She tried Mariam’s number again and was greeted with the impersonal ringtone while she silently prayed for her to pick up. She reassured herself with the thought that perhaps the phone was on silent. A meeting, maybe. One of those meetings you’re summoned to at the last minute and don’t have time to call anyone and make arrangements. Siraj sat on the floor, his fist in his mouth, and gurgled, casting his brown eyes towards her every so often in what she sensed was a quiet desperation. She dialled Kevin’s number and huddled herself, feeling a sense of defeat. She didn’t know who else to call. She didn’t anticipate his condemnation, but she also didn’t expect him to hold back on his feelings.
‘Has she been late before?’ he asked, after she’d falteringly told him Mariam hadn’t arrived to fetch Siraj.
‘Never this late. And she normally phones.’
‘Is her phone off or does it ring?’
‘Why, what’s the difference? Is it better if it’s off?’
‘No, not really, I don’t think it’s better either way. I’ll call Arshad and see if he’s heard from her.’
‘Thanks, if I had his number, I would have done it.’
‘I know. I’ll come to you; I’m not far from the crèche, wait there until I get there. I’ll phone you back once I get hold of Arshad.’
The silence at the crèche was dense, oppressive. Even Siraj seemed to have lapsed into an unnatural and serene quiet. It took Durant only a minute and a half to call Amina back, but each second pressed down relentlessly on her until she heard his voice. ‘Arshad is worried. He hasn’t heard from her either. I’m two minutes away. I’ll fetch you and Siraj and we’ll meet Arshad at his flat. Are you ready to leave?’
‘I’m ready.’
Amina gathered Siraj into her arms and slung his bag over her shoulder. She walked to the window, hesitated for a moment, then went back to her desk and opened a drawer. She picked up the open envelope and pressed it into her jeans pocket.
Amina heard the growl of the Land Rover’s diesel engine and quickly locked up the crèche. Durant opened the back door of the vehicle and helped her strap one of the spare car seats from the crèche into the Land Rover. He buckled Siraj into the seat.
‘Arshad sounds distraught,’ he said. ‘He didn’t have your number.’
Amina climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door. ‘I don’t know how that can be. Something’s happened to her, I know it.’
‘Don’t say anything,’ Durant said. ‘Maybe we’re overreacting. Parents get waylaid picking up their kids.’
‘I opened the envelope,’ Amina said softly.
‘Say again?’
‘The letter Mariam gave me. I opened it just now.’
Durant looked at her briefly. ‘Really? What did it say?’
‘It’s a letter. A document she’s signed. She wants me to be Siraj’s guardian if anything happens. Why would she write that if she wasn’t worried?’
‘Don’t jump to conclusions; it’s too soon to . . .’
‘And the bruises . . .?’
‘Tanveer told me he thinks she was seeing someone else. True or not, I don’t know. He mentioned the bruises. Maybe she’s with lover boy.’
Amina felt emptiness and sorrow. ‘That poor girl. What has she done?’
Tanveer’s flat was in a neglected part of the city where the landscape reflected the desperation of the people who were unfortunate enough to live there. The buildings were hauntingly treacherous, inhabited by despairing human beings, many of whom weren’t there by choice but by default. There was little attempt at making the buildings attractive: the owners had long since written off their investments and decay had set in quickly as the paint started peeling and the glass fell out of the windows. The occupants had lost their will to make the neighbourhood welcoming. It was survival for them, a fulfilment of one of their most basic needs: shelter. Durant reflected on the despair that characterised the area. Forgotten people; men, women and children who lived a parallel life in the city of the billion-rand arched stadium. The Land Rover crunched over a cracked and neglected road and rolled to a stop outside a grey, three-storey block where the road ended. Durant checked the address he’d scribbled onto a piece of paper and pointed towards an alleyway. ‘We walk from here it seems. I’ll carry Siraj.’
‘Are you sure this is right? Mariam stays here?’ Amina was immediately struck by the stench of the place and almost instinctively wanted to cover Siraj’s nose with her clean white scarf.
‘Third floor,’ Durant said. ‘We’ll have to take the stairs.’
Amina put her hand on Durant’s arm. ‘Kevin, we can’t leave him here.’
‘He lives here. This is his home.’
Amina tried in vain to stop her eyes from welling up with tears. ‘But look at it. It’s a dump, it’s filthy,’ she whispered.
Durant cradled the little boy in his arms and motioned with his head to the stairway. ‘Let’s just go up, please.’
Amina shook her head and entered the dark, graffiti-decorated stairwell, followed closely by Durant. Pausing at the first landing to let a rowdy group of youngsters past, Amina turned as Durant tapped her on the back. ‘Remember I’m David Shaw. Don’t mess up and call me Kevin, okay?’
‘I’ll try to remember but forgive me if I blow your cover tonight, I’m really not myself.’
Door number 34 was open and Tanveer met Durant and Amina as they approached. He took the now-sleeping Siraj from Durant’s arms and invited them inside. It was a two-bedroom apartment, surprisingly neat but still tinged with sadness. A small bunch of yellow roses stood on the table, starkly contrasted by the grey and torn couch pushed against the peeling wall and the light-purple curtains that fluttered in the wind blowing through the broken window. There was the smell of food, but it clearly didn’t come from the small kitchen which was part of the lounge. The floor was covered by a royal-blue carpet, torn and threadbare in places, and Amina saw at least one cockroach scuttle under the skirting board when they entered the room. Amina felt sick, an overwhelming nausea that made her tremble. She wanted to snatch Siraj from Tanveer’s arms and hold him, protect him from this wretched place. She focused on the flowers. They were the only evidence that Mariam lived in that apartment. She was like the beautiful bouquet that miraculously grew up from the stones between the railway tracks beside some forgotten shed.
‘I have also been trying to get hold of Mariam,’ Tanveer said, gently rocking Siraj in his arms ‘Since about six. The phone just rings.’
‘Did she say anything to you during the day, where she would be after work?’ Durant asked.
Tanveer shook his head. ‘I don’t speak to her during the day. Everything seemed normal when she left home.’
‘Where is her office?’ Amina asked.
‘In town somewhere. She never told me where.’
‘Don’t you know the name of the company?’ Amina asked, her words not hiding the resentment she felt towards the man.
‘She told me once, but I can’t remember it now. I’m sorry, I can’t think straight.’ He sat on the couch, Siraj in the crook of his arm. ‘What are we going to do?’
Durant rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I don’t know what to suggest. I mean, where do we start looking?’
‘Global Research,’ Amina said.
‘What’s that?’ Durant asked.
‘It’s where she works. She told me.’
Durant looked at Tanveer. ‘Does it sound familiar?’
Tanveer shook his head. ‘No. I’m sorry. Let me put Siraj on the bed and I’ll come back.’
Amina put her lips close to Durant’s ear. ‘He’s lying. He knows where she is.’
Before Durant could respond, Tanveer was back in the room. ‘I told you I think she’s seeing another man. Perhaps she was with him.’ There was anger in his voice, but tempered with a hint of sadness.
‘Do you know who it is?’ Durant asked, while Amina went through to the room to make sure Siraj was tucked in.
‘
No. I don’t know.’
‘We’ll have to file a missing persons report with the police. I’m not sure how long we have to wait, but I think we should do it now. If she’s in trouble, we need to find her fast.’
Special Agent Fulham tapped once on Khalid’s door and stepped inside. Khalid motioned for the FBI man to sit even though he was the last person he wanted to see that morning.
‘Had a rough night, Imraan?’ Fulham asked, leaning back in his chair.
‘No, just not feeling too good this morning. I think it’s the flu.’
Fulham nodded slowly. ‘You gotta watch yourself, buddy. This is Africa.’
Khalid appeared shaken. ‘What do you mean?’
Fulham laughed. ‘I mean you gotta be careful of all the viruses and strains and toxins. Don’t take it so personally, man; I was speaking generally and not necessarily about the indigenous women.’
‘No, wouldn’t touch the local women. Not here. Not in this country.’
‘Well, that’s a sound principle. That can just be trouble for you, trouble that can end your career . . . like that,’ and he snapped his fingers for effect.
‘Don’t worry, I think I can look after myself.’
‘Well, I sure hope so. Now. I had a meeting with an interesting guy from the local service – guy called Alfred Masondo. You know him?’
‘No.’
‘Right. Well he’s the operational head of the National Intelligence Agency in Durban; you should get to know him. He could be your best friend or your worst enemy. If you don’t work with him, he’s gonna work against you. Fact of the matter is, him and I are working together now. He’s a good man. Solid.’
Khalid wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. His neck still hurt like hell and he hoped the high-collared shirt hid the red marks adequately.
‘My, you are looking pretty bad, Imraan. You should go home.’
‘I’m okay. I took some medication, it’ll kick in soon. Go ahead.’
‘Okay, so Masondo shares what the local boys have got on the IAC. Gotta give ’em credit, they’re working this thing. Says they got a link between the centre and that load of explosives that went missing and then showed up again at a dump. That’s where those guys got blown to smithereens. Now I don’t know what you think, but that’s a pretty solid connection between the centre, where, I remind you, the telephonic threat against US originated, and a load of explosives. So we need to take this information to the next level.’
‘Which would be . . .?’
‘Use whatever we got and help these boys find out who at the centre we need to neutralise. And by neutralise, I don’t necessarily mean kill, although that of course remains my first choice.’ Fulham laughed, realised he was laughing alone. ‘Imraan, you still with me, buddy?’
‘Yeah, I got all of that. So how have they linked the explosives to the centre but not to a specific person at the centre?’
‘Well, they don’t share everything with us. They just give us enough to make us hungry, then our hunger motivates US to find the food. Then when we find some morsels we feed them a little back to make them hungry again. And some day, we crack the case and everyone takes credit and says “that was our information”. You know what, I’m gonna ask the cg if she’ll give you the rest of the day off. Man, you’re goin’ down fast.’
Khalid nodded. The terror in Mariam’s eyes at the mangrove swamps haunted him. He shouldn’t have left her there. He should have gone back. Was she okay? He didn’t want to call her and compromise himself any further. He needed time to think, to assimilate what had happened. It felt like a trap, but perhaps he was overthinking the whole thing. This was South Africa where crime is an everyday occurrence; they were simply victims of a robbery. He probably just took her bag and ran off. Mariam was okay, and even if she wasn’t, he couldn’t blame himself.
At 09:35 Durant got the call from Tanveer to say that they’d found Mariam’s body in the mangrove swamps and that they had taken her to Gale Street mortuary. Durant told him he would fetch Siraj and leave him at the crèche and then speak to the police to try to find out what happened. By 10:15, Durant had left Siraj with Amina and was travelling to the Durban North police station with a sobbing Tanveer in the passenger seat.
‘She was such a gentle person, she didn’t deserve this. Why was she walking there in that place? Why there? Why?’ he asked.
‘I’m sure there must be a thousand questions, Arshad, but the most important thing now is just to work through the grief and remember Mariam as she was.’
‘Whoever did this to her deserves to die.’
‘That’s true, I believe that. Let’s just help the police to find the guy who did it.’
Durant parked the Land Rover outside the police station and asked for Inspector Nzama at the charge office desk. They were led by a policewoman down musty corridors to an open-plan office packed with brown folders from floor to ceiling. Durant realised these were case dockets and he absently thought Mariam’s case would end up just being another file on the pile. Inspector Nzama was probably in his late forties, bulging stomach, tired-looking, sloppy. His handshake was limp and unimpressive and didn’t inspire any confidence in his ability to solve crimes. Durant noticed a half-eaten box of fried chicken and an open newspaper on his desk and silently felt Mariam would be cheated. Without the resolve to fight crime with every fibre of the police character within you, crime would always be the victor and the victim would be cheated. Durant and Tanveer sat down and Nzama smiled. ‘How can I help you, gentlemen?’
‘Yes, we were told to see you about Mariam Tanveer – the case from this morning, the mangroves.’
‘Are you related to the victim?’ Nzama asked.
‘I am her husband,’ Tanveer said.
‘Oh, okay. Sorry, man. Ja, eish, that place, too many people in that place.’
‘What do you mean?’ Durant asked.
‘It’s dangerous that place. The izigebengu from the beach go in there and rob people, there’s signs to say don’t walk there by yourself.’
‘Inspector Nzama. This man’s lost his wife.’ Durant slapped the table with his hand to get the policeman’s attention. ‘Can you help us find the people who did this to her?’
‘Sure, man. Excuse me.’ The inspector took a call and spoke briefly to someone about an unpaid account which he promised to settle. ‘Eish, these guys. Hey, sorry. Ja, the lady’s possessions are in my safe, but the fingerprint people will come later and see if they can’t find some.’
Durant sat forward. ‘Was there a set of keys in her bag?’
‘I can show you the bag, but I’m not allowed to give it to you, nè?’
A minute later, the inspector was back with a sealed plastic bag containing a handbag, a watch and a pair of shoes.
‘May I?’ and Durant looked inside the handbag without taking it from the bag. ‘There are no keys in this bag.’
‘No,’ Tanveer said, ‘she doesn’t have keys. There is only one set.’
‘The other keys you mentioned. The ones you said might belong to another person she had contact with, remember?’
Tanveer sank into his chair. ‘I don’t know, I can’t remember.’
‘Inspector, Mr Tanveer will want to make a statement later, as you can see, he’s still a bit distraught.’
Masondo looked angry but Durant knew the look. It was more the look of a man carrying a heavy responsibility and who took that responsibility seriously. A man who wanted resolutions. Shabalala wasn’t looking that deeply at Masondo. He’d noticed an energy bar in his hand but thought it prudent not to mention the chemical dangers contained in it.
‘What is this world coming to?’ Masondo asked. ‘Are we responsible for this girl’s death?’
‘No, sir. The fact that we’re handling Tanveer has no reference to her death, I don’t think.’
‘Now wait, Mr Durant. How did “no” get to “I don’t think”?’
‘I mean I think it’s a personal issue – a lovers’
quarrel, jealousy maybe.’
‘You’re saying “I think” too many times, Durant, so I’m starting to worry. Let me put it this way. If Tanveer wasn’t working for us, would his wife still be alive?’
Durant shook his head. ‘I can’t say for sure she’d still be alive, but I know that if he wasn’t working for us, we wouldn’t know about her death.’
‘Playing with words again, Mr Durant. You’re not helping me. Why am I feeling guilty? Why am I feeling responsible?’
Shabalala cleared his throat. ‘Gentlemen, maybe I can come up with a suggestion. Let’s at least help as much as we can with the investigation and get to the bottom of it. If we can help the police find the murderer, perhaps we’ll understand the motive better.’
Masondo took a bite of his energy bar. ‘I need these things; I just don’t have enough energy to get through the day. Mr Shabalala, I don’t think we can nor should involve ourselves in a matter that is purely criminal. The normal police investigation should take its course. Once it has, we can look at the evidence and decide our course of action.’
‘I’ve met the investigating officer,’ Durant said.
‘And? What’s your point?’
‘Well, he’s not Horatio from CSI, put it that way. I think the docket’s going into the pile.’
‘Durant, at least give them the benefit of the doubt. They might surprise us. What’s your theory?’
‘I think Mariam was seeing someone else, someone whose flat or house keys she had. I reckon that someone took her for a walk in the swamp and killed her, or Tanveer found out and killed her in a jealous rage.’
‘So our agent is a possible murder suspect?’ Masondo asked.
‘Well, he had motive and opportunity. Whether he’d be so stupid, I don’t know. I know Mariam left a letter with Amina basically making her the guardian of their child in the event of both of them dying.’
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