Stolen Lives

by Jassy Mackenzie

  “I hope it’ll be worth the prison time,” Jade said.

  As she stood up, a glint of orange caught her eye.

  David was scrambling out of the unmarked, which he’d parked sideways-on so that it blocked the exit gate of Heads & Tails.

  “You’re crazy,” she shouted. “If this woman had got the van going, there’s no way she would have stopped. She’d have smashed straight into your car and knocked it out of the way, with you inside.”

  David didn’t react. He just stared at her, taking in her rumpled hair and bleeding elbow, her ripped jeans and grazed cheek. Taking in the people carrier’s shattered driver’s window and the bullet-hole in the glass opposite. Eventually, he replied.

  “No,” he said slowly, shaking his head. “I’m not the crazy one here, Jadey. You are.”

  45

  David moved the unmarked away from the gate, and Jade heard him using the radio to call for backup. Job done, he locked the car and started striding purposefully towards her, his large shoes scrunching on the tarmac.

  Jade wanted to hug him for the brave but foolish action of parking his car across the entrance. She wanted to tell him she loved him, that her heart was breaking for him and everything he was going through.

  Instead, she pointed out that one of his shoelaces was coming undone.

  While David bent down to sort it out, Jade took a look inside the van.

  There, she saw what she had expected to see in Tamsin’s office.

  Although the interior smelled pleasantly of strawberries, there were crumpled tissues on the floor, a stack of dance cds strewn over the passenger seat on top of a pink sports top, and a bottle of perfume, a lipstick, some gum, a granola bar, and a half-empty pack of Silk Cut all stuffed into the central console.

  And, most tellingly of all, an instant Polaroid four-photo passport camera was lying on the carpet on the passenger side, half-in, half-out of its padded bag, on top of a large box of film.

  Staring at the now-empty seats in the back, Jade shivered to think of who had sat in them, where they had been taken, how their hopes and dreams had been brutally shattered.

  To her, those seats reeked of despair.

  A gps navigator was positioned on the dashboard. Aware that the police would need to fingerprint this device, Jade folded her jacket sleeve over her index finger and pressed the “On” button.

  After a few false starts, she discovered a list of the most recently travelled destinations. The airport, the Michelangelo hotel. Two other addresses in Sandton, one in Bez Valley, one in central Pretoria and one in Dullstroom, Mpumalanga.

  Dullstroom. That was the one Jade needed. Her cellphone had gps, and she copied the coordinates into it. Then, frowning, she double-checked the routes that were shown on both.

  “Why did Tamsin take those roads?” she said aloud.

  At her feet, Clara was starting to utter a series of dazed-sounding grunts. David opened the unmarked’s boot and tossed Jade a pair of handcuffs. She cuffed the woman’s hands together behind her back and threw her shoes under the Mercedes van. Without them, she wouldn’t get far.

  By the time David’s team arrived, together with a police car from the Midrand precinct and a forensic technician, the admin assistant was fully conscious and spluttering threats at Jade.

  Jade stepped back and watched the action from the sidelines, feeling oddly left out, even though she had watched similar scenes many times when her father was alive. Over the next few hours, she knew that the officers would question the club’s employees in detail and, when a warrant arrived, search the premises and gather evidence.

  Police questioning and investigation. A lengthy, pedantic process. A series of tiny jigsaw pieces that, if you were thorough and lucky, would eventually be joined together to reveal the full picture. No way to speed it up; not with the team still awaiting the necessary search warrant.

  But Jade didn’t have any time to spare. She needed to get going as soon as possible.

  David was inside the club with Captain Thembi, who was barking commands at his team. With the music now turned off, his voice sounded very loud.

  Somebody had switched on all the overhead lights, and in the brightness Jade could see peeling paint on the walls and scuff marks on the floor. The nightclub staff were lined up on one side of the room. She recognised Opal and Amber, who were whispering together and looking scared, but was relieved to see that the helpful Ebony had obviously had the night off. A number of rather dumbstruck-looking clients were lined up on the other side. All were waiting to be questioned.

  The bouncer, who now sported a swollen lump on the side of his head courtesy of David’s elbow, was sitting at the end of the line, his hands cuffed behind his back.

  When Thembi had finished speaking, Jade tapped David on the shoulder.

  “I’ll see you later,” she said.

  “What … Where are you going? I thought you needed a lift.”

  “You’re busy here, and I’ve got to get going. Now. I’ve called a taxi to take me home.”

  David stared at her, eyes narrowed. “I’m not too busy to drive you back to your place. Why the urgency, Jadey? What’s up?”

  “I’m going to get my car. Then I’m driving to Dullstroom.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I studied the gps in that van. It’s been driven regularly to a few destinations. One of them is a place in Bez Valley, so they may have been doing business with the brothel you’re raiding tonight. One of the other destinations is Dullstroom. That’s a small town, it’s out in the middle of nowhere, and I don’t believe for a moment it’s a hotbed of illegal sexual activity. But Terence owns a country lodge in that area, a top-security place which he’s apparently used from time to time as a hideout. I think Tamsin has been taking the trafficked women there to get them broken in.”

  David didn’t reply, and from his expression she knew he was thinking of Kevin.

  Every step that led them closer to Tamsin and Salimovic might also lead them closer to his son.

  Then he took the keys for the orange unmarked out of his pocket and jangled them in his hand.

  “Come on, then,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”

  A strong wind had started to blow and as they pulled onto the highway, Jade could feel it buffeting the car.

  The first summer storm was on the way.

  “So Terence has a country lodge?”

  “Well, it looks more like a small farm.”

  She glanced down at her phone to double-check the coordinates. To her consternation, David leaned over too and peered down at the screen.

  “Should take you about three hours to do that distance, I’m guessing.”

  “You’d do it in two.” She glanced up and immediately panicked. “David! Tanker!”

  The noise from the growling engine noise of the slow-moving tanker ahead filled their car. A timely swerve, and David just managed to avoid ramming the unmarked into its tailgate. They whipped past its solid steel flank.

  Jade’s heart was leaping in her throat, and she prised her fingers away from the dashboard with some difficulty.

  “The Mercedes van used a lot of back roads to get there,” Jade said, when she was capable of calm speech again. “A real zig-zag of a route. It certainly wasn’t a shortcut. I’m guessing Tamsin did it so that the women wouldn’t have any idea where they were headed. Going along minor roads, sand roads, back routes, you’d never be able to tell anybody exactly where you had been taken.”

  “Fewer road signs, and less risk of running into a police roadblock,” David observed.

  “That, too.”

  “You think this Naude chap knows what’s going on?”

  “David, I don’t know. Perhaps he’s in on the conspiracy, perhaps he isn’t. If I’d got five rands for everyone who’s told me the truth in this case, I still don’t think I’d be able to buy a loaf of bread.”

  “Yup. That’s people for you.�
�� David shifted his grip on the wheel. “Bastards when it comes to getting the facts.”

  “Naude told me Pamela paid him to shoot Terence and Crystal with a silenced weapon on a night when she wasn’t home. He said he didn’t know if he could do it.”

  “Why?”

  “He said he’s never aimed his gun at a living target before.”

  David glanced at her, frowning. “He didn’t seem to have too many scruples when he tried to take you out.”

  “That’s what’s getting to me, too. I … ” How to say it? Better to tell the truth, she decided. After all, somebody had to. “I know what the first time’s like, David. I know you do as well. Tell me that you didn’t hesitate before you fired at your first human target.”

  There was a telling silence.

  “Yes. I did. I did hesitate,” David said.

  Jade didn’t expect him to say anymore about it, but to her surprise, he did.

  “It was back in Durban, when I was on a night patrol near the city centre. On foot. It was summer and humid as hell. I remember wishing I wasn’t wearing my service pistol, because it was making a huge patch of sweat on my hip. Then we heard running, and round the corner came two guys wearing balaclavas. Just like that. It was surreal. We found out later they’d just robbed the Curry Palace down the road, and they were on their way to their getaway car. Talk about wrong place, wrong time.”

  Jade made an encouraging noise, wanting him to finish his story.

  “I drew my pistol. I was very calm—it all happened so fast, I didn’t have time to get scared. I should have fired then and there, because the leader had a gun in his hand. I shouted at them to stop. But the leader didn’t stop; he just shot. He could have killed me, could have killed my partner. Neither of us was wearing Kevlar. I didn’t act fast enough to prevent it. But he missed.”

  David swallowed hard.

  “Then I shot him in the chest,” he finished.

  Jade didn’t know what to say. She wanted to take David’s hand and lace her fingers in his long brown ones, and squeeze it hard.

  And she did.

  Perhaps it was because of the near miss they’d just had with the tanker. Perhaps it was for some other reason. In any case, to her own amazement, she found herself reaching over and taking his left hand, which was curled around the gear stick, with her right. She slid her palm over the back of his hand, pushed her fingers in between his and clasped his hand tightly.

  For a few moments, David squeezed her hand back. And, for those few moments, Jade wouldn’t have minded if he’d crashed the car right there.

  46

  Edmonds had expected Cyprus to be warm. In fact, it was hot. She’d discarded her jacket as soon as she and Richards disembarked from the plane at Larnaca Airport in Southern Cyprus, and the long-sleeved top she was wearing underneath soon followed.

  T-shirt weather in October. Who would have thought it?

  They drove north in their hired car and crossed the Green Line at the Agios Dometios gate in Nicosia half an hour later. Here, they showed their passports at the checkpoint and were soon heading into Northern Cyprus.

  The tiny village of Malatya was set high in the mountains. The Beshpa-mark, or the Five Fingers, according to Richards, who was happily bombarding Edmonds with local facts and figures. Sitting in the passenger seat, Edmonds was only half-listening to him as she took in the bleak, rugged scenery while the car wound its way up the narrow pass.

  “Criminal bolthole.” Edmonds tuned Richards back in again. “That’s what this place is. A hideaway for every deadbeat that’s ever stolen, smuggled, blackmailed, or laundered money. You know there’s no extradition treaty between here and the uk? That’s caused a lot of problems in the past, and I think it’s why the authorities are pretty much cooperating with us now. They don’t want their country to get anymore of a reputation as a place where the lowlifes can evade arrest.”

  Two detectives from the Turkish Cypriot police were waiting outside the villa, which was set back from the road, down a long driveway, behind ornate gates. They were leaning against the low wall that separated the white-painted buildings from the surrounding gardens.

  The villa that was owned by Xavier Soumare and Mathilde Dupont.

  This information had been gleaned by Mackay, who had been investigating the British Airways flight which the two suspected traffickers had taken from Cyprus. Although the pair had left no paper trail this time round, the airline recovered their address via a previous booking, when they had flown first-class to the Seychelles.

  Mackay had told Edmonds that they had either made a stupid mistake in revealing their home address, or else been super-confident that they wouldn’t be traced.

  “The police raid on Number Six was an unlucky coincidence for them, that’s for sure,” he’d said. “If it hadn’t been for us arriving at that time, they’d have got away free and clear.”

  The shorter of the two detectives, a sleepy-looking man with a large black moustache, stepped forward and shook their hands. He introduced himself as Barak. Edmonds was glad that he spoke good, if strongly accented, English. Earlier, in the southern part of the country, Richards had earned her undying gratitude by communicating with the car hire company in fluent Greek.

  “You can go inside,” Barak said to her. “We have searched the place and taken fingerprints. The information has been sent to our offices. We are waiting … ” At first Edmonds thought the detective had paused to search for an English word, but then she noticed the well-dressed woman approaching on foot. A neighbour, perhaps.

  When the woman started speaking, Edmonds was surprised to hear a distinctly British accent. An expat, then; one of the five thousand or so who lived in this part of the world. And, if Richards was to be believed, hopefully one of the few who were not criminals in hiding.

  “Good afternoon, officer. I’m Maggie Rawlins from across the road. I got a message you wanted to speak to me. What’s the problem? Is Mr Soumare all right?”

  The house wasn’t a crime scene, so if the Cypriot detectives were prepared to allow her inside, Edmonds definitely wanted to take a look around. Moving away from her Turkish colleague into the cool, high-ceilinged hallway, Edmonds could hear Maggie Rawlins’ outraged responses to the questions she was being asked.

  “Impossible! Absolutely impossible. Xavier and his partner Mathilde are lovely people. I’ve known them for years. They’d never do anything like human trafficking.”

  Edmonds stepped further into the house, through the archway that led to the living room. The floor was tiled, the room felt surprisingly cool. Apart from the silvery smudges of fingerprint dust that Edmonds noticed on several surfaces, the tasteful interior was pristine.

  Taking in the plush leather furniture, paintings on the wall that she didn’t recognise, but which looked like expensive originals, a cabinet with a collection of porcelain, Edmonds felt the same choking rage rise up inside her that she’d experienced the day she had searched Mathilde’s room in the five-star hotel.

  How dare they? How dare they enrich themselves in this way, by abducting young women, subjecting them to the worst and vilest invasions of their being, changing them in such a way that even if they escaped their prison one day, they could never escape its legacy?

  Human traffickers were thieves, but what they stole could never be given back or compensated for, because it was the very souls of the people they trafficked that they took.

  “Officer, you don’t understand.” Maggie Rawlins’ high-pitched voice was still clearly audible. “These people have done an enormous amount for charity. They are certainly not criminals. Ask their staff—they have a cleaner who comes in every morning and a gardener twice a week. And Mr Soumare couldn’t possibly commit a crime now, in any case, not with his health the way it is. He’s been going to the boc Oncology Clinic in Nicosia three times a week for aggressive radiotherapy and chemotherapy. He has cancer, you see.”

  A triumphant silence, as if the woman was sure this fact would
change everything.

  Hearing this, Edmonds clenched her jaw so hard that it hurt.

  “Good,” she uttered fiercely.

  She stomped across the room, out of earshot of Maggie Rawlins’ irritating voice. In a smaller adjoining room that opened onto a verandah, two comfortable-looking armchairs were positioned on either side of a glass coffee table. In contrast to the other furniture, these chairs looked as if they had been regularly used.

  So this was where Xavier and Mathilde had sat. In the evenings, perhaps. Looking out at the sunset, sipping on cool drinks, paging through one of the books that she saw on the coffee table. And all without a twinge of conscience, she supposed.

  A Lladro china figurine also stood on the table, next to a slim white cordless telephone slotted into its charger.

  The idea came to Edmonds in a flash.

  She picked the phone up in her left hand and turned it on, while digging in her jeans pocket for her own mobile.

  She had the phone number for Amanita’s grandfather in its memory.

  He hadn’t been answering any calls from the United King-dom—but would he answer a call that came from here?

  The keys of the cordless phone gave shrill beeps as she punched the number in. The noise seemed very loud to her, and she found herself glancing nervously over her shoulder. She wasn’t sure if she was allowed to do this, and she knew she should check with Richards first, but she had no idea where he was now. He hadn’t followed her into the house; that was all she knew.

  Edmonds finished dialling the number and waited, standing alone in the quiet room, aware that her legs felt as tense as if she was waiting for a starting pistol to go off.

  After a short pause she heard the ringing sound that had become all too familiar to her. It rang three times, four times, and she was beginning to think that it would go through to voicemail yet again.

  Then, with a click that seemed to stop her heart, the call was answered and she heard Mr Soumare’s voice.

  He said just one word.

  “Xavier?”