7 Days

by Deon Meyer

  He copied and pasted what he needed.

  The insecurity of the previous night, the all-consuming fear, was gone. He was aware of the excitement inside him, the quiet satisfaction. But not complacency. He would guard against complacency, that’s where the danger lay, the risk of underestimating and making mistakes. But he could enjoy this morning, the euphoria that he was experiencing since he had seen the newspapers.

  SAPS say sniper is religious extremist, the headlines broadcast this morning.

  Extremist. He had aimed lower. He had hoped they would think he was a serious Bible Basher, but extremist was better. It fitted with: According to Captain John Cloete, the SAPS media spokesman, the communication between the sniper and Hawks was ‘incoherent’ …

  An incoherent extremist. A disturbed, unpredictable person who would make a stupid blunder sooner or later. That’s what they thought, and it suited him very well.

  He must confirm that perception. He must lead them further from the truth.

  He directed the web browser to anonimail.com and logged in. Then he copied and pasted the folder, the first of two emails that he had formulated, in controlled, suppressed self-satisfaction.

  Just as Griessel stood up from his desk to go to Cupido, his cellphone rang.

  FRITZ.

  He sat down again and answered.

  ‘Hello, Fritz.’

  ‘Pa, Carla is so hypocritical.’

  ‘Fritz, I’m …’

  ‘Did you see her Facebook yet, Pa?’ He reconsidered: ‘OK, OK, let me rephrase that, Pa, she’s got a photo on Facebook of her new boyfriend.’

  ‘New boyfriend?’ He hadn’t even known she had an old boyfriend.

  ‘Some or other rugby dude. Muscleman.’ The last word pronounced as though it was something unmentionable. ‘Calla Etzebeth.’

  ‘Fritz, I …’

  ‘He’s got a tattoo, Pa. A moerse Maori type of thing on his arm. And she tells me I mustn’t get a tatt. What sort of hypocrite is that? Height of hypocrity.’

  ‘Hypocrisy,’ Griessel corrected him. ‘Fritz, it doesn’t matter. Just because he has one doesn’t mean you must too …’

  ‘I know, Pa, I’m not stupid. But it’s hypocrisy. That’s what I say.’

  ‘Since when is this guy her boyfriend?’

  ‘Seems like they met during Rag. During the Windows festival. And now Rag is history. A year before I can go and study.’

  Griessel couldn’t keep up. ‘Now you want to study? I thought you just wanted to play music …’

  ‘Pa, it’s an option. A guy has to keep his options open. How could Maties do away with Rag?’

  The telephone on his desk rang. ‘Fritz, hold on …’ He picked up. ‘Griessel.’

  Brigadier Manie’s deep voice: ‘CATS are doing a briefing, Benny. Can you and your team attend?’

  25

  Cupido was busy on the phone. ‘Lady, I understand that. But I am a captain in the Directorate for Priority Crime Investigation. The Hawks. And I’m investigating a murder …’

  Griessel sat down, his mind on Carla. And Calla, the muscle-bound rugby player with the Maori tattoo.

  He had a good relationship with his daughter. They talked about a lot of things. Why hadn’t she told him about Calla Etzebeth, new boyfriend? There must be a reason. Was she afraid of the muscle man? Was he on steroids, one of those that produced outbursts of rage and pimples? What had he said to her, complain to your father and I’ll smack you?

  He would bliksem the fucker, muscles or no muscles.

  ‘Do you want me to call the press, lady?’ Cupido asked over the phone. ‘Tell them Air France isn’t interested in aiding the police in apprehending the cold-blooded killer of an innocent young woman?’

  Did Anna know about the relationship? What did a Maori tattoo look like? What sort of young man would let that be done to him? He would have to take a look on Facebook. First have to find out how. Facebook. Twitter. Cupido calling him ‘old school’. Maybe it was true, but where did people find the time for all this stuff?

  ‘When will you get back to me? Every minute this killer is loose …’ said Cupido, and cast his eyes up to the heavens.

  ‘You broadcast yourself,’ Cupido had said. All that he could broadcast was: I am Benny Griessel. I am an alcoholic. A man who makes a fool of himself. Often. An old-school policeman who doesn’t get enough sleep.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Cupido, and slammed the phone down. ‘Fucking Frenchies,’ he said. ‘Won’t give me mademoiselle Danielle Fornicate’s telephone number. Eet ees not cahmpahnee poleecee,’ he put on his French accent, but to Griessel it sounded more like Spanish.

  ‘Have you got the Facebook, Vaughn?’

  ‘You don’t ask: “Have you got the Facebook?” You ask: “Are you on Facebook?” And of course I am. Why?’

  Griessel sighed. ‘I have to look at something on it. Later. We have to go and listen to Mbali first.’

  In the parade room, Colonel du Preez, commanding officer of CATS, and Mbali stood in front of a substantial team. There were four senior uniforms, CATS detectives, and Captain Philip van Wyk of IMC, the Hawks’ Information Management Centre.

  Mbali was already busy: ‘… stress that this is only a preliminary ballistics report.’ She looked up, saw Griessel and Cupido. She motioned them to come and sit down. ‘A preliminary report, because the bullets were very fragmented, but they recovered enough from the boot and the ankle of Lieutenant Colonel Dlodlo to tell me the calibre is either triple-two or two-two-three. The reason why the bullets were fragmented is because they are most likely Remington Premier Accutip cartridges. These bullets have a polymer tip, and when they hit, the tip is driven to the back so that the soft lead core explodes. They use this ammunition to kill problem animals like jackals and crows on farms – it’s not very popular for other hunting, because it damages the meat.’

  Small calibre, Griessel thought. Strange. He had expected something more impressive.

  ‘This helps us a lot,’ said Mbali. ‘I am going to ask you four guys to help Captain van Wyk and the IMC. We need to get the names of everyone who owns a triple-two or a two-two-three rifle from National Firearms Registry, and those who bought Remington Premier Accutip cartridges. IMC will create a database to crosscheck them. I know it’s a big job, it’s a tedious job, but we have to remember, we have this madman who’s shooting our colleagues. So, as the data comes in, we also have to check it against a list of people who had suppressors made. I’ve spoken to two gunsmiths who build suppressors, and they say they all keep invoices with names and addresses. I need you to be forceful and assertive in getting the data from the gun shops and the gunsmiths. Time isn’t on our side. We’ll start with the Western Cape, and broaden the search from there if we don’t have any luck.’

  Mbali delegated the work, explained the latest theories, that it was one or two working men, who had to keep to office hours, Afrikaans-speaking, most probably white. She was still waiting for the forensic psychologist’s report, so there was as yet no official profile of age and race. She said the uniformed officers must please instruct the stations to keep their eyes open for a parked sedan car, for a blanket or tarp that might hide the back seat, because there was a suspicion he was shooting through the boot. The silencer made the rifle longer, therefore it was unlikely to be a small vehicle. A minibus was also a possibility, maybe with curtains over the windows, anything that could hide the sniper from curious eyes while he took aim and shot. The possibility that it might be another type of vehicle could not be excluded, so therefore to be on alert in all cases.

  Griessel watched how the men sat and listened to her. They were focused, as always when members of the Force were in the firing line.

  Mbali gave a description of the silencer. She clapped her hands to illustrate the sound. She said it could be masked by street noise, therefore police stations in the busier parts of the Peninsula should be especially alert. The task team was ready, she gave them the number again. If any patrol spo
tted a suspicious vehicle, please, just write down the particulars, the make and colour and registration number, let her and the task team know.

  When the detectives and the uniformed officers stood up and filed out, Griessel approached her. Cupido followed him.

  ‘Benny, did I do all right?’ Mbali asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘of course. Mbali, the sniper … I’ve been thinking all morning. There must be a reason he didn’t tell the media about the communists …’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And all I can think of is that he is worried someone will then be able to identify him.’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Cupido. ‘The sniper is talking about communists? Is that why you …’

  ‘Vaughn, the brigadier will fire us both if you talk about this.’

  ‘My lips are zipped.’

  ‘In his emails … the sniper says a communist is behind Sloet’s murder. And he says we know who it is.’

  ‘But that’s bullshit.’

  ‘Captain,’ said Mbali. ‘Please. When a man uses profanity to support an argument, either the man or the argument is weak.’

  ‘Don’t you lecture me,’ said Cupido aggressively.

  Mbali ignored him. ‘Benny, you think he’s worried someone can identify him?’

  ‘Maybe the shooter knew her. Maybe … he’s worried that someone will make the connection if it gets into the media that he’s talking about communists. And he knows we can’t afford to go public with the information … I don’t know. There must be a reason.’

  He nursed his dull head, he just couldn’t formulate the thing right.

  ‘Why can’t we go public?’ asked Cupido.

  ‘Vaughn, I can’t talk about it. Politics.’

  The light went on for Cupido. ‘So you’re saying, there’s a commie … Part of the big transaction?’

  ‘No comment,’ Griessel said. He looked at Mbali. ‘All I’m saying is that we should look at all her friends’ and colleagues’ firearm licences, do another crosscheck …’

  ‘That’s a good idea, Benny. Will you give me the names?’

  ‘Wait a bit,’ said Cupido. ‘Egan Roch works on a farm.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Mbali said those bullets, they use them on farms for vermin. They must have vermin on a wine farm? That they shoot?’

  ‘You think Roch is the gunman?’

  ‘You just said friends and colleagues. Egan is a friend. With benefits. He njapsed her in December. Is njaps also a profanity, Mbali?’

  ‘Don’t be childish. Who is this Egan?’

  ‘Egan Roch. Sloet’s ex-boyfriend. Vaughn and I went to see him this morning. He lied to Nxesi, so he’s now officially a suspect.’

  ‘But if Roch killed her, why would he shoot policemen? Why would he write about communists?’

  ‘Because he’s panicking,’ said Cupido.

  ‘Two months after he killed her?’

  Her tone was very sceptical.

  ‘Hell, Mbali, he has no idea how the investigation is going. He sits in his barrel shop and worries, why is everything so quiet? What are the cops up to? Are they going to take another look at me if they don’t find anything else? So he pulls a communist out of the hat quickly. Come on, don’t look so sceptical. Sloet opened that door for somebody she knew. A month before her death, he was njapsing her. And afterwards, while they were lying there she says: Egan, darling, I must tell you the one about the communist and the big deal … So he could have known.’

  Griessel considered the possibility. He thought of the missing spare key to Sloet’s front door, which she could have given to someone she trusted. Someone who might now and then bonk her. ‘It’s possible,’ he said, ‘because the more we look for a communist and a motive, the less likely it is—’

  Mbali’s cellphone rang inside her giant handbag. She took it out, answered.

  They listened to her say, ‘Yes, sir’, and, ‘Thank you, sir’, then ring off.

  ‘There’s another email,’ she said.

  ‘Interesting timing,’ said Cupido. ‘Right after we were at the barrel maker.’

  ‘No,’ said Mbali. ‘Bad timing. There goes my whole theory about the weekend warrior.’

  26

  762a89z012@anonimail.com

  Sent: Monday 28 February. 13.29

  To: j.afrika@saps.gov.za

  Re: To the Liar Captain Benny Griessel

  Am I a religious extremist because I am glad when justice prevails? (Proverbs 21:15)

  I pray that you are shocked at the injustice done since 18 January. Why do you say I am incoherent? I said the same thing from the begining. You know who Hanneke Sloet’s murderer is. You have all been in this together with the communist for years. I have to do something to force you to break your old loyalties. I take my strength from Ecclesiastes 3. It is not extremism, it is The Truth.

  Is it more important to you to protect the communist than protecting policemen?

  You have to decide.

  ‘Crazy mother—’ said Cupido, and swallowed the last part of the word.

  Mbali barely heard him. ‘He sent it during lunch time,’ she said, relieved.

  ‘This is new,’ said Griessel. ‘For years … old loyalties.’

  ‘And the singular again,’ said Mbali. ‘Yesterday it was plural, in his email to the media.’

  ‘Only one spelling mistake.’

  ‘He’s right, you know. He has been saying the same thing.’

  ‘But only to us. Why not to the media?’

  ‘Maybe that will change …’

  Griessel shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I’m going to get a search warrant,’ said Cupido. ‘Maybe there is an underlined Bible in the barrel maker’s house.’

  ‘I want the case file back from you first,’ said Griessel.

  He closed his office door, put the thick folder on his desk, and sat down, elbows on the desktop. He rubbed his eyes.

  He would have to pull himself together. He had to focus. He just couldn’t tell one end from the other right now.

  He opened the file, took out the latest email.

  You have all been in this together with the communist for years.

  Why did the gunman only say this now? Why hadn’t he said from the beginning that there was an old connection between the communist and the SAPS? If it wasn’t for the Bible verses, he would say the fucker was playing them.

  He took out the older emails, read them in order.

  This guy was jumping around, from the first powerful, punchy threats, to the hyper-religious, self-justifying quotes, and the misspelled hysteria of yesterday. And now the new one. With exactly the same verses. The same message: It is the communist. You know who it is.

  But they didn’t know.

  The same verses. Over and over.

  A new possibility occurred to him. Maybe the man was very religious. Not an extremist, just a happy-clappy, belonging to one of those charismatic churches where they healed with the laying on of hands and spoke in tongues. Did Hanneke Sloet belong to a church? Could it be someone she had got to know that way? Did she have seriously religious friends or colleagues? He would have to find out, and he would have to go and show Bones the in this together for years quote.

  But first he should make the call he had been putting off for two days now. He dialled the Jeffreys Bay code, then the number. It rang for a long time. Then a woman’s voice, ‘This is Marna.’

  ‘Ma’am, this is Captain Benny Griessel of the Hawks in Cape Town. I am working on the—’

  ‘I have to read in the papers that you’ve reopened the case.’ A statement, without recrimination, just calm and strong.

  ‘Ma’am, I’m truly—’

  ‘It’s a disgrace, Captain. The papers are calling us non-stop. I don’t want to portray the police in a bad light, but you make it very difficult for me.’

  ‘I am very sorry, ma’am. It … There is no excuse, I should have phoned you.’

  ‘Ver
y well. Apology accepted. Do you have any news?’

  ‘Ma’am, it is too early—’

  ‘What is going on with this man who keeps shooting policemen? Does he have a connection with my daughter? He is bringing her name into disrepute.’

  This was something he didn’t want to discuss now. ‘Ma’am, there are many more questions that we cannot answer. That is one of the reasons I am phoning.’

  ‘So how may I help you?’

  ‘Ma’am, let me say I am sorry for your loss. I can understand that this is a difficult time.’

  ‘Thank you. We have to persevere, Captain. We have no choice. What do you want to ask me?’

  ‘According to your statement, Miss Sloet spent Christmas with you …’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘How long was she there?’

  ‘Just three days. She arrived on the twenty-fourth, and she went back on the twenty-seventh. There was some uncertainty about the new apartment, whether it would be ready on time. She couldn’t stay longer.’

  ‘What was her state of mind?’

  ‘Captain, you know officer Nxesi asked us all this back in January?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, and I am sorry. I know it is difficult to go through all this again … the trouble is, only your official statement is on record, along with the investigating officer’s notes. And I am trying to see it all with fresh eyes.’

  ‘I told Nxesi I had never seen Hanneke like that before. She was …’ Her voice deepened with emotion, as though the wound had reopened. She was quiet a moment, and when she spoke again, Griessel could hear the effort in her voice. ‘She was happy. She was never very demonstrative. Just like her mother. But I could see my child was happy. That is why her death …’ Again she had to stop to gather her strength. ‘It was such a loss, Captain.’

  ‘I understand, ma’am.’

  ‘Do you have children?’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘Yes. Then you will understand.’

  ‘Did she say why she was so happy?’

  ‘Not precisely. And I didn’t ask. She was such a private person, ever since she was small. I gathered things were going well at work, and she was excited about her new apartment.’ As an afterthought: ‘I think she was enjoying her freedom.’