by Kurt Ellis
‘I said listen,’ Creed repeated, his voice still eerily calm, even to his own ears. ‘If you ever—’
Again, he wasn’t allowed to finish his statement. Carly’s father rose up and charged at him with an animalistic grunt. But Creed had seen the attack coming and sidestepped the attempted tackle. He grabbed the charging bull by the back of the neck with his left hand and eased him past with the grace of a matador. He slapped his right hand on the man’s throat and squeezed. He gagged at the sudden pressure on his larynx. Creed slipped his right leg behind his opponent’s knees and yanked back hard: an instinctive move he had learnt early in his Krav Maga training.
The sudden change of direction made the man’s feet slide away from under him; Creed slammed him into the ground. Carly’s father gasped for air, then groaned in pain. He tried to grope the back of his head, which had bounced off the floor. Dropping to one knee, Creed jabbed him solidly in the face, and again, for good measure. Blood spurted from the man’s nose.
‘Now listen,’ he repeated, ominously composed, with his hand clenching the man’s windpipe. ‘If you ever lay another hand on your daughter, or your wife, I promise you, I will kill you.’
When Creed squeezed, the man’s tongue began to protrude from his mouth. ‘You b … bastard,’ Carly’s father gasped. ‘I’m calling the p … police.’
Creed smiled, releasing his hand from the man’s throat. He pulled his gun from its holster. Carly’s mother, who had crept in, shrieked at the sight of the weapon. The man tried to squirm away but Creed held him firm. Pressing his knee into his chest to hold him still, he pushed the barrel hard against his forehead.
‘My name is Nicholas Creed. I live right next door. Call the police. I will offer them coffee. But know this: when they leave, and they will leave, I will come back for you. And I will put a bullet in your fucking head. And they won’t find your body. You mark my words on that. They’ll never find your pieces. You lay one more hand on her, and I’ll come back for you. This, I swear.’
He pistol-whipped the man hard across the face before standing up. For the first time in a long while, Creed felt a righteous serenity embrace him. He holstered the weapon as he walked towards the woman. She shrank away from him once more.
‘If you need help in contacting someone, a place of safety, I’m just next door,’ he said to her. ‘I’ll give you the details and help you wherever I can. But if you ever allow him to hit your child again, then I’ll come for you as well. And they won’t find your remains either.’
He walked outside.
56
The police were there within the hour. Creed was waiting for them on his back steps, along with Eli Grey and Carly. The rain had stopped.
After he had left the neighbours, his anger had ebbed a little, enough for him to think more clearly. Sometimes, doing the right thing was not in line with the law, so he had called Grey. He’d told the Major what had happened and that he would probably need his help once more.
Grey was there within fifteen minutes. Although he could often read him, Creed found it hard to tell if he was upset or not. Grey’s face was as easy to read as an encyclopaedia in a foreign language. Creed thought it safe to assume that he was pissed off.
The police van had pulled up outside his house without a siren but with its blue lights rotating on the roof. Creed, Grey and Carly stood at the kitchen door and watched the two uniformed officers, one male and the other female, disappear into the front door of the neighbours’ house.
‘Go to the lounge,’ Creed instructed Carly.
When she was gone, Grey solemnly took a sip of the coffee Carly had made him. ‘In case you’re wondering,’ he began, ‘I’m not happy.’
Creed smiled. ‘I wasn’t wondering, but thanks for pointing it out.’
They didn’t have to wait long. Within a few minutes, Carly’s father came rushing out of his house with the officers behind him. His wife followed, eyes to the ground.
‘Him!’ he pointed over the fence at Creed. ‘That’s the bastard.’ He walked with a heavy limp. ‘He just came into my house. He hit me. He hit my wife, and then, and then, he pulled a gun on both of us. Threatened to kill me. To kill us!’
‘Is this true?’ the policewoman asked Creed.
‘Constables,’ started Grey, ‘can I please have a word with you for a second?’
Grey headed towards the road. The two cops looked at each other, bemused, but followed him nonetheless.
Creed smiled at the neighbour as he walked up to the fence that separated them. ‘Let me tell you what’s going to happen now,’ he started. ‘In about two minutes, those two officers will come back here. They’ll apologise to me for wasting my time, and then they’ll be on their way. That’ll leave just you and me, and I don’t know if I mentioned this earlier, but I’m a man of my word. Unless …’ He turned to Carly’s mother. ‘Unless you tell the truth. This is your chance to end this all. Tell the police the truth about your husband. Let them help you. Tell them that you want him arrested, now. Because, I promise you, it’s only a matter of time before he kills you.’
The husband scowled. ‘Are you fucking insane? Who do you think you are?’
‘Mr Creed!’ The female police officer called out as she walked back. ‘We apologise for wasting your time and for causing you any inconvenience. We hope you have a good night.’
They turned to leave.
‘What?’ Livid, the skinny man surged towards them. ‘Where’re you going? I know my rights,’ he screamed. ‘Arrest him! Now!’
Creed turned to Carly’s mother. ‘Your time is running out. Either you do the right thing, or I’ll get child-protection services and get Carly taken away from you, for good. If you’re fine with him hurting you, then so be it, but no matter what, you’re her mother. You should be protecting her.’
She lowered her eyes to the ground.
Creed thought he would have to follow through.
‘Officers,’ she mumbled, so softly that he almost didn’t hear.
‘Louder,’ he hissed.
‘Officers,’ she yelled.
The police turned to face her.
‘I … would like to press … to press … charges against … my husband. He is the one that beat me. Me … and my daughter.’
57
She was waiting outside his flat when he arrived home. Her car was parked in the street, just outside the entrance. When she spotted him pulling into the driveway of the complex, she climbed out of the vehicle clutching a pizza box. Although Meyer was tired, he had to admit that his heart stuttered and a smile snuck across his face when he saw Tracey Wilson.
She hurried into the apartment building parking lot after his car before the gate rumbled close.
After locking his car door, he said, ‘I think this can now be classified as stalking.’
She offered him a gorgeous smile. ‘Some men would feel extremely lucky if I stalked them.’ She raised the pizza box. ‘Thought you’d be hungry after your drive.’
‘I’m good. But thank you.’
‘Great.’ She lifted the box slightly. ‘That means more for me. It’s cold, though. I’ve been waiting for you for some time. Surely you’re gentleman enough to offer me use of your microwave?’
He knew he should say no immediately, tell her to leave his property with haste. Instead he said, ‘You do know that you’re wasting your time, right? That I’ll not discuss an open case with you?’
‘That’s okay. I’m not interested in the case. That’s not my story. The SAPS employing a psycho: now that’s my story.’
‘A psycho?’
She tilted her head. ‘You don’t know, do you?’ A broader grin. ‘Well, this pizza is getting colder by the second.’
The image of the temptation of Christ appeared behind his eyelids when he blinked; the scene of Jesus standing on the mountain top in the Judean Desert and the Devil offering him all the kingdoms in the world. Meyer walked to the stairs; the journalist followed.
He u
nlocked the door of his second-floor apartment and let her in.
‘Wow,’ she exclaimed after he had flicked on the light. ‘This place is neater than any man’s flat I’ve ever seen.’
Meyer looked over his home. It felt as if this was the first time he’d actually seen the place. Of course his house was neat. He had very little in it, just the most basic of furniture. There were no decorative or personal items; there was nothing, in fact, that said a human being lived here. He suddenly felt uncomfortable with Wilson seeing his flat. With seeing his possessions, or rather the lack thereof. His home looked the way he felt. Lonely.
She may have sensed his sudden unease. Wilson squeezed her way past him, then turned right into his kitchen.
‘I’m famished,’ she said, walking into the small cooking space as if she owned it. ‘Where are your dinner plates?’
‘Top … top cupboard. Above the bread bin,’ he responded softly.
Meyer went into his bedroom while she busied herself with the microwave. He unholstered his gun, removed the clip, and placed them in the draw next to his bed. His bed. Another image flashed in his head. An image of her, sprawled naked on the covers. Her breasts heaving. Her nipples, hard and erect. Her body, welcoming.
He fled the room, as if to flee that fantasy. She was waiting for him in the lounge, fully clothed, a side plate with a single slice of pizza in each hand.
She handed him one. ‘I always found Something Meaty the safest pizza option. Unless you’re a vegetarian, who doesn’t like Something Meaty?’
He glanced down at her breasts, hidden beneath a black blouse. Then he cleared his throat and quickly averted his eyes. ‘Thanks.’ He took the plate she had offered and sat at his small dining table.
She seemed to be blushing a little as she sat opposite him.
He took a bite of the pizza. ‘You were saying something about a psycho?’
She took a slow bite of her slice and chewed. It seemed intentional, as if to build up expectation. ‘What do you know about what happened to Creed after Rodriguez killed his fiancée?’
‘Ex-fiancée,’ Meyer corrected. ‘And not much.’
She smiled, reaching into her large handbag for a folded colour photocopy, which she slid across the table.
Meyer wiped his hands on a napkin before unfolding it. Navos was printed in blue across the top, with a green leaf logo above it containing the words Mental Health Solutions.
‘That’s an admission log to the West Seattle Psychiatric Hospital in Washington. Read about halfway down the page.’
She took another bite while Meyer studied the sheet. Nicholas Creed. His name was on the admission sheet.
‘He spent six weeks in there, three of which he was on suicide watch. My sources tell me that while he was confined he had an altercation with another patient and almost beat him to death.’
Meyer folded the paper again and slid it back across the table towards her. ‘And who’s your source?’
She smiled. ‘A lady never kisses and tells.’
He took another bite. ‘So, why’re you showing me this? What do you hope to achieve?’
‘I just want to show you the type of person you’re protecting.’
‘I’m not protecting anyone.’
‘Fine, then the type of person you’re working with.’ She pushed her plate to the side and leaned forward. Meyer caught a glimpse of her soft cleavage once more and quickly averted his gaze. ‘And maybe will be working for soon.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Grey has taken a job at Interpol, and he’s pushing for Creed to take over at IPU.’
His mouth went dry. ‘And where did you hear this?’
‘As I’ve said before, a lady never kisses and tells.’ For the first time, the smile left her lips. ‘Maybe he’s not just an asshole who thinks he’s above the law. But this tells me that maybe, just maybe, it’s more than that. That he’s mentally unstable. Mentally unfit to own a gun, let alone lead the IPU. My sources told me that the hospital didn’t want to discharge him at all. They felt that he was a danger to himself and / or to others. After the incident in the hospital with the other patient, they felt he should be transferred to a high-security institute, but somehow he managed to convince his FBI buddies to get him out. At the very least, he’s not mentally sound, Luke. And he shouldn’t be working with SAPS if he’s unstable. It’s only a matter of time before he snaps.’
Meyer pushed the pizza aside. He stood and took off his jacket. ‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ he asked. ‘I think I’ve some in the fridge. Nothing fancy.’
‘Dry?’
‘Semi-sweet.’
‘That’ll be fine.’
He hung the jacket over his chair before going into the kitchen. Once he was around the corner, Meyer took a deep, shaky breath. He had used the excuse of the wine to get out of the room. She was overwhelming him. Drowning him. He needed some space to think. This revelation about Creed was a huge concern. Grey had told him he was still considering the post at Interpol, not that he had taken it. But if he had taken it, that would explain his insistence on bringing Creed into the team, even as a consultant.
‘You do understand that you’re not only going after Creed but after Major Grey as well,’ he called out as he opened the refrigerator door and found the bottle. ‘A very good cop, a very good man.’
As he didn’t own any wine glasses, he resorted to using tumblers.
‘I know,’ she responded. ‘But even a good man can make mistakes when he’s trying to help a friend. It’s not only about Grey either. It’s about a man who’s a danger to the public. A danger to you all, and a danger to your team.’
He knew she was right. Creed wasn’t fit to be a member of the team, and yet he couldn’t betray Major Grey, even though he felt that Grey had lied to him. Betrayed him. He carried the glasses out to the lounge and almost crashed into Tracey.
‘Oh, so sorry,’ she said. ‘I need to get going.’ The liquid swooshed in the glasses as he came to a sudden stop. She took one from his hand and gulped the contents in one go. ‘Thanks.’ She handed the glass back to him. ‘Sorry to run out. It’s an emergency.’
Like a hurricane, she blew to the door and pulled it open. But before she stepped outside, she turned to face him. She looked up into his eyes and said softly, ‘You’re a good man, Father Detective Luke Meyer. You know what the right thing is.’
With that, she stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. And like a whisper of a breeze, she was gone. He stood there for a moment, not entirely sure how he had gone from eating pizza and pouring wine to standing alone in his doorway with a glass in each hand, one empty, the other still full. Bewildered, he went back to the kitchen, where he placed the empty glass in the sink. He sipped on the other as he returned to the lounge.
He reached into the box for another slice of pizza and spotted his notepad on the table. It should have been in his inside jacket pocket, not on the table, and it certainly shouldn’t have been open.
58
Friday, 21 June
Creed knocked on the door of Eli Grey’s office. The major was standing behind his desk, having just put the phone receiver down.
‘That was Namibian police,’ Grey said.
‘And?’
‘They got him. Liesl Basson’s killer. That young swimmer.’
Creed nodded, although he had no idea what he was talking about.
‘They arrested him masturbating at the crime scene, and then raided his home. He lived with his aunt. They found binders of photographs he had taken of children.’
‘That’s great.’ Creed was silent for a second. ‘I just wanted to thank you again for last night.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘I think you can now say that you don’t owe me anything any more.’
Grey placed his hands on his desk. ‘I wasn’t aware that I owed you anything in the first place.’
‘After Hettie.’ Creed put an unlit cigarette in his mouth. ‘Yo
u think you owe me something after what happened to her, but you don’t.’
‘I wasn’t doing this because you were there for me when Hettie was murdered, you thoughtless prick.’ Grey hardly ever cursed. It sounded weird coming from his mouth. ‘I was trying to help you because you needed help, because you’re my friend. Not out of obligation.’
‘I see.’ Creed leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He slipped the cigarette back into his pocket. ‘Thank you, still. For last night.’
Grey sat down. ‘I was thinking about it. And I think it’s a good sign that you cared enough to get involved in the first place. What you did was wrong, that’s a fact. But at least you cared.’
Creed said nothing for a minute, ‘If you still need me on this case, I’ll help wherever I can until it’s closed. But after that … I’m done.’
Grey’s eyes narrowed. ‘What does that mean – you’re “done”?’
‘It means, I’ve decided I’m not going to re-join SAPS.’ He saw the tightening of Grey’s jaw. ‘No, I’m not going to kill myself, if that’s what you’re thinking. Suicide isn’t part of my plan. I think I’ll just go back to Durban for a while. Spend some time with Lizzie and see what happens from there.’
Grey stared at him silently, nodding. ‘So be it, Nick.’ He stood. ‘We have a meeting.’
He left the office, leaving his friend sitting alone and the scent of frustration and disappointment in the air. Eventually, Creed followed.
The entire team was waiting in the briefing room.
Meyer started, looking exhausted. ‘According to the shop steward, the muti was brought in by a Siyabonga Shezi. He has a conviction for assault as well as breaking and entering.’
‘Does he have any connection to Reggie Mthembu?’ asked Steenkamp.
‘He does,’ Meyer responded. ‘I ran his name this morning. They appear to be lifelong friends. They grew up on the same street, went to the same school for a while, and then were arrested together a few times.’