“Was it reported to the police? Have the kidnappers contacted her family?”
“Steady now. As I’ve said, I don’t have all the information. It’s —”
“What did I tell you?” he interrupted her.
“I know.”
“Repeat what I said to you. I want to know if you remember my exact words.”
“You said Clara remains a risk.”
“Why didn’t you believe me?”
“It’s not that I didn’t believe you. You know how we battle to get support. I warned you at the time that this wouldn’t be easy.”
Silence.
“You still there?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t like it when you go quiet. That’s when you get dangerous and I’m not sure what to expect.”
“Don’t worry.”
“And those are words I don’t want to hear at all.”
“We don’t always get what we want. I definitely didn’t want to hear this tonight either. How are you getting along with the paperwork?”
“Nearly finished.”
“And?”
“So far it seems as if everything is there. I don’t like the word ‘watertight’, but you did a good job. If we don’t succeed with this, we should change careers.”
“We can’t do anything without the final paperwork, so tell the guys to move their arses. I want to finish it this week, if possible.”
“I’ll tell them. Would you like me to try to find out about Clara?”
“No, leave it to me. We don’t even know if it was really a kidnapping.”
“Nick, technically her disappearance has nothing to do with us. We’re not responsible for her safety.”
“If you believe that, you definitely don’t understand what’s going on down here.”
“Okay. I’ll leave it in your hands, but I want to be kept in the loop. And let me know if you need help.”
“Do you want to come and hold my hand?”
“If it’s what you need.”
“It’s not. See that the paperwork is finished. I’ve had it.”
He heard her take a breath as if she wanted to say something more. Then she exhaled softly. “Goodnight.”
Nick ended the call.
Five months ago, when Captain Albert Greyling and his sidekicks arrested and charged him with kidnapping Lieutenant Eleanor McKenna and Clara Veldman, Monica had rushed down to Cape Town to come and explain who and what he was. A few weeks later, the big meeting took place. Everyone was there. Brigadier Andile Zondi, head of the Crime Intelligence Unit, with McKenna’s colleague, Clive Barnard. Brigadier Ibrahim Ahmed, who headed up the Serious Economic Offences Unit. Albert Greyling, and several other people he didn’t know. He’d felt naked standing there. The day you let yourself in for a project like that you definitely don’t tell the whole world about it.
Monica had wanted him summarily removed from the case, but he couldn’t just walk away from five years’ work. Even if it meant that his safety was compromised. There were others who now knew that he wasn’t actually the Allegretti family’s chief of security. At times he felt a shiver go down his spine, which he suppressed. It was just another daily risk. However bizarre it might seem, what counted in his favour was that police officers were charged with fraud on a daily basis. He could probably tell the Allegrettis that he was a cop and they wouldn’t bat an eye. On the contrary, it might make him a bigger asset.
Despite the luxury and the breathtaking view over the Atlantic Ocean, he’d no longer wanted to stay in Allegretti’s apartment. He had rented a flat in Tamboerskloof. It was in an old block, but the rooms were spacious and he felt he could reach out and touch the mountain. He could breathe more easily. He had bought a few pieces of furniture at a second-hand dealer around the corner. His favourite piece was a scuffed leather couch. The bed was new, because he didn’t fancy being woken up by a stranger’s nightmares. He had enough of his own.
He was not in his own flat at present, but at his neighbour’s. The two of them had met on the stairs one day and struck up a conversation. A few more chance meetings in the passage and on the stairs had followed. One Tuesday evening, she had invited him for supper.
Allegretti had been home and Nick had unexpectedly had a free evening. He’d always found Tuesday nights boring and without potential, which was probably why he’d accepted the invitation. Her name was Carin and she worked for an advertising agency in the city, liked to travel and was easy company, meaning that she didn’t ask unnecessary questions – not yet, anyway. She’d entertained him with stories about her work and her travels. It suited him. There had been more suppers, and a light flirtation had ensued.
When he came back inside and shut the sliding door, she spoke behind him. He turned. She was naked. Her figure reminded him of Gabriella’s. Slim but curvaceous, the breasts large and firm.
“It’s rude to take calls from other girls when you’re with me,” she said, smiling.
“I’m sorry. It was genuinely work.”
“This time of night?”
He had told her he worked in the security industry.
“Unfortunately, yes. And I have to go.”
“You must be joking.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I’m sure whatever it is can wait.”
Nick put his hand on her hip. Her skin was warm to his touch and he smelled her perfume. A little too floral for his taste, but subtle, at least.
She stepped closer and undid the last button of his shirt. He kissed her bare shoulder and decided it would indeed be rude to leave. He pulled her towards him.
Nick unlocked the door of his flat and looked at his watch. He wondered if Allegretti had heard the news yet. There was a good chance that by this time he was in no condition to register anything. Clara was the only person who could ever manage to talk sense into him and stop him when he lost control completely.
Nick stripped off his clothes, had a quick shower, gathered up the keys to his bakkie and hurried down the stairs. He sincerely hoped the news had not yet reached Allegretti. He was quite capable of driving over to Williams’s home.
On his way to Bantry Bay another thought struck him – what if Allegretti had kidnapped Clara himself? For all their sakes he hoped that wasn’t the case. The outcome would be bloody.
The house looked quiet and dark when Nick parked his car. The house was often quiet these days. Allegretti still occasionally invited people over but after an hour or so he often asked them to leave. He didn’t feel like company any more.
The security guards assured Nick that Allegretti had been home all day. He couldn’t decide whether that was good or bad news.
He unlocked the front door and took the stairs two at a time. The spacious living room was dark, but a light was burning on the staircase leading to the top floor. Voices came from the living room. He stopped. The guards would probably have told him if there were guests. When he reached the top of the stairs he realised that the voices he had heard had come from the TV. On the coffee table was half a bottle of tequila and an empty bottle of Bollinger. He saw traces of white powder.
Nick called Allegretti’s name. When he got no reply, he looked in the main bedroom. The bed had been slept in, but there was no sign of Allegretti. Nor was there any sign of him in the bathroom or dressing room. Nick hurried down the stairs and went to the gym at the back of the house. Not that it was likely that Allegretti had had a sudden urge to exercise. When he didn’t find him there either, he checked the rest of the rooms and the flat on the lower level.
Next he went to Patrice’s quarters and knocked. The door was slightly ajar, so Nick pushed it open. The room was in a shambles. Furniture had been knocked over. A dark stain was visible at the entrance to the bedroom. A reddish brown trail led through the bedroom to the bathroom.
Patrice was lying in a pool of blood on the bathroom floor. His eyes were open and his breathing was shallow.
Nick bent over Patrice and took out his
cellphone.
“I need an ambulance urgently,” he said into the phone and gave the address. “Someone has been shot.”
He touched Patrice. “I’m here. The ambulance is on its way. Don’t move.” He removed the towel Patrice seemed to have been pressing against the wound and saw that his hunch had been correct. Patrice had a gunshot wound to the stomach. Nick took a clean towel from the rail and pressed it against the wound. He would have liked to look for an exit wound, but it was too risky to move Patrice.
“What happened, Patrice?” At the moment he didn’t care much about the details but he didn’t want Patrice to lose consciousness. “What happened? Where’s Enzio?”
Patrice tried to shake his head. “Sorry.”
“Who shot you?” When he got no reply, he sat down and called the guard at the gate.
“I’m expecting an ambulance. Open the gate and bring them to Patrice’s quarters as quickly as possible.”
Nick didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he focused on Patrice. “Open your eyes and talk to me. Who shot you?”
But Patrice’s eyes were closed and he was no longer responding to questions.
Nick was prepared to suffer the consequences for his choices and decisions, but it was hard when someone else had to pay the price. He had recruited Patrice, and though he’d made sure the man understood the implications of the job, he still felt responsible. And helpless. He hated the feeling.
After what seemed like an eternity, Nick heard voices and two paramedics entered the bathroom.
“He’s been shot. He’s lost a lot of blood,” he told the man kneeling next to Patrice. Then he got to his feet and left them to do their job.
Ten minutes later Patrice was in the back of the ambulance. There was a needle in his arm, connected to an intravenous drip. Nick said he would follow in his bakkie.
“No one is to enter the house,” he gave orders at the gate. “Not even you. And call me the moment anyone arrives.”
It was almost one o’clock when they stopped at the Christiaan Barnard Memorial Hospital in the city. The emergency unit was a hive of activity, but Patrice was rushed through a door marked Triage. A sister closed the door.
“Can you wait in the waiting room, please?” she said through a chink.
Nick walked back to where he had seen the waiting room. It was crowded. He had never been good at waiting, and he hated hospitals, especially waiting rooms. His father had died when he was very young, but he could still recall the smell. And the hard chairs. At times he and his brother had been so tired that they’d slept on the carpet, while his mom had spent hour after hour waiting on a hard chair. Hopeful that someone would bring her some good news.
Years later he and his brother had waited on similar chairs for news about their mother. The news had always been brought to them in a waiting room. He preferred to wait in the corridor.
Monica picked up at the third ring. He told her that Patrice had been shot and Allegretti was missing.
“Where are you?”
“At the hospital.”
“Have you notified the police?”
“No, I didn’t have time.”
“You don’t plan to notify them, do you?”
“No.”
“Do you think it’s smart to try to hide something like that?”
“I’m not going to hide it. I just want to be able to choose who and what I allow near the case. If I throw the doors open now, the case will be fucked before sunrise.”
“Do you have anyone in mind?”
“I’m still thinking.”
“Nick, I’m sorry about Patrice. I know you recruited him yourself and you feel responsible for him, but you didn’t shoot him.”
“I have to go. Talk to you later.”
“I know that tone of voice. It doesn’t bode well.”
“What tone?”
“The one that says you won’t listen to advice.”
“Depends whose advice.” He ended the call before she could reply.
Nick pushed himself away from the wall and looked at the people walking past. The staff looked tired. Some managed a hint of a smile. A feeble attempt to look encouraging. Others didn’t take the trouble.
From where he was standing, the waiting room across the passage was like a tidal pool. People came and went. At times there were a few vacant chairs, but every new wave brought different people. Children sat on their parents’ laps, most of them in pyjamas. Couples were holding on to each other. Old people looked scared and bewildered. Here and there was a lone person, looking neither right nor left. Some looked close to death, others seemed in perfect health. But Nick was old enough to know that where the signs were invisible, the problems were sometimes greatest. Deep pain was dangerous pain.
He was relieved when he was called to sign the documents for Patrice’s admission. It was better than just standing around.
Then he noticed the date and exhaled audibly. He must remember to call her tomorrow. Could it have been five years already?
Ellie looked at her watch. She put the pay-as-you-go SIM card in the phone and dialled his number. She waited a long time before the familiar voice answered.
“Barnard.”
“It’s me. Were you asleep?”
“Mac?”
“Yes.”
“Where the hell are you?”
She imagined Clive’s face. It was a miracle he had said nothing worse than “hell”.
“I’m calling to find out how you are.” Ellie had decided not to tell him about the two men in the church just yet. She hoped he would tell her if anything had happened.
There was a moment’s silence, before he laughed brusquely. “Fuck you, McKenna! You disappear for almost five months without letting me know if you’re still alive. Then you phone on a Sunday evening to ask how I am. How do you think I am, with no news of you for five whole months?”
“I’m sorry …”
“The most overrated word in the world. It means fuck-all.”
“Clive … has anything happened that I should know about?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Anything that raised a red flag.”
“So you’re not actually calling to find out how I am.”
“Clive …”
He sighed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Greyling phoned yesterday morning and asked me where you are. I don’t know if he’s a red flag to you.”
“Why did he think you’d know where I am?”
“Maybe because everyone thought so. We were partners, after all.”
“How did you know where I am?”
He sighed again. “Someone’s mother’s cousin’s great-grandchild or something was baptised in the Montagu church a while ago. The following Monday the guy came to ask me if it was possible that you could be the organist at the church. I said I don’t know.”
“When was that?”
“About a month ago, I guess. I didn’t tell Greyling you were there, I just said someone thought he might have seen you there.”
“Why didn’t you try to contact me?”
He grunted. “I’m not the one who took off without a backward glance. And how many times was I supposed to call your cell, just to hear that the subscriber is not available?”
“And so you told Albert where I am.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a knot. How the fuck was I supposed to know why he was looking for you?”
“Did he say why he was looking for me?”
“No, just that it was a personal matter and that it was urgent.”
“The two of us don’t have personal matters any more.” Ellie heard her voice climb.
“Mac, maybe we shouldn’t talk any more right now. It’s Sunday evening and there’s a long week ahead. Call your ex and ask him why he’s looking for you. How the hell was I supposed to know what’s going on between the two of you? It’s not as if you kept me informed.”
Ellie took a deep breath and reined herself in.
“Thanks. Look after yourself,” she said, and ended the call.
“Clara Veldman.” Ellie said the name out loud. Last year, when Albert had asked her to work undercover as a security guard and look after Clara at Enzio Allegretti’s home, Clive had had serious misgivings. She knew he blamed himself for what had happened in the end. But the telephone was not the best way to clear the air between them.
CHAPTER 3
Nick ran his hand across his face as he drove back to Bantry Bay. It was almost four in the morning. Patrice was in an induced coma and the doctors would not or could not say if or when he’d come out of it.
The streets were deserted. Here and there a car was waiting at a traffic light or turning into a quiet street. Two prostitutes stood on a street corner in Sea Point. Some distance ahead a police van was parked at the kerb. Sometimes Nick feared he would be forever trapped in the nocturnal lives of other people.
At the Allegretti home he made a pot of strong coffee and summoned the security guards individually. Both were adamant that they’d seen or heard nothing out of the ordinary. There had been no strange vehicles in the street, no shots. Allegretti had definitely not left through the gate. There had been no visitors. If Nick didn’t believe them, he could check the camera footage.
When the interviews were over, he went back to Patrice’s quarters. He watched his step as he opened the door and entered. Besides the bloody trail from the lounge to the bathroom, the bedroom was neat and tidy. The bedclothes were turned back, as if Patrice had been on his way to bed. He seemed to have been overpowered in the lounge. Unfortunately there was no way of knowing what time the incident took place. Patrice tended to go to bed quite early.
The stain on the carpet and the blood spatters confirmed Nick’s suspicion that Patrice had been shot in the lounge. What he didn’t understand was why his attackers hadn’t made sure he was dead. If they had surprised him, they must have had the advantage over him. Why were there signs of a scuffle? Had they intended taking him along? Considering that the attackers had managed to enter a well-protected house undetected, the scene in Patrice’s living quarters was just too messy.
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