her watch: twelve minutes early. The spot was out of sight of the main road, out of sight of anything but fynbos and bare rock.

  She settled back to wait. She was nervous. She knew it was dangerous to meet here, in the middle of nowhere, but she was thoroughly prepared. It seemed worth the risk.

  She heard a car behind her, a dirty blue Toyota, not the mode of transport of the man she was expecting. The car pulled up twenty metres away.

  She got out of her own vehicle.

  The man in the Toyota got out too. He was heavy set with close-cropped hair, a moustache and a thick neck, wearing an open-necked shirt and a coat. He began to walk towards her.

  ‘Stop!’ she said.

  The man continued. Zan tensed. She hoped her preparations and the training she had received all those years ago in the ANC camps in Mozambique would be effective.

  ‘Where’s Dirk du Toit?’ she called out in Afrikaans.

  ‘He couldn’t make it,’ the man said.

  Zan reached behind her for the pistol shoved in the waistband at the small of her back. The other man was quick. Before she could aim, he had whipped his own weapon out from a shoulder holster and was pointing it at her. He fired and she felt a thud in her chest as the round hit her body armour. She fell backwards, twisting as she hit the ground so that her own gun was pointed straight at the man who was lumbering towards her. She fired twice, hitting him in his unprotected chest. He slumped to the ground.

  She scrambled to her feet and ran over to him. He was still breathing. His gun was an inch from his hand and she kicked it away. She pointed her pistol at the man’s head.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  He shook his head.

  She kicked him in the ribs, a few inches below one of the entry wounds. The man screamed in pain.

  ‘I said, what’s your name?’

  ‘Moolman,’ the man whispered.

  ‘Kobus Moolman? Colonel Kobus Moolman?’

  The man nodded.

  Zan remembered the name. He had been a leading member of the Vlakplaas death squad that had killed so many comrades in the struggle. And a minute ago he had tried to kill her; her breast still ached from the impact of the round on the Kevlar.

  She glanced at his wounds. It was just possible that, if she called an ambulance, he might survive.

  She pulled the trigger twice more.

  27

  ‘If she’s going to come, she’d better hurry up,’ Cornelius said checking his watch. ‘The plane leaves in fifteen minutes.’

  Calder, Cornelius and Benton were at Johannesburg airport waiting in the small but comfortable lounge of the charter company that was going to fly them to Kupugani. A group of four young German tourists were drinking beer at a nearby table: they were due to be dropped off at a game reserve eighty kilometres further on. The tension between Benton and Cornelius was unmistakable, but they had come to a kind of truce, burying their mutual suspicion in their joint desire to find the diary and the cause of Martha’s death.

  ‘Shall we hold the plane?’ Benton said.

  ‘No,’ said Cornelius sharply. ‘We want to make sure we have a chance to take a good look round before it gets dark.’

  ‘You haven’t seen much of Zan, have you?’ Calder said to Cornelius.

  ‘Not much, if anything at all. After Martha died I got the strong impression she was judging me for quitting South Africa. She’s a strong-willed woman,’ he smiled, ‘like her father, I suppose. We were both too stubborn to give the other a chance. That can happen in families.’

  It certainly could happen in the van Zyl family, Calder thought. Outside on the apron he saw two young pilots, a man and a woman, climb into the Cessna Caravan and begin their pre start-up checks. It was a twin-engined aircraft which could carry ten passengers and was ideal for short runways.

  Benton disappeared to the bathroom. Cornelius was leafing through a copy of one of the national newspapers. ‘It’s good to be back in this country, you know. I’ve hardly been here at all since Martha died.’

  ‘It’s a beautiful place …’ Calder said.

  ‘But? There was a “but” in there that you didn’t say.’

  ‘But it’s still screwed up, ten years after apartheid.’

  ‘I wonder what Martha would have thought of it today?’

  ‘She would have been pleased, wouldn’t she?’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes she would.’ Cornelius considered the question. ‘I guess she was right and I was wrong. South Africa’s still a violent place, but there hasn’t been the anarchy I expected.’

  ‘Do you regret leaving?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Cornelius said. ‘I’m proud of Zyl News and what it’s done. But …’

  ‘But what?’

  Cornelius glanced at Calder. ‘You know all our family secrets. You know about Todd and about Edwin. If I do win The Times, what will I do with it? I’m seventy-two. I might stay on a couple of years to turn the paper around, but then who runs Zyl News? Todd won’t have it and I’ll make damn sure Edwin doesn’t get his hands on it.’ Calder smiled and Cornelius noticed. ‘I’ve turned a blind eye to Edwin’s activities for too long.’

  ‘There must be some managers within the company you could rely on to carry on after you. Or you could hire someone.’

  ‘Yes, I could do that. I probably will do that. Want a job?’ Calder grinned. ‘I used to have a paper round when I was sixteen. I gave it up after a couple of months. I’m not a natural newspaperman.’

  Cornelius smiled. ‘I wonder what Martha would want me to do.’

  Calder fished a card out of his pocket and handed it to Cornelius. ‘You know what? When all this is
over, give George Field a call.’

  ‘George? He’d never talk to me now.’

  Calder shrugged. ‘He might.’

  Cornelius put the card in his pocket.

  Benton returned from the bathroom and the ground staff announced that the aircraft was ready for boarding. As they filed out on to the apron, Zan joined them, out of breath.

  ‘You made it,’ said Calder.

  ‘Only just.’

  Cornelius turned to face her. The aircraft engines roared a few feet away.

  Zan hesitated and then drew near to him. ‘Hello, Pa,’ she said, and kissed him on the cheek.

  He smiled and they embraced. ‘I’m glad you could come,’ he shouted above the engine noise.

  ‘You look good, Pa,’ she smiled. ‘Better than you do in your pictures in the paper.’

  Cornelius grinned. ‘So do you.’

  They climbed on to the aircraft and took up their seats towards the front. Zan paused next to the open seat by her father, and then decided to sit next to Calder. They strapped themselves in and the plane taxied to the hold.

  ‘We didn’t think you were going to make it,’ Calder said.

  ‘I almost didn’t.’

  ‘You said you were meeting someone about the Laagerbond this morning. Did you find anything out?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t trust the bastards.’ Zan explained how she had received a call that she should meet Dirk du Toit, a senior banker and presumably a Laagerbond member, at a deserted spot near Franschhoek. She described her rendezvous with Colonel Moolman, how she had had the foresight to wear a bullet-proof vest and how she shot him after he had tried to kill her. She omitted to mention how she had finished him off.

  Calder was shocked by how coolly she described it all. ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ she replied.

  ‘And you still flew up here? What about the police?’

  ‘I’m sure they can sort it all out by themselves. I’ll speak to them when we’ve finished here. I’m not that easily put off.’

  ‘You certainly know how to handle yourself.’

  ‘The ANC taught me well in Mozambique,’ Zan replied. ‘Moolman was complacent, probably because I’m a woman. His mistake.’

  At least the Laagerbond had lost one of their killers, Calder thought. But there were almost certainly plenty more where he came from, and the attempt to kill Zan showed that they were becoming more desperate. It wouldn’t be long before they discovered that Calder and Cornelius were together in South Africa, if they hadn’t already.

  ‘So what did your NIA contacts tell you about the Laagerbond?’ Calder asked.

  ‘I’ve got some names. Eight.’

  ‘Great. Anyone important?’

  ‘Two former cabinet ministers and a general. But they’re dead now. Then there’s Dirk du Toit, Andries Visser, Daniel Havenga and two others I haven’t heard of. Maybe Moolman makes nine. I’ve made some notes, they’re in my bag.’

  ‘Well done,’ Calder said, although he was actually a little disappointed. The dead people weren’t of much value, and he knew about Visser and Havenga. Du Toit might be a useful lead.

  ‘So,’ said Zan. ‘How do you know the diary is hidden at Kupugani?’

  Calder explained.

  They flew east over the wide brown plain of the high veld, over the peaks and gorges of the Drakensberg mountains to the bush veld on the other side. Trees and scrub stretched from the high escarpment behind them as far as the eye could see, like a sparsely planted forest. Soon the aircraft descended and joined the circuit above a clearing with a stripe of tarmac at its centre. Calder could see a cluster of buildings that was the main camp about a mile to the south. On final approach the pilot pointed out a small herd of five elephants grazing on the trees and then the aircraft was on the ground. They disembarked, and the aircraft taxied back to the runway threshold and took off, taking the group of German tourists on to their destination.

  A Land Rover approached them driven by a young ranger who introduced himself as Darren. They piled on board and he drove them off to the main camp.

  ‘Whose are those?’ Zan asked, pointing towards three single-engined aircraft parked under a makeshift hangar. There were two Piper Warriors and a Cessna 172.

  ‘They belong to some of the guests,’ the ranger replied.

  ‘You could have flown up yourself, Zan,’ Cornelius said.

  ‘I would have if I’d had time.’

  ‘Do you fly?’ Calder asked.

  ‘Yes, every now and then,’ she said. ‘I own a Saratoga, which I keep at Stellenbosch. It would take a couple of days to fly from Cape Town to here, though.’

  The Land Rover lurched along a rough track, surprising a warthog on its way. They soon approached the camp, which comprised half a dozen thatched wooden cottages clustered around an old farmhouse. As they climbed out of the Land Rover a thin woman with short grey hair and a tanned, weatherbeaten face emerged from a door marked ‘Office’ to greet them. She was wearing a khaki tunic and trousers, just like the ranger.

  She approached Cornelius first, holding out her hand. ‘Welcome to Kupugani,’ she said. ‘I’m Phyllis Delahay. You must be Mr van Zyl.’

  ‘That’s right. Thank you for seeing us at such short notice,’ Cornelius said.

  ‘Not at all. I must admit I was surprised I didn’t see you eighteen years ago. Now, introduce me to your companions.’

  Cornelius was a little taken aback to be put so firmly in his place, but he introduced Zan, Calder and Benton.

  ‘Yes, I remember you, of course,’ Phyllis said to Benton. ‘I do hope the police weren’t too hard on you?’

  Benton smiled. ‘They were pretty rough, Mrs Delahay. But they let me go in the end. This is the first time I have been back to South Africa since then.’

  ‘It’s changed. For the better. And you?’ The woman turned her eyes on to Calder. They were searching; hers wasn’t just a polite enquiry, she wanted to know what he was doing there.

  ‘I’m an old friend of Todd van Zyl’s wife,’ he said. ‘Todd is Martha’s son.’

  ‘This is the man who has been asking the awkward questions about her death,’ Cornelius said.

  Phyllis smiled quickly. ‘Ah, yes, Libby mentioned she had met you. And you’re Martha’s daughter?’ she said, turning to Zan.

  ‘Stepdaughter,’ Zan said.

  ‘I see.’ Phyllis seemed to disapprove. ‘Will you have some tea?’ she asked.

  She indicated some rattan chairs on a verandah overlooking a small watering hole. Monkeys played in the trees above. The chairs caught the afternoon sun, which was warm without being hot. Strange bird calls, unfamiliar squawks, whoops and trills, emanated from the bush surrounding the camp on all sides. Calder wondered how far away the elephants were that they had spotted from their aeroplane. A uniformed waiter appeared with a teapot, followed by a waitress with some cake.

  ‘A nice place you have here, Mrs Delahay,’ Cornelius said.

  ‘Thank you. My father bought it in the 1930s. We used to use the farm just for ourselves and our guests. As time went on we began to take in tourists. Now Kupugani has become big business. Financially that’s good, of course, but I sometimes think it’s unfortunate.’ She sipped her tea. ‘All the guests have just left for the afternoon game drive. They won’t be back until after dark.’

  ‘As I told you over the telephone,’ Cornelius said, ‘we’ve come here to try to find out more about how my wife died.’

  ‘Yes, I understand,’ Phyllis said. ‘But frankly I’m a bit surprised you’ve all come together.’ She raised an eyebrow at Benton.

  ‘Martha’s death upset all of us,’ he said. ‘Cornelius and I have been talking; he knows why Martha and I were here. I’d like to help him.’

  ‘Do you have any idea who shot her?’ Zan asked.

  Phyllis shook her head. ‘No. I know it wasn’t guerrillas as the police claimed. My trackers found footprints from a single man, wearing expensive boots. From the s
ize of his feet they guessed he was of below-average height. I told the police this, of course, but they ignored me. I decided to let it drop. I knew that you were a powerful man, Mr van Zyl, and I expected to be hearing from you. When I didn’t, well, I assumed that you had colluded in the police’s cover-up.’

  ‘An understandable assumption, but mistaken,’ Cornelius said.

  Benton cleared his throat. ‘Martha had a diary. It was a black notebook about this big.’ He indicated the size with his hands. ‘We are pretty sure that it contains some important clues as to who killed her. I grabbed it when I ran away, and hid it. We’d like to look and see if it’s still where I put it.’

  ‘Heavens,’ said Phyllis. ‘And where was that?’

  ‘In a maintenance shed near the cottage.’

  ‘Is the shed still there?’ asked Cornelius.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Phyllis said.

  ‘Has it been cleared out over the last twenty years?’

  ‘No,’ Phyllis replied, after a moment’s thought. ‘Things will have been brought in and taken out. But it hasn’t been repainted, or even repaired that I can remember.’

  Cornelius exchanged glances with Calder. This was looking good. ‘Can we see it?’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’ Phyllis put down her tea cup and went over to a wall where three bolt-action rifles rested in racks. She took one, loaded it with five rounds, picked up a small backpack and headed off into the bush. ‘Follow me.’

  She led them along a sandy trail into the scrub. On either side termite mounds rose precariously, some of them ten feet high. Despite her age and size, Phyllis seemed supremely confident in the bush.

  ‘Do you really need the gun?’ Calder asked.

  ‘This camp is unfenced,’ she said. ‘You never know what you’ll run into. See that?’ She paused and pointed to some marks in the sandy track. ‘That’s leopard.’ She studied the print for a couple of seconds. ‘Probably came through here last night. We’ll be fine during daylight, but you do have to be careful when it’s dark.’

  ‘Would you shoot? If we did run into something?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Phyllis said. ‘Only as a very last resort. The important thing to remember is not to run. If you hold your ground, you’ll be OK. Mind you, this is a powerful rifle. They tell me it will drop a charging elephant, although I’d rather not test that one out.’