The Top Prisoner of C-Max

by Wessel Ebersohn

  Beloved had seen Hall the moment he left the scrub. She knew that he had gone to the back of the house, but had not seen that as significant. She was waiting for him when the doorbell sounded.

  A flick of the remote button unlocked the security gate. She heard his feet on the floor as he came in. The gate clicked closed behind him. The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of a car coming up the road from the direction of the city and the barking of a distant dog. But Beloved heard neither.

  He had to be standing just inside the front door, waiting for some sign or movement from her. But that was fine. When he moved he would have to step into the light and he would then be a perfect target. Beloved had practised many hours and fired many rounds waiting for this moment. She had adjusted the gun’s backstrap system until it fitted her hand perfectly. She knew that at this range she could hit a target far smaller than Oliver Hall ten times out of ten. It was only the intensity of her concentration that left her unaware of the way her skin was sweating where it pressed against the polymer frame of the gun.

  ‘Beloved.’ At last he spoke. ‘Beloved, it’s Oliver.’ Trying to keep his voice gentle and intentionally seductive was not easy. In his mind, he was seeing her breasts as he had seen them only minutes before. His erection pressed against his underpants.

  Beloved heard beyond the pretence. ‘Come in, Oliver. I hoped you’d come. I’ve been waiting for you.’ Yes, she thought, just come into the hallway where you’ll be in my line of fire. Just come that far.

  You bitch, he thought. Maybe you have been waiting for me, maybe you haven’t. But this is not right. This is not right at all. ‘I don’t know where you are,’ he said.

  Beloved read the lie in his voice. ‘Just a few steps, then down the hallway to your left and straight into my bedroom.’ Her voice sounded far more relaxed than his. ‘Come on, lover. Don’t keep a lady waiting.’

  ‘I’d just like to know where to find you.’

  ‘Right here, lover, straight down the hallway.’

  Hall moved and the movement was as decisive as it was sudden. In a moment he had swept past the entrance to the hallway and into the kitchen. The moment was brief, but she thought that, in that instant, she had looked into his eyes.

  What is he playing at? Beloved asked herself. I doubt that the kitchen knives will suit him better than the one he’s already carrying.

  She remained completely still where he had seen her. Her gun hand too was unmoving. If he rushed her from the hallway and there was a need to fire fast she had the option of firing through the cushion. There was also the option of taking out the gun to make aiming easier. Another option may be to move from her position on the bed, perhaps to shelter behind the doorframe.

  Beloved was still considering her options when the lights in the bungalow went out. The hallway and living room were in almost complete darkness. Only the candlelight from the bedroom broke the gloom and now they were a disadvantage. Beloved moved quickly to blow them out.

  Oh God, how could I have been so damned foolish? she asked herself.

  And now there was a new silence. This time it was the silence that came with darkness and a level of fear she had not felt while the lights were on and the candles burning.

  At first there was silence. Then she heard breathing, deep fast breaths. But no, the sound of the breathing was following the movement of her own chest.

  It’s me, she thought. The surest way to die tonight is to fire off all my rounds into the darkness. Just stay steady, she told the hand holding the gun. Just stay steady. Fire when I tell you, not before.

  And yet she knew that she was not afraid to die. But her father, whom she had never known, was in the room with her and if she died she would be betraying him. Everyone who had ever known him had told her what a gentle soul he was.

  So come close, Mr Hall. The daughter’s not that gentle. The darkness may be your friend, but Mr Glock is mine.

  And was that a movement in the hallway? She could barely hear the sound. Could it be the careful movement of his feet on the tiling?

  A door handle rattled. That would be the door of the only other bedroom that led out of the hallway. He had brushed against it. And now there was no doubt that he was coming.

  Her eyes were fixed on the place in the darkness where she knew the doorway was located. He knows where I am, she thought. Move, but do it soundlessly.

  She slipped off the bed and took up a position in the nearest corner. The doorway was not even an outline in the darkness. The sound of his strange little snorting reached her from the hallway. Too bad, Oliver Hall, she thought. We all have inheritances we would rather have avoided. She pointed the Glock in the direction of the sound.

  Why doesn’t he say something? Beloved asked herself. And is that the shuffling of feet?

  The sound was barely audible, but it was unmistakably the sound of movement. If he thought she was still on the bed and he went after her there, she would hear him. The bed springs were not soundless.

  He must also be wondering why I say nothing. Or has he guessed? Glancing down, she saw that the gold of her dress showed vaguely in the darkness. Perhaps my hair does too. Just how much can he see? Is some light, even the faintest, getting through the blinds behind me?

  The snort was clearer this time, and too close.

  If I fire once, will the explosion give me enough light to aim the second shot? But if I fire and miss will that just give away my position? Will that moment be enough for him to find me?

  And now there was breathing and Beloved was sure that it was not hers. It was heavier than hers and there was something of the snorting in it that she had heard a moment before.

  Wait, she told herself. Just wait. You may only have one shot. Just wait until you’re certain.

  Beloved had heard no further sound from the security gate, but now she heard Abigail’s voice. ‘Beloved. Beloved, are you in there?’ Abigail would be blocked by the security gate. She had heard it close behind Hall. ‘Beloved, let me in.’

  Christ, Abigail, what are you doing here? And do I dare answer? No, answering was not possible. It will be the last thing I do.

  ‘Beloved, if you’re in there, answer me.’

  No, Abigail, that’s one thing I can’t do, Beloved thought.

  She could still hear the breathing, but it seemed softer. Could he have turned towards the door?

  The remote control of the security gate was at the bed side. Beloved reached it in two quick steps and pressed the button. She heard the clack from the front door as it opened. But now she needed protection and so did Abigail.

  Beloved scrambled across the bed to reach the other side of the room. A grasping hand closed around her calf and he was dragging her towards him. She fired on reflex. In that moment she slipped free. ‘Abigail, the light box is in the kitchen,’ she yelled. She could hear the fear in her voice.

  She was in the other corner now, facing outward, the gun pointed toward the bed, but held close to her body. She could hear no sound from the bed. Have I hit him? I fired at where I thought he was. But was he there?

  In the front of the house something fell. Perhaps Abigail had knocked over a chair. Or had he gone after her?

  The breathing was clearly audible again, closer than before. Again she heard the snorting, but softer, under tight control. And where was the knife? He would want to be sure he knew where she was before he struck. But did he already know?

  Beloved fired at the sound, the explosion almost without reflex. Blinded by the flash from the gun, she saw nothing. Then there was a grunt of a different sort. Was it the sound of pain? She moved again, closer to the doorway. She knew she had to move. The shots had given away her position.

  The house lights came on. He was in the hallway, moving away from her and limping. He had the knife point downwards, ready to strike from below. And he would realise that Abigail had to be in the kitchen. Beloved fired again, aiming just below the left shoulder blade, where she expected the bullet to
find his heart.

  Oliver Hall went down on his face. Almost immediately blood was flowing across the tiled floor of the bungalow. She looked down at the body, motionless except for the stream of blood. Then she lay the gun down on the bed, and leant against the doorframe, breathing deeply.

  Abigail appeared at the far end of the hall, her eyes wide with excitement and fear. It took a moment for her to absorb the scene before her. ‘You’ve killed the son of a bitch. That’s excellent. I’m glad he’s dead.’ She came no closer to the body on the ground, but her eyes searched Hall’s motionless figure. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘You only shot him in the back because the place was in complete darkness. I’ll testify to that.’

  FORTY-FOUR

  IT WAS another hour before Yudel, Freek, Moloi and the Cape policemen who had met them at the airport, and were finally persuaded to help, arrived in Scarborough. By that time, the local police had cordoned off the crime scene and Beloved and Abigail were drinking coffee at a neighbouring house. Beloved had changed from her evening wear into a sweater and jeans. ‘Hello, boys,’ Abigail said when they came in. ‘A little late for the party, but nice of you to come anyway.’ Her voice shook as she spoke, undoing the bravado in her choice of words.

  Beloved appeared altogether calm. Her voice was as even and confident as always when she thanked Yudel and Freek for their efforts. It was only when Yudel told her about the killing of Amy Morgan that he saw any sign of distress in her face. ‘Another one looking for me?’ she said. ‘I didn’t think there would be another one. And finding Amy instead? How horrible.’

  Beloved had only met Amy once, but she had a clear memory of the other woman’s lined and earnest face and the desperately died blonde hair. She had been a decent human being, doing her best to help others who needed it. How damned awful it all was. It would never have happened if I hadn’t attracted him there, she thought.

  It was then for the first and only time that Beloved cried over the night’s work.

  After he returned to Pretoria, Yudel reported to the minister that Beloved had killed Oliver Hall in self-defence. The minister had said nothing, only shaking her head at the sadness of it all.

  A week later, Enslin Kruger was fetched from his cell and taken to a waiting armoured truck. The accompanying corrections officers had not answered when he asked where he was being taken. By the time they had been on the road for five hours, he guessed at their destination, but it was only when they reached the outskirts of Kokstad that he was sure. When the truck finally stopped he tried to break away from his guard, but both his hands and feet were shackled and he was a dying man. The guards did not even try to stop him. He stumbled a few steps, tripped and lay gasping on the ground. They let him regain his breath, then lifted him to his feet and pointed him in the direction he had to take. As the doors of the Kokstad Correctional Facility closed around him, the warders heard him scream, ‘Gordon, you fucking son of a bitch, your time will come.’ None of them understood what he meant.

  Within a day of his being taken from C-Max, Jacky April had found a new protector, also a leading member of the Twenty-Eights. ‘I like it that the front teeth are gone,’ he told Jacky. ‘It’s better that way.’

  The woman from De Doorns was unconscious when she was found, but she survived. Her brother blamed her for losing his van though and made her pay back more than its book value in monthly instalments.

  Ashton Hall was visited by a lieutenant of the police station nearest to his home to inform him of the death of his brother. Ashton and his wife celebrated till late that night and were hung over the next day. He was still wearing a bandage on the wound caused by Constable Riekert’s firearm.

  Riekert and Mahlangu endured a half-hour bawling-out session by Freek, but were allowed to remain partners. A month later, they assaulted a bank robber so badly that he spent six weeks in hospital. In the process they had put their own lives in danger to save the bank staff. Both were awarded medals of honour. At the presentation parade it fell upon Freek to pin the medals on them.

  Elia Dlomo survived his wounds, but never walked again. The one shot fired by Lieutenant Moloi had shattered his spinal cord beyond all hope of repair. By the time he was discharged from the infirmary, Jenny and their child had been buried for six months.

  Dlomo’s injury was not the only barrier to his ambition to be the top inmate in C-Max. He was never returned to that institution. Instead he was placed in the high-security section of Baviaanspoort, the prison to which he was being sent at the time of his escape.

  The minister kept her promise to Penny Dongwana, authorising payment of the medical bills for three operations. And Yudel kept his promise to the minister, paying regular visits to Penny and discussing her treatment with the doctors. The operations were deemed a success, but some expressiveness had left her face and she was never again the open-faced young woman she had once been. After her recovery, she made regular visits to her husband, who was serving a two-year sentence in Central. He had not been seen as a candidate for C-Max.

  Dignified Departures won the tender for the cremation of paupers in Cape Town for the month in which Oliver Hall died. They received a list of the names, where available, of the people being cremated, but the name O. Hall meant nothing to the staff of that enterprise. He was the sixteenth of thirty-three cremated that morning.

  Director Nkabinde was given an official funeral attended by all the corrections officers in the province who could be spared. The minister, deputy minister and all senior staff who had their offices on the top floor of Poynton Building were also present. Yudel and Rosa were seated in the front row.

  Two weeks after Hall’s death, Freek sent in his motivation for the promotion of Lieutenant Louis Moloi to the rank of captain. A post needed to be filled and Moloi’s promotion was ratified immediately. Freek called Moloi in to share the good news with him.

  ‘But, sir,’ Moloi said, ‘haven’t you received my letter?’

  ‘What letter?’ Freek glared at him. This was not the reaction Freek had expected. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  Moloi felt and looked uneasy. ‘My letter of resignation.’

  ‘Resignation?’ Freek had been sitting behind his desk. Now he rose to his full height of over two metres. ‘Tell me what in hell you’re talking about.’

  ‘Me and some friends …’ Moloi began, then paused. Continuing was not easy in the face of a brigadier general who looked ready to eat you alive.

  ‘You and your friends what? Let me tell you, though, you’re a born police officer. I don’t want you telling me anything about resigning.’

  Moloi took a deep breath to bolster his courage and started again. ‘Me and some friends, we put together our savings and a bank is willing to make a loan for our business venture.’

  ‘What business venture?’

  ‘For the Gentleman’s Lodge. It’s up for tender, and our bid has been accepted. I’m going to be the MD.’

  For a moment, Freek was unable to speak, but only for a moment. ‘You’re giving up your career to become a pimp?’ he roared.

  ‘Not a pimp.’ Moloi looked affronted. ‘I’m going to be an adult-entertainment executive.’

  Freek glared at him, then threw back his head and laughed loud from deep in his chest. ‘Maybe I’ve lived too long. I no longer understand anything.’ He reached out a hand to Moloi who took it tentatively. ‘Good luck, my man. I’m sure your business will entertain plenty of adults, the male kind.’

  ‘Thanks, General. Any time you want to drop by and—’

  Freek pointed a warning finger at him. ‘Stop right there. You’re on the verge of going too far.’

  Beloved returned home within a month of killing Hall, her enthusiasm for studying African prisons having evaporated with his death. After she and Abigail had made statements to the police, the National Prosecuting Authority had informed her in writing that she was not a suspect and that they had no objection to her leaving the country.

 
She hoped to say goodbye to Yudel, but whenever she called he was in the prison, beyond the reach of telephones. She left a number of messages, but he never answered any of them.

  In the months that followed the killing of Oliver Hall, Yudel thought about the three women who had dominated that week of his life. The way he saw his relationships with them, Abigail had always captivated him and he admitted to himself that Beloved enchanted him. The proximity of either was intensely stimulating. But he never doubted that Rosa was the centre of his life. She was the very rock on which his existence was anchored. She was the one he would always go home to.

  Drinking coffee at the kitchen table of the Scarborough home next to Beloved’s bungalow, Abigail had waited for a moment when they were alone and when Beloved’s crying for Amy Morgan had stopped. Looking at her, she understood for the first time what had happened. ‘You were waiting for him,’ she said.

  Beloved said nothing.

  ‘How did you know he would come tonight?’

  ‘I can’t say. I expected he wouldn’t wait long.’

  Another matter was perhaps of greater importance. ‘I found out about your father.’

  ‘Is that why you came?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will you include it in your statement to the police?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Half an hour later, Abigail was in the street outside the bungalow, talking to Yudel, when her cellphone rang. The voice of the woman on the other end of the connection sounded familiar. She was crying.