7 Days

by Deon Meyer

  ‘I think the email of February twenty-seventh is important, because it tells us he experienced pressure and tension. I can speculate and say it was because he was announcing himself to the media with that message, but things didn’t play out exactly as he expected. He missed, but it may have been because he was nearly discovered, that he had some kind of narrow escape. You might well look into that. A speeding fine? Ran a red light? Or perhaps it was merely a case of his initial motivation decreasing, so that he began to wonder about the moral justification behind it all. He clearly knows the difference between right and wrong – the Bible verses are good evidence – but to shoot someone in reality is a traumatic experience. What I am trying to say, is that he is not a hundred per cent stable. But highly motivated – it takes an enormous amount of faith in your cause to prepare a vehicle and weapon, to wait in ambush and shoot a policeman. And that combination makes him dangerous. The dilemma is, the more policemen he shoots, the less he has to lose. Mbali, you asked me this morning to take the calibre and the missed shot into account …’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Mbali.

  ‘If you consider the calibre along with the missed shot and the stress of the email, you can deduce that he has not had specialised military training. I know men of the apartheid era all did military service, but this man was most likely in a support unit, and did not have combat experience.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Mbali, taking notes.

  ‘For what it’s worth,’ the psychologist said. ‘Now, I promised to say something more about the timing: the conclusion that he is a white collar nine-to-fiver, is naturally easy. But it could also mean that he has to work among other people, that he’s not alone in an office, with a door that he can lock. Given the fringe personality profile, I believe he is not popular at work, at most in a middle management job, but more likely in a lowlier position. For a man of his age and intellectual ability it must be a frustration and an insult, and might form part of his motivation to regain power and self-respect in this way.

  ‘But there is another alternative. We know that a crime committed after five o’clock in the afternoon usually results in less accurate eye-witness accounts. People are tired, they are hurrying home, they are reluctant to become involved. Now, the question is: does Solomon know that?’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘You know it’s all conjecture, Mbali, but it could mean that he has knowledge of the nature of police investigations. He may have worked for, or with the SAPS. There is also the fact that he is specifically shooting members of the Service. It could be that he has a grudge. Probably not a policeman, if we look at the calibre and the bad shooting, but you never know. I would look at dishonourable discharges of administrative personnel or reservists, people who were arrested or investigated for misconduct.’

  ‘In the past year or so?’

  ‘In the past ten years.’

  Colonel Werner du Preez of CATS sighed audibly.

  ‘I’m sorry, but that’s the reality,’ the forensic psychologist said. ‘If he has a grudge, it could have taken years to progress this far.’

  ‘Ilse, this is Musad Manie. The shooter phoned Captain Benny Griessel directly to get his email address …’

  ‘At what time, Brigadier?’ asked Captain Brody.

  Manie looked at Griessel. ‘About half past three,’ he said. ‘From somewhere in the city.’

  ‘Interesting. Has he sent anything yet?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘The question I have,’ said Manie, ‘is whether we should try to start a conversation with him through Benny?’

  There was a long silence over the line before she answered. ‘That is a very difficult one, brigadier. All the usual rules of interrogation apply. You want him to do all the talking, so your communication must be very short and cryptic. It’s almost like hostage negotiation, you want to keep rephrasing what he says in order to draw him out. But in this case he’s sitting safely behind his anonymity, he has time to think everything through before he answers an email.’

  ‘So you don’t recommend it?’

  ‘It’s thin ice. Perhaps too thin.’

  ‘Ilse, Werner du Preez of CATS. It doesn’t seem as though our search for the Kia is going to produce anything. We have to assume it is one of the three that were stolen in the past few months and not recovered …’

  ‘Colonel, with respect, I would be most surprised. Middle-aged white collar workers are practically never car thieves. They just don’t have the skills …’

  ‘But there is a very good chance that the rifle was also stolen,’ said Mbali. ‘We have eliminated almost all the legal owners.’

  ‘Let me think a minute …’ said Ilse Brody. Silence in the room while they waited for her response. Then she said, ‘As we all know, nothing is impossible. But it really does not fit with anything else. My best guess would be someone close to law enforcement. Perhaps a rifle that was handed in to the police? An impounded van? I don’t know …’

  ‘What will he do if we go to the media with the description of the vehicle?’ du Preez asked.

  ‘Colonel, does he know we know about the Kia?’

  ‘He might suspect.’

  ‘I wouldn’t recommend it. He will just change vehicles. And naturally, every Kia on the road would panic the public …’

  ‘That’s what I thought. And then there is the possibility of copycats …’

  ‘I don’t think copycats are very likely in this case. As you know, Colonel, it happens mostly with economic crime in this country.’

  ‘Any advice, Ilse?’ Manie asked.

  ‘Brigadier, the key lies in that email of February twenty-seventh. Since last night he has become a murderer. He will feel the pressure, and I think he struggles under pressure. In his next communication he will try to justify it, he will offer more Bible verses. I am specially thinking of “A time to kill” and “a time for war”. He will try to blame everyone but himself, a case of “the police made me do it”. Our message to the media must remain consistent: He is psychologically unstable, he is an extremist and a murderer. We must continue to attack his moral high ground, the Messiah thing. That is how we increase the pressure on him. So that he makes more mistakes. That is the only way we’ll catch him.’

  After the meeting was over, Griessel walked to his office and phoned Cupido.

  ‘How does it look, Vaughn?’

  ‘Nearly finished, but it’s the three wise monkeys, Benna. Hear and speak and see no evil, they were this happy band of lawyer brothers and sisters all working together in paradise.’

  That was the way it usually went. He told Cupido of his brief phone conversation with the shooter, and Captain Ilse Brody’s theory of a professional fringe figure. ‘He knew her, Vaughn, and he knew Pruis. More and more I think he’s in a corner at Silbersteins. Ask them if they know about such a man, in his late forties. Loner. A lurker, bad tempered and quiet and arrogant, with a superior attitude, that he’s better than them.’

  ‘These are lawyers, Benna, they all think they are better than the rest. But I get the picture. I’ll ask.’

  ‘I want to hold a JOC meeting at six o’clock. Will you be able to make it?’

  ‘Make it quarter past and I’ll be there.’

  He phoned Alexa. She answered immediately, a little anxiously. ‘Don’t tell me you’re on your way already.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m not allowed to say.’ There was a mischievous note in her voice. ‘Will you phone before you come?’

  ‘I will, but it could get late tonight.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter, as long as you phone.’

  ‘I will. Is Ella still there?’

  ‘She is, and she will stay until just before you come.’

  He heard Ella say something in the background, and then both women laughed conspiratorially. But before he could ask what it was about, Fick appeared in the door, his bloodhound face excited for the first time in months.

 
; ‘Benny, you better come. The shooter has sent you an email …’

  39

  762a89z012@anonimail.com

  Sent: Tuesday 1 March. 16.57

  To: jannie.erlank@dieburger.com

  CC: j.afrika@saps.gov.za; b.griessel@dpmo.saps.gov.za

  Re: Collateral damage

  I want to convey my sincere sympathy to the next of kin of Constable Errol Matthys. His death was never my intention and I wish to apologise for this tragic incident. If the SAPS had not protected the murderers of Hanneke Sloet, it would not have been necessary for me to use extrema remedia. Unfortunately Errol Matthys is part of the SAPS and part of the government of this country, and they do not do what is just: Deuteronomy 16:20: ‘That which is altogether just shalt thou follow, that thou mayest live, and inherit the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee’.

  After this tragic incident I will give the SAPS one day’s grace to tell the truth: 1 Kings 22:16: ‘How many times shall I adjure thee that thou tell me nothing but that which is true in the name of the Lord?’ Today I will not shoot a policeman. Proverbs 3:8: a time for peace. If the SAPS still has not made an announcement regarding the arrest of Hanneke Sloet’s murderers, it will be a time for war again. If there is more collateral damage I will not be the one to blame. I have no other choice. I warned them forty days ago.

  Solomon

  They crowded around the screen to read it. Griessel noted their attention and focus. He thought, the shooter bastard had them just where he wanted.

  ‘He is pretty desperate to regain the moral high ground,’ said Mbali.

  ‘New verses,’ said Brigadier Manie. ‘Now he wants to inherit the land.’

  ‘And a few old ones,’ said Nyathi.

  ‘And the same Latin,’ said Manie. ‘That’s all he knows. But Ilse was right. He blames everyone but himself.’

  ‘And he likes his nickname,’ said Mbali.

  ‘Benny, haven’t you anything to say?’ asked Manie.

  The rage at the shooter grew inside him. But if he let himself say what he wanted to say, he would disappoint Mbali deeply. ‘Brigadier, why did he go to all that trouble to get my email address? For this load of tripe? It doesn’t make sense.’

  There were thirty-seven people in the big parade room on the ground floor.

  Griessel stood in front at the table and began a summary of the new information he had gained: Roch and Sloet’s two girl friends who said she spent practically all her time at work. The newly discovered blood smears, apparently made by the weapon, which had been put down on the floor. Prof Phil Pagel’s theory about a home-made weapon, the size and length of it, and the outside chance of a well-organised serial killer who might have taken her underwear as a memento. The strongest likelihood was that it was pure robbery, something small and valuable that Sloet had in her possession.

  One of the Violent Crimes detectives stood up. ‘Benny, robbery is our best chance. We have found four okes who worked at the block of flats and who have previous convictions.’

  ‘Good work,’ said Nyathi, as the room buzzed.

  ‘An oke who worked for the removals company has done time for robbery,’ said the detective. ‘Three of the builders’ and plumbers’ people have records too. Breaking and entering, assault and robbery. They’re being brought in now. But we have to know what was stolen from her flat.’

  ‘Do we have news, Philip?’ Griessel asked Captain van Wyk of IMC.

  Van Wyk shook his head. ‘We looked at Sloet’s short-term insurance policy. There were no valuable items specified. Just the usual. Household contents and car.’

  ‘Her friends said the same thing,’ said Griessel. ‘And Sloet left the spare key of her apartment with one of them. That leaves us with two possibilities: she forgot to lock her door and bolt it, put on the safety chain. Or she knew the suspect.’

  ‘And drugs?’ asked the Violent Crimes detective.

  ‘Nothing in her apartment, nothing in her blood,’ said Griessel.

  ‘People neglect to specify valuables,’ said Nyathi. ‘Grill the four with criminal records, really turn up the heat. If an alibi looks just a little shaky, you come to me right away, and we’ll get a search warrant. Are we posting people at their homes, to make sure they don’t get their buddies to offload evidence?’

  ‘We’re working with the uniform branches, sir,’ said the Violent Crimes detective. ‘All the premises are secure.’

  ‘OK,’ said Nyathi. ‘What else?’

  Captain Philip van Wyk stood up again. ‘Sloet’s cellphone records from July to December last year have come, we are busy putting them into the system. There’s a lot of new data, along with the apartment building’s people. We are going to work through the night, so we should have plotted everything by early tomorrow morning. Then we looked at serial murders with a similar modus operandi, and there is nothing. Not locally or nationally. And only one other matter, it might not mean anything: I asked one of my people to put Sloet’s financial affairs through our analysis program. It seems as though she has been spending less and less each month, especially on her credit card since January last year. The decrease was relatively small at first, between three and five per cent in January and February, but then it got bigger. By December it was a twelve per cent decrease on a year-to-year basis, while her disposable income increased in this period.’

  ‘It could be the work,’ said Griessel. ‘Her friends said in the last year she had much less free time.’

  He thanked van Wyk, and asked Cupido whether the interrogations at Silbersteins had produced anything. Vaughn stole the limelight with his usual witticisms about the character, pomp and circumstance of lawyers. He said they had looked at everything – even Sloet’s access card and keys to the office building – and there was nothing valuable missing. ‘And the shrink’s profile of an obnoxious recluse didn’t pan out. Pruis the Ace told me they don’t appoint people like that.’

  When he emerged from the meeting and switched his phone back on, there was a voicemail. He listened. It was General Afrika. ‘Benny, I see the scoundrel now has your email too. Just wanted to know whether he has sent you anything else.’

  Before he called back, the Violent Crimes group brought in the first of four suspects with criminal records – the plumber’s assistant. Shortly after that the packer from the removals company and the two construction workers arrived.

  A duet of experienced detectives questioned each one separately in a DPCI office, while another two stood by to take calls and check alibis in cooperation with the SAPS stations. Nyathi himself drove to KFC to buy cold drinks and a few buckets of chicken. They ate and worked without stopping.

  Griessel walked from room to room listening. His heart sank, little by little, as the innocence of one suspect after the other was confirmed.

  At a quarter to eleven he walked to Manie’s office. The commanding officer was on the phone, but beckoned Griessel to enter. Benny sat and listened to Manie soothingly bring the Lieutenant General in Pretoria up to date.

  ‘I know the media are having a field day, General … No, I didn’t watch the TV news … I understand, General. The whole unit is involved, but … No, General, we have no excuses … I assure you, we are doing our absolute best …’ All said with stoic patience, until he at last put the receiver softly and carefully down on its cradle.

  ‘I’m sorry, Brigadier,’ said Griessel.

  ‘You have nothing to be sorry about, Benny.’ Manie wearily wiped his forehead, the first sign Griessel had seen that the pressure was getting to him.

  ‘The men with records, Brigadier … We couldn’t find anything. They’re all clean.’

  ‘You were expecting that, Benny.’

  ‘Yes, Brigadier. She wouldn’t have opened the door to any of them.’

  ‘And she would have locked the door. In that half empty building.’

  ‘Yes, Brigadier.’

  Manie stood up and picked up his jacket. ‘In other words, IMC is our last hope,’ he said.
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br />   ‘Yes, Brigadier.’

  Again the hand wiping the brow, eyebrows to crown. ‘I want you to know I think you have done excellent work so far, Benny. It makes no difference what the general says.’

  ‘Not excellent enough, Brigadier.’

  Manie gripped his arm. ‘Come on, let’s go home. Tomorrow is another day.’

  Griessel fetched the case file and his jacket from his office, walked down the silent passage to the lift. He heard hurried footsteps from the stairwell side.

  ‘Captain!’

  He turned. Fick trotted towards him. ‘There’s another email, Benny. From the shooter.’

  ‘Did you read it?’

  ‘That’s the thing. He didn’t write anything. It’s just a photo.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Of a man.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’

  It was a black-and-white photograph, just the head and shoulders of a white man in a black jacket of perfect cut, white shirt and tie. His face was slightly angled to the right, his eyes turned away from the camera. He grinned with small, sharp teeth, like a shark. There were lines around his mouth and eyes, he looked about fifty-something. The hair was combed straight back, with the help of gel or hair oil maybe, so that his forehead stretched high above the dark eyebrows. He was clean-shaven.

  ‘Do you know him, Captain?’

  ‘Never seen him before,’ said Griessel. ‘Didn’t he write anything with this?’

  ‘Nothing. He sent it to you, Captain, and General Afrika. And he saved the photo as “MK”.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It looks like it is scanned out of a newspaper or something, and then he saved it as a jpeg file with the name “MK”.’

  ‘MK,’ said Griessel.

  ‘It couldn’t be Umkhonto we Sizwe, this guy is white.’