Trackers

by Deon Meyer

  She stood with her hand to her mouth while Joubert unlocked the roll- up door of number 97B, bent down and pulled it up and open.

  There was something inside in the dark, in the space slightly bigger than a single garage. The front of a car.

  Joubert spotted a light switch on the wall, turned it on.

  Tanya was still outside, staring silently at the red-grey car that was parked with its nose to them, the two single headlamps like staring eyes. He recognised it straight away, but went up to it first, looked through the closed doors to see if there was something inside.

  Only the keys in the ignition.

  'Is there anything?' she asked.

  'No.'

  She came in, her hand stretched out to the car.

  'Porsche,' she read the name of the yellow, red and black logo on the nose.

  'It's a nine-double-one Carrera. Please don't touch it. I'll fetch some gloves.' He walked back to the car, to fetch the murder kit he had put in the boot this morning.

  She stood at the driver's door and stared, a strange expression on her face, amazement and loss.

  'Danie,' she said. 'Danie, what have you done?'

  93

  At twenty to twelve he was sitting with Margaret in the kitchen as she braised a sirloin steak in the pan. He told her about his strange day, a glass of red wine in his hand.

  'He bought the Porsche from a Mark Marshall of Sweet Valley Street in Bergvliet - his name was in the service book in the cubbyhole. The Nokia phone was there too, with three SMSs from Absa that said he had logged on to Internet banking. I think that's why he had the extra cellphone. For the bank account.'

  'And she knew nothing about it?'

  'Nothing.' He ate some of the salad on his plate with his fingers, his hunger taunted by the aroma of the steak. It was a tradition that they had begun when the children were still at home. When he came home late from work, the steak 'because you deserve it', and the chat in the kitchen so they could have an hour or two together.

  'And how did she take it?'

  'Not well. She ... I think she went through the mourning phase in December already. And now she has to do it all over again. Tonight she went through denial, then guilt, then anger. And I didn't know how to ... The trouble is, there's an unwritten law in the police, you keep your distance from the next of kin, you don't get emotionally involved. As detective you are always one step removed, you can pass on the bad news and get in your car and go and do your job. But it's all different now. She's paying, so she has the right to come with you ...'

  'And now you have to be a kind of comforter as well,' she added as she took the heated plate out of the stove with an oven cloth.

  'I find that hard.'

  She slid the steak onto the plate, put it in front of him. 'It's because you care.'

  'I'll have to find a way to handle it.'

  She drew up a chair and sat down opposite him, pushed the salt and black pepper closer to him. 'So he got the money from somewhere, and bought a Porsche ...'

  'It's a 1984 model, over 200,000 kilometres on the clock. Reasonable

  condition. The upholstery has been redone. Probably the best he could buy with the money he had. Selfish, but it fits.'

  'Oh?'

  He ate a mouthful of steak first. 'This is delicious, thank you. If you see how Tanya spent most of their money on him. He was ... "carefree" is probably the best word. An only child. Maybe his mother spoiled him a bit. I saw her today ... I don't know, I just get the idea she ... there is something superficial, materialistic ...You know, one of those houses where everything is used to point out that "we have money". And ... let me tell you my theory: I think the mother was a bit manipulative. I think she was one of those women who pushed her husband to buy a bigger house and a more expensive car, so people would look up to them. Status. It must have an influence on a child, to see his father working hard, his mother spending. Maybe that's why Danie kept the money for himself, even though he knew their finances ... How can you buy a Porsche when you know your wife is struggling? That says something about him. It says something about the origin of the money. I just don't yet know what.'

  'Eat up first,' said Margaret, and put her hand gently on his arm. 'That steak is getting cold.'

  He hadn't smoked for ten years, but as he pushed his plate away and swallowed the last of his red wine, the desire came back, clear and strong. He knew it was the stress and fatigue.

  He carried his plate and cutlery to the dishwasher and thanked Margaret for the steak, and the sandwiches at lunch.

  'Hunger is the best sauce,' she said. 'Tomorrow I'm going to try something new. Chicken, mature cheddar and a special peach chutney I got from Bizerca. Tell me if you like it.'

  'You spoil me.'

  She smiled. 'As long as there's not a Porsche in a garage somewhere.' She picked up the pan from the stove and walked over to the sink. 'So now, what's next?'

  'Now, I follow the money.'

  She came back to him, her face suddenly sombre. 'You won't find him alive, will you?'

  'No,' he said. 'I don't think there is any chance of that. She knows it too. Now. Even though she said she had accepted the possibility. She kept hoping. Until tonight.'

  'Is she going to be OK?'

  They had driven back from Self Storage in Salt River to her house in Parklands in total silence. She sat there curled in on herself, broken, her hands on her lap, mute. In front of her house he asked Tanya Flint whether it would be better if he took her to her mother-in-law.

  She shook her head, emphatically, despite the weariness.

  'You can stay with me and Margaret, tonight.'

  She sat and stared at her hands, eventually drew a deep breath, turned her exhausted eyes to him and said: 'I'll have to learn to be alone.' t

  She opened the car door. When he did the same, meaning to walk her to her front door, she said: 'No, don't.'

  He watched her go. She walked halfway up the paved pathway, paused for a second, then squared her shoulders and lifted up her chin.

  'Yes, I think so,' he said to Margaret.

  94

  Just after eight in the morning, before he totted up his kilometres or recorded his hours, he phoned Mrs Gusti Flint.

  'Sorry to bother you so early,' he said. In the background he heard her dogs barking.

  'You're very welcome. I'm sure you can hear why I can't sleep late.'

  'Mrs Flint, I understand it could be a confidential arrangement between you and your son, but it is very important that you tell me: did Danie borrow money from you in the past year?'

  For a second, only the yapping of the chihuahuas could be heard. Then she said: 'Why? What's happened?'

  He had been expecting the question, but he wasn't going to tell her. 'Nothing has happened. I'm just trying to be as thorough as possible.'

  'No. Absolutely not,' she said with a barely suppressed indignation. 'Danie knew I'm a widow.'

  Who lives in luxury, Joubert thought. 'So he definitely didn't ask you for a loan?' His cellphone began ringing. He took it out of his pocket.

  'No. But I still have the feeling there's a reason you're asking me.'

  'Mrs Flint, I have another call, thank you very much.'

  'I have the right to know ...'

  He ended the call, because he recognised the number on his cellphone. It was Tanya Flint. He answered.

  'Tanya?'

  'You had better come and look at this,' she said. There was something in her voice, an urgency.

  'Where are you? What's happened?'

  'I'm at work. Someone has ... Please, it's better if you see for yourself.'

  'Are you safe?'

  'Yes,' she said. 'The police are here.'

  Her company was in a complex of small businesses in Stella Street, Montagu Gardens. He saw the metre-long signboard with the silhouette spy figure, the blue kidney-shaped swimming pool icon, and the words Undercover. Protect Your Pool. Two SAPS patrol vehicles stood in front of the door.
/>   When he walked in he saw her standing in the workshop area with two uniformed policemen. Blue and black PVC material in broad rolls, a swimming pool cover that was nearly all cut out, tool boards against the wall. Tanya saw him approaching, pointed at the high white wall to his right.

  In huge, spray-painted red letters was: DROP IT.

  He went over to her.

  'They broke stuff up there,' she said. He was puzzled by her tone. It was calm. Almost satisfied.

  He looked where she had pointed. Concrete steps leading to a wooden deck. He could see the legs of a desk that had been overturned, standing upside down.

  'Is this the investigator?' one of the uniforms asked, a black sergeant.

  'I am,' said Joubert, and took a business card out of his pocket, held it out.

  'You must wait for Inspector Butshingi. He is coming.'

  Then Tanya Flint spoke, with happiness in her voice, 'I knew it was someone else. I knew ...'

  Joubert did not respond. He stood and looked at the passive infrared detectors on both side walls. 'Why didn't the alarm go off?'

  'I don't know,' said Tanya Flint, as though it was of no importance.

  'But did you switch on the alarm last night?' asked a patient Inspector Fizile Butshingi. He stood with Joubert and Tanya Flint at the small bathroom window, its glass smashed, the burglar bars ripped out.

  'I can't remember.' Her euphoria a thing of the past, the adrenaline drained from her system.

  Butshingi raised his eyebrows.

  'Last night... Mr Joubert called just as I was locking up, about my husband's cellphone. I... Maybe I forgot...'

  The inspector sighed. 'And you are sure nothing was stolen?'

  'Not as far as I can see. They just broke all the PC monitors. And threw the files around.'

  Butshingi pointed at the big red letters on the wall. 'And you know what this is about, Sup?' he said, because he knew who Joubert was.

  Joubert had been in two minds about how he would answer this question when it came. Putting his cards on the table held many implications. Long hours of making statements, the Porsche, Audi, cellphone, financial records that might be seized, the momentum of his investigation broken. Tanya's 30,000 seeping away as the hours ticked by. But he didn't want to lie either.

  'Well, Mrs Flint employed us to try and find her missing husband. There's a docket at the Table View Station ...'

  'Table View,' sighed Butshingi, who operated from the Milnerton station.

  'It's Inspector Jamie Keyter's case. He would know more than me.'

  'Ay, ay,' said Butshingi. 'I know him. But those words ...' He pointed at the wall. 'Someone wants you to stop. You must have found something, Sup.'

  'I've gone through his cars, his financial statements, his office ...' Joubert shrugged.

  'And nothing?'

  'I still can't find him.'

  'Who knew? About your investigation?'

  That was a question he also wanted answered. 'Obviously, Mrs Flint, her mother-in-law, his colleagues, and Jamie Keyter.'

  Butshingi looked at Tanya. 'And your employees, here?'

  'No, they knew nothing.'

  The inspector stared at the graffiti. 'Sup,' he said slowly and carefully, 'are you sure there's nothing you're not telling me?'

  'Inspector, if you want to, we can give you access to everything. Maybe you will see something I missed.'

  The detective shook his head. 'Let me talk to Keyter first.'

  When they were alone, Tanya Flint asked him what he thought. 'You talked to nobody else about the investigation?' 'Our friends know. And you, and his work.'

  Joubert thought about it, shook his head. 'There are too many variables. Someone could have been watching Self Storage. Or asked the caretaker to call if someone went in there. I'll try to find out.'

  'It's the people who harmed Danie. Now they are trying to stop us.' But without the sense of conviction she had shown earlier.

  He told her the money was key. They would have to talk to Absa, as soon as possible. They needed more detail about the transactions, about the account itself. Anything. Everything. If she took the SAPS case number, their marriage certificate and identity book along, the bank should help.

  'Let me just sort out this chaos,' waving her hand around the trashed office. 'Get the insurance guys in, see if I can get new computers.'

  'I'll be back at the office.' He made a move to go, turned back. 'I don't think you should be alone. We must make a plan.'

  At the office he found a telephone directory, opened it at 'H', ran his finger down the columns, until he found it.

  Helderberg Upholstery.

  He called the number, asked the woman who answered if they could replace the leatherwork of his Porsche.

  'That is our speciality, sir,' she said.

  'I'll bring it in for a quote,' he lied.

  Another riddle solved. Despite the break-in at Tanya Flint's business and the warning on the wall, he felt a certain satisfaction. He had made progress. Despite the rusty gears. He had climbed on the detective bicycle and ridden again. And now it seemed he could solve this thing after all, before the money ran out.

  95

  He found Mark Marshall's home number in the telephone directory and phoned him. A woman's voice answered cheerfully. 'This is Helen.'

  He asked if he could talk to Mr Marshall.

  'Hold on. He's outside having a clandestine smoke. I'm not supposed to know ...'

  He heard the woman calling, then footsteps before a man picked up and said: 'Mark Marshall.'

  Joubert asked him if he had sold a 1984 Porsche Carrera nine- double-one to a Danie Flint in October.

  'Yes. That's me. Why? Is he selling again?'

  'No. He has been reported as missing, and I'm working the case. We're just trying to get a profile of his spending this last year.'

  'The car has gone missing?'

  'No, sir, Mr Flint was reported missing by his wife.'

  'Good grief. Is he all right?'

  'We don't know, sir.'

  'Good grief. Such a fine young fellow. It was a real pleasure to .. .When did he disappear?'

  'Last year in November. According to our records, he bought the car from you.'

  'He did. Cash, on the nose.'

  Joubert asked him how Flint had heard about the Porsche.

  'I advertised it. In Auto Trader, last year September.'

  'And when did he contact you?'

  'I'll have to ... It happened pretty quickly, just a couple of days before he bought it, must have been ... That's the problem with getting old, you can't remember the details any more, I'll have to go check.'

  'He made the payment to you on October twenty-seventh ...'

  'That's about right. Then it must have been around the twenty-fifth when he called. In the morning, asked some questions. And no haggling, which was a nice change, all the other chancers were making these ridiculous offers. Anyway, then he came around at lunchtime to take a look. Knew his stuff, too. Said he was also interested in a 1981 Ferrari 308 GTSi, and he would let me know ...'

  Joubert made some notes on his notebook. 'The Ferrari. Did he mention the price?'

  'No. But it was also advertised in the Auto Trader, and I went and had a look. Can't remember exactly, but it was more than 400,000. Anyway, two days later, he called, said he was taking the Porsche, and he asked for my banking details. He made an Internet transfer. And then he came with a taxi to fetch the car the following day. Really nice guy, good manners ...'

  'That would be the twenty-eighth?'

  'It was one day after he made the payment.'

  'Did he say anything about how he got the money?' A shot in the dark.

  'Well... Not really. I asked him what he does, and he said he was in business for himself. So I asked what kind of business, because I used to be an entrepreneur myself. He said something about being a dealmaker.'

  'A dealmaker.'

  'He was sort of vague, but, you know, nowadays you
get all kinds of brokers and businesses, I don't understand half of it. And it wasn't my place to be nosy.'

  'Mr Marshall, was there anything else you can remember. Anything he said?'

  'Well... not really. I mean, when two petrolheads get together, they talk about cars. And he knew his stuff, knew the history of the nine- eleven, how the French objected in the early sixties to the original name, the nine-oh-one, so Porsche had to change it, that sort of thing. I remember he said the 1967 S coupe model was the most beautiful, but I like the Carrera better, so we had this little argument going, all in good spirits. He had a great sense of humour, very likeable guy. So do you have any idea what happened to him?'

  'Not yet.'

  'And the car?'

  'We found the car last night.'

  'Well, then he won't be far away ...'

  He tore out his notes, put them beside the writing pad and began building up a timeline:

  17 October: Deposit of R250,000.

  25 October: Phoned about Porsche. Went to look at it.

  27 October: Paid R248,995 for the Porsche. (Internet bank)

  28 October: Collected the Porsche.

  29 October: Deposit of R147,000.

  3 November: Cash withdrawal of R1,000.

  9 November: Cash withdrawal of Rl,500.

  12 November: Paid Helderberg Upholstery Rl 1,000 (Internet bank)

  25 November: Disappeared.

  He sat staring at it, read his notes again. Eight days between the first deposit and Danie Flint's enquiry about the Porsche. He'd had a look at what was on the market first. And why would he have been interested in a Ferrari of more than R400,000 if he only had R250,000 in the bank? Or was it merely to give Mark Marshall the opportunity to drop his price? But Marshall had said no haggling ...

  Joubert wrote at the bottom of his timeline. Ferrari? Over R400,000??? Try to trace seller. Get September's Auto Trader. There had been a magazine in Danie Flint's drawer. Maybe that was the one.

  Then he wrote: Date bank account opened? What kind of deposits?

  And: Self Storage - date of lease? Costs? There had only been two cash withdrawals, made five days after he had collected the Porsche. Where had the car been in the interim?