In the Midst of Wolves

by Kurt Ellis

  Meyer swept his gun left, then right – pointing at nothing. He couldn’t see the tip of his own nose in front of his face. His breathing was the only sound to reach his ears. ‘Major?’ he heard himself whisper, but there was no answer. ‘Major?’

  A female scream reverberated to his right. Meyer dropped to one knee and aimed in that direction, but he couldn’t target anything. The scream was quickly followed by a man’s guttural gasp, like someone gargling thick fluid. A beam of light suddenly cut through the darkness from the entrance. Meyer caught sight of Constable Dladla kneeling on the floor, a waterfall of blood gushing from his throat.

  The naked woman stood behind him, a rusted knife dripping crimson in her hand. She turned to face him. Her teeth were bared in a grotesque growl, dripping blood and saliva. With a snarl, she lunged at him. Meyer stumbled back and fired twice before he tripped over an empty cage and slammed into a wall.

  90

  Creed put the cigarette to his mouth and lit it. He stood near the wall of a nearby shack, Grey standing beside him. They both stared at the Umthakathi’s hovel as if it was some leviathan that had just been slayed. Decomposition had begun almost immediately, with noxious gases being released and flies dressed in the SAPS uniform swarming the carcass.

  ‘He looks like he’s going to be sick,’ Creed commented.

  Grey shrugged. ‘If you’d smelt the inside of that shack, you’d look sick as well.’

  ‘Find anything … interesting?’ Creed pulled hard on the cigarette and let the smoke swirl in his lungs.

  Grey nodded. ‘We did. Blood. Skin. Some bones. They look to be human to me. There’s also a large cage in there, the type used for a big dog or something. I feel bad for the crime-scene guys – it looks as if they’ll be in there for at least a day or two. It’s a total mess.’

  ‘And no Tokoloshe?’

  Grey smiled. ‘Not yet.’

  Creed pushed himself away from the wall and began to walk back to the cars.

  Grey strolled next to him. ‘You did this.’

  ‘Did what?’

  ‘Drove the investigation. You led us here. It’s a shame you’re giving it up.’

  Creed shrugged. ‘It’s what has to be done.’

  ‘I guess you should be happy that you ended on a win.’

  Creed flicked his cigarette away. ‘I’m not so sure about that, Eli.’

  He still didn’t have an answer as to what was on his property, and he hated not having answers. But before the Major could respond, Creed asked, ‘Can you get one of the uniforms to give me a lift back to the station?’

  ‘Sure. No problem.’

  91

  He barely remembered driving away from the crime scene. Luke Meyer was numb.

  His head was filled with silence – a silence so intense that it hurt his ears. He had never taken a life before. He had known he might have to one day, but he hadn’t known it would be that day. And that wasn’t the only reason he felt dazed. It was the woman.

  He had never seen anything like her in his life. Evil had radiated from every pore in her skin, intoxicating him. Suffocating him like the heavy smoke of burning wet vegetation.

  Before he realised it, Meyer had arrived at the block of flats. It wasn’t his home, but Tracey’s. Somehow, in a state of automated confusion, his body had driven to her home while his mind had slept. He sat there for a minute, trying to figure out what he was doing and if he should even go up. Perhaps he should just start his car again and go home. He turned the key in the ignition and revved the engine once, then switched the car off.

  He needed to see her.

  She buzzed him in immediately once he had called up and she was waiting for him in the hallway. No words were said when he approached. The moment he saw her, he took her in his arms and kissed her. Devoured her. He savagely wanted to feel her, to be inside her, and she returned his passion with even more vigour.

  After a session of brief, furious lovemaking, Meyer lay in her arms on the floor.

  When she had regained her breath, she said, ‘My, what got into you?’

  Meyer shrugged and sat up on the carpet.

  She smiled, ‘Well, I’m not complaining. Want something to drink?’

  ‘Yeah, thanks.’

  Tracey got to her feet and walked naked to the kitchen. Meyer studied the beautiful contours of her back and buttocks as she moved. She was stunning, truly, and he realised at that moment that he was in love with her.

  He pulled on his trousers before taking a seat on her couch. She returned holding a glass of red wine in one hand and a tumbler of water in the other.

  She smiled at him. ‘Are you feeling shy?’

  ‘Just cold,’ he lied, taking the glass of wine from her.

  He took a sip and cringed at how dry it was. For Tracey, it was always the drier, the better, but Meyer preferred the sweeter wines. She took the glass from him and handed him the water, which he drank.

  ‘But seriously, Luke, what happened tonight?’

  He took another sip of water. ‘I killed someone today.’

  She clasped her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, my God. Are you okay?’

  He nodded. ‘It was that inyanga responsible for the muti killing. We found out where she lived.’ He paused. ‘Or rather, Creed found out where she lived.’

  Tracey leaned forward, ‘And how did he do that?’

  Meyer smiled meekly. ‘By using … persuasive interrogation techniques.’

  ‘Techniques that are legal?’ Her questioning eyes burrowed into him.

  ‘No.’

  She sat back. ‘Enough is enough, Luke. This man is a danger to society.’ Meyer nodded. She came forward again. ‘If we’re going to do anything, it has to be now. A man like this cannot be your boss and lead the unit.’

  He felt his eyebrows furrow. ‘I can’t believe that will happen. Even if Grey wants it, Dr Tlau isn’t going to sign off on his reinstatement. I heard it myself.’

  ‘But Dr Amod will,’ she said. ‘My source says that Grey has already approached him to assess Creed, with the understanding that this time he definitely will be passed as fit to be reinstated.’

  ‘And who’s your source? Steenkamp?’

  She looked as if she was about to deny this, then changed her mind.

  Anguish crawled across the back of his neck. He had known that Steenkamp was a leak, but that wasn’t what was making his skin prickle. It was the thought of taking orders from Creed. He ran his palm over his nape. ‘I saw a copy of your story at the crime scene. At the inyanga’s shack.’

  She sat further forward. ‘Really?’

  He nodded. ‘The crime-scene guys found a few newspapers in her shack, all containing stories of Creed. Mostly your stories.’ And mine, he almost added.

  ‘That’s … weird.’ She smiled. ‘A bit creepy, but it’s almost done. I just need one more thing from you.’

  Luke shook his head and stood up. ‘I’ve given you everything I can. If Grey ever found out, he would never forgive me.’ And I’ll never forgive myself.

  ‘Sweetheart.’ She rose and took him in her arms. ‘I know, but my story is missing one key ingredient that will make it a masterpiece.’

  ‘I don’t want to take Grey down with Creed.’

  ‘And you won’t.’

  Meyer looked out the window. A speckled pigeon landed on the ledge and looked at him with an accusing eye.

  ‘What do you need?’

  ‘A confession.’

  ‘A confession?’

  She nodded. ‘A confession that Creed intentionally killed Rodriguez and that there was an FBI cover-up. I have everything else, but what happened in the house between Rodriguez and him is still conjecture. I need something solid. I need him to admit it. I need you to get him to admit it, and this story will get worldwide exposure.’ She embraced him. ‘And Creed will finally have to answer for what he’s done.’

  Meyer shook his head and gently pushed her back. ‘And how do you propose I do that? Become h
is best friend and wear a wire?’

  Tracey smiled and walked over to a side table. ‘I don’t have access to that kind of hardware.’ She opened the drawer and lifted out a small, silver digital Dictaphone. ‘I do have this.’ She handed it to him. ‘I know your phone doesn’t have a recorder, but even if it did, it wouldn’t record as well as this.’

  ‘Tracey, I can’t—’

  ‘You must,’ she interrupted. ‘You said it yourself: corruption is a cancer that must be cut out. Creed is a cancer. And if you don’t cut him out today, you’ll be calling him “sir” tomorrow.’

  92

  Saturday, 29 June

  Creed sat in the chair absently strumming his guitar. He watched Carly outside with his dogs. She threw a ball in the yard and Rush, the black Labrador, chased it. The girl had resumed coming over after school daily and had appointed herself Tripod’s personal nurse. She still seemed rather uncomfortable about entering the house, even though the walls of the second bedroom were bare. He hadn’t heard that noise for a few days; the white noise that taunted him.

  He’d begun to pick a tune from Santana from the steel strings when his phone rang.

  ‘Hey, sis,’ he said, not bothering to look at the display.

  ‘Hey, you,’ Lizzie responded. ‘What’re you up to?’

  ‘Nothing much. Just plucking at the guitar.’

  ‘Okay. I saw the news this morning. Why didn’t you tell me that you solved the case?’

  ‘I meant to call.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ she laughed. ‘So how’re you feeling?’

  He shrugged. ‘Good.’

  ‘So, when can I expect you? I have the spare bedroom all made up, waiting for you.’

  ‘I’m not sure. I still have a few things to tie up here first.’

  She was silent for a second. ‘Nick. You promised.’

  ‘I know. Have I ever broken a promise to you?’

  ‘No.’

  There’s always a first, he thought. He changed the subject. ‘How’s Peter?’

  She paused before answering. ‘He’s fine. He’s looking for another job. Not enough money where he is.’

  ‘There never is.’

  They spent the next five minutes making small talk before she said, ‘Anyway, bro, let me go get dinner ready. I love you. Please come home soon, Uncle Nicky.’

  ‘I will …’ He paused, then sat forward in his chair. ‘Uncle Nicky?’

  She laughed. ‘That’s all I’m going to say on the phone. I’ll tell you the rest face to face. Bye now.’

  The line went dead. Creed stared out into nothingness, the phone still pressed against his ear. Uncle Nick. Was she … pregnant? He was smiling broadly as he put the phone on the table. He was going to be an uncle. The device vibrated once more. This time, he looked at the screen and saw Grey’s name.

  93

  The Tipsy Sailor Pub and Grill was located in Melville, a twenty-minute drive from the West Rand. It had taken Creed close on forty-five minutes to reach the pub from his home in the late-afternoon traffic. If the call to invite him out for a drink and the best hot wings in the world had come ten minutes earlier, he would have said no. But now, after Lizzie’s news, he had an insatiable hunger to celebrate. My God, he was going to be an uncle.

  Creed was the last member of the team to arrive at the restaurant, just after six. As he walked in, Professor Cho was making his way out. There was a slight stagger in his step, probably influenced by alcohol. He offered Creed a nod in greeting and included a wink for good measure. Creed nodded and winked in return. For some reason, he liked the man.

  The pub was packed that evening, mostly with students and twenty-somethings. Zwane, who had spotted him first, was frantically waving for Creed to join their table against the far wall.

  The smiles on his colleagues’ faces told him that they’d had quite a bit to drink already, especially Zwane, Patel and Steenkamp.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Nick,’ Grey said. ‘You deserved to be here.’

  ‘You know me – I can’t turn down free alcohol and good hot wings.’

  He sat opposite Grey, who had Reshmee and Meyer, looking as grim as ever, to his right. Zwane was sandwiched between Creed and Steenkamp. A platter of wings basted black in marinade sat in the middle of the table. Creed took a sticky morsel in his fingers and ate. It was good; not the best he had ever tasted, but it was really good.

  He noted the glass in front of Grey. ‘Brandy and Coke?’

  Grey smiled, ‘Coke Zero. Just Coke Zero.’

  ‘Hey, calm down, you party animal,’ Creed teased. ‘You need to drive home, you know.’

  A waitress came up with a tray of tequila shots with lemon slices for each of them. Grey lifted his shot glass and toasted, ‘To us, on a job well done.’

  With that, they all downed the contents. All but Grey.

  94

  Tequila, Jägermeister and sambuca shooters had arrived with regularity over the next few hours. Just after 11.30 p.m., Zwane was on the verge of passing out. Grey, sober as a judge, escorted him outside to drive him home. Steenkamp had disappeared an hour or so earlier. Nobody knew where he’d gone or seemed to care.

  Reshmee had left after another two drinks, leaving Meyer and Creed alone at the table.

  ‘I didn’t expect that you’d be the last man standing, Father,’ Creed said.

  Meyer took a minuscule sip of wine. ‘Just need to let loose, that’s all.’

  Creed downed his whisky and ordered another from a waitress. ‘Was that the first person you killed, or just the first woman?’

  Meyer felt his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. ‘First person,’ he said softly.

  ‘That explains it.’

  ‘Explains what?’

  ‘The look on your face.’

  Meyer dropped his hand under the table and into his trouser pocket. He heard the faint click as he pressed the ‘record’ button on the Dictaphone.

  ‘And you?’ he asked. ‘How many people have you killed?’

  The waitress brought Creed a refilled glass. ‘I don’t keep count.’

  ‘Do you feel bad afterwards?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nope. It’s always been them or me. If I had to choose, it’d be them each time.’

  ‘What about Rodriguez?’

  The question hung uncomfortably in the air. Meyer feared that he may have pushed too hard, too quickly. Creed took a long gulp of whisky, glaring at him over the rim of the glass, before he answered. ‘What do you know about Rodriguez?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Meyer’s throat had become parched. He took a proper sip of wine, and, for the first time that evening, realised he was drinking a dry red. ‘Only rumours.’

  Creed’s smile displayed no amusement. ‘You shouldn’t listen to rumours, Father. It’s not wise.’ He shrugged. ‘Oh well, I guess it’s okay to tell you, with you being a priest and me being Catholic.’

  ‘I’m not a—’

  ‘I was at a party that night. I had an agent, you know, for the books and the movie deal. A Mr Big Deal, right?’ He shook his head. ‘Anyway, at the time, I’d been helping the locals on the Beast of Bay Area case. We had successfully identified Rodriguez as the killer, and he was on the run. But I’d done my bit. I’d delivered the profile that had led the locals to him, so it was now up to Washington PD to get him. But that night, I was at a party with my agent because I had just sold the rights to my story on the case.’

  Creed laughed cynically. ‘We hadn’t even caught him yet, but I’d sold the rights.’ He took another large sip from his glass. ‘I had just been given this fantastic blowjob from some wannabe actress looking to make connections. One of the perks, you know? And trust me when I say that the perks of being a celebrity in America are incredible, even for a fuckin’ D-list celeb, like I was – somewhere between a daytime talk-show host and a reality cooking-show contestant. But still, it was so incredible that I broke off my engagement with Megan to enjoy them with a clean conscience.’

  A
tear ran down his cheek as he drank his whisky. ‘She was insistent that we could work it out, but I didn’t want to listen. I still loved her but I wasn’t …’ he stopped. ‘Fuck that. That’s a cliché. In short, I threw away a decade with her for some shallow fun.’

  He lowered his voice. ‘So, then I get the call: “Is this Special Agent Creed? Agent Nick Creed, who said I’m a coward on TV?” I did say he was a coward on TV, by the way. Rodriguez was a disorganised killer. He was impulsive and easy to anger. And the best way to get him to make a mistake was to anger him; hence the interview on the local news in which I goaded him with insults.’

  Another sip. ‘The noise in the place was so fucking loud that I was struggling to hear him, but I knew it was Rodriguez. He said, “The Nick Creed who said I would run and not turn back? Well, tell me: is this me running, Nick? Is it?”’

  Creed wiped away the tear with his thumb. ‘I looked at the caller ID on my phone. It was my old house number. The fucker was in my house.’

  He shook his head. ‘That didn’t match his profile. Coming after me wasn’t what he was supposed to do. He was supposed to …’ He shrugged, ‘I don’t know any more what he was supposed to do. I just know I got it wrong. I remember rushing over there but I was too late. He had already killed her. Do you know what he did to his victims?’

  Although Meyer nodded, Creed went on to explain. ‘He tortured them with a knife. He cut them. The blood was everywhere. And just for me, he had made a small bonfire in my living room. He went through the entire house, pulled down photographs from the walls, from albums: all the pictures of Megan there were, every fucking one, and he burnt them all.’

  Creed finished his drink in one gulp, and ordered another. The waitress looked concerned when she took the empty glass from the man with the tear-stained cheeks.

  Creed continued his story. ‘I wanted to kill myself the moment I saw her body, but I refused to die before he did. So I searched the house.’