Hear Me

by Julia North

  ‘Lucky they didn’t see you when you went,’ Tania snorts.

  ‘You know very well I was fucking careful of that. Now just shut up. I need to concentrate on what to do with these fucking sisters.’

  ‘Get rid of them both,’ sneers Tania.

  Karlos glares at her. ‘Fuck off. You know that’s what I’m trying to do.’ He gets up and picks up the hotel phone. He dials a nine and seconds later I hear Nat’s voice.

  ‘Howzit Nat, it’s Karlos. I’m sorry to phone. I just wanted to see if you’ve heard any more.’

  I hear Nat mumble an answer which makes Karlos frown.

  ‘I think maybe we should all go and see George at Fort Napier. Perhaps if the police won’t listen we can find out for ourselves.’ Nat doesn’t answer. Karlos clears his throat. ‘I can fetch you and Elsa tomorrow maybe?’

  He scowls as he listens. ‘Ja, okay. Well, you let me know when you can. Okay, bye.’ He slams down the phone and kicks at the bed. ‘Bitch is lying. I can hear in her voice she’s scared of me.’

  Tania stiffens. ‘You think they suspect something?’

  Karlos looks down from the hotel window onto the crowded beachfront promenade far below. ‘I don’t know,’ he says after a while. He turns back to look at Tania. ‘It’s probably that Elsa. She’s too shrewd. I don’t trust her.’

  ‘Hit her first.’

  Karlos sneers. ‘I already tried. I have to think of another way.’

  ‘Find some blacks who aren’t superstitious. They aren’t all like that. Get someone to break in and shoot her in the night. The police won’t think anything. If you get rid of that one, the other one will be easier to handle.’

  ‘Ja, maybe that’s the way.’ Karlos stands deep in thought for a few seconds more and then opens the drawer and fishes around. He pulls out a folded scrap of paper and picks up the phone again.

  A torrent of anger consumes me as I listen to Karlos arrange a meeting to discuss the proposed burglary. He grudgingly settles on two thousand rand. Elsa’s price has doubled. I think of Durban North with its high walls, barbed wire and strands of electrified wire aimed at burning any would-be burglar to a crisp. The majority of the homes proudly proclaim their rapid response contracts with the myriad of growing security businesses who are making a nice killing from the growing killing all around.

  I shake my head. Surely this wasn’t what Dad died for? I’m sure it isn’t what Mandela wants, or the majority of South Africans who really care for this country’s future. My spirit aches for my family and the country.

  Karlos turns to Tania with a smug smile. ‘He’ll sort something out before the end of the week. They need a good look at the place first. He’ll start talking to some of the people who work nearby. I think they must try and hit them in the night and just kill the husband too; the sooner the better. I want to get out of this fucking place now. We need to hit Joeys and enjoy the money up there as soon as it comes through.’

  Chapter 44

  Sheet lightning flashes across the heavily blanketed sky, igniting the darkness in a brief show of white light. I gaze up at the fierce night sky as a loud clap of thunder rumbles and is followed by more lightning and a second round of thunder. The headlines of horror I’ve seen displayed around the streets stream back through my mind: Husband and wife murdered in their beds; intruder stabs eighty-five-year-old woman thirty-six times; mother and child shot in their own driveway, a never-ending, blood-dimmed tide of violence and senselessness.

  The storm grows stronger. Forked lightning rips its way through the night, followed by a crash of thunder. Heavy raindrops catapult to the earth, splashing hard on Elsa’s azaleas and filling the night air with the musty smell of damp vegetation. The wind rises and pummels the lemon tree, ripping into its delicate yellow buds and bruising the young fruit.

  Elsa’s house sits low and hidden from the neighbouring properties, a burglar’s dream once you’ve managed to get through the gates and down that steep drive, especially when you’re hidden in the eye of an African thunder storm. It’s probably the best disguise of all. I shudder at the false security of it all. Karlos picked well this time.

  A shadow flickers behind the bars of the driveway gates. A heavy clunk, followed by a creak is heard through the noise the thunder of the storm. At least I’ve picked the right night. I see one of the driveway gates being forced forward. It inches bit by bit through the slanting rain as a crack of sheet lightning flickers across the sky to reveal two figures, dressed in black, their faces covered by sodden balaclavas. They squeeze sideways through the gap in the gates and creep down the driveway like shadows. One points a finger to the front door and takes out a narrow instrument from a side pocket. They wipe the slanting rain from their eyes and inserts the instrument into the lock of the front security gate with careful gloved fingers. Within seconds it clicks open. The gate creeks open in staccatos which blend in with the rumbling thunder of the night. The figure stops with his head to one side while their comrade’s eyes scan the wall of the house for any sign of waking.

  The comrade gives a curt nod and they begin on the double locks of the wooden door using the same instrument. It is inserted first into the top Yale lock, and then fiddled slowly from side to side. I frown. Why has no alarm sounded; why hasn’t Sheba barked? I glance up at the kitchen window as the heavy rain pelts against the glass like a burst of machine-gun bullets. Maybe the storm is fierce enough to hide their sound?

  The second lock gives and the front door is opened in starts. The intruder listens intently for any movement, holding this listening pose for a few seconds longer and then signalling with a dripping gloved hand to their comrade to move forward. The eyes of both are cold and dead like a shark’s. Waves of fear ripple through me. These men are in a different league from the hi-jackers; they’re well-trained, professional killers. They move silently into the house. Why hasn’t the alarm sounded?

  The killers fall onto their stomachs and inch forward to evade the infra-red sensors which beam out across the entrance. They leopard crawl in the direction of the hall, their firearms clasped out in front. They inch silently, leaving a trail of damp behind them, and head towards the door of Elsa’s bedroom like well-trained guerrilla soldiers.

  I can’t let this happen. I can’t let them kill Elsa. Before the words can repeat themselves, I propel myself towards the bedroom door. I move with such speed the air around me hisses. The leading intruder’s head jolts back as if he’s just been slapped. He stops mid-crawl and cocks his head to the side. The one behind holds his hands up in confusion, unable to work out what’s happening. I surge through the door towards the sleeping, humped bodies of Elsa and Greg and bend over Elsa. ‘Elsa … wake up … wake up,’ I shout. Elsa sleeps soundly. Oh God. She can’t hear me. My head spins and I throw it back to scream up at the heavens. ‘Please God, let her at least sense me … please.’ God must hear me because Elsa opens heavy lids and looks in my direction. She bolts upright and her eyes dart around the room just as a deafening crack of sheet lightning streaks across the night sky. A heavy roll of thunder follows. Elsa turns wide-eyed towards Greg’s sleeping body and reaches out to shake him. ‘Wake up,’ she whispers. ‘Greg, wake up …’

  Greg blinks up at Elsa’s terrified face. He must know instantly why she’s woken him, because he whips out the gun from under his pillow and puts his finger to his lips and places a bare foot on the carpet, easing himself off the bed. He creeps towards the closed bedroom door and tilts his ear against it. I watch the other side as the killers inch nearer and nearer, their firearms held taunt, their hands gripped white around the butt. Greg needs to shoot first or he won’t stand a chance, but he remains standing behind the door as stiff as a waxwork. I move forward and snatch again and again like a demented madman at the door handle. My hands pass through it but my frantic energy ripples through the atoms of the air and I watch as the handle shivers and moves no more than a millimetre. Greg’s eyes widen. He clicks off his safety catch and fires two bullets
blindly through the closed door. The crack of the bullets shatters the wood so badly that shards shoot out down the length of the passage.

  ‘Get the fuck out of my house,’ he screams, firing a third shot through the door. ‘Get the fuck out of my house!’

  Both killers croak with fear as more bullets whizz over their prone bodies. The leading killer leaps to his feet and turns like a man possessed, his eyes alive with panic, and the barrel of his gun pointed down at the head of his still-prone comrade. As he lunges forward to leap over him, his firearm explodes in a burst of fiery light and thunder. The resounding crack of his comrade’s ruptured skull joins with the violent cacophony of the night.

  ‘Fuck …’ screams the intruder as he looks down at his comrade’s butchered brain, ‘…. fuck.’ He scrabbles over the body, slipping and sliding in the mix of thick red blood and grey matter, still shooting up in a dark fountain from the broken, black wool of the dead man’s skull. The damaged door swings open and Greg stands frozen, staring down at the bloody carnage, the gun hanging limply from his hand. The air fills with the rank iron smell of hot blood. I gag as Dad’s broken skull crashes back into my mind.

  Elsa screams and jumps out of bed to come alongside Greg. ‘Oh God …’ she whispers as her eyes flit back and forth across the bloody mess sprawled across her white Italian tiles.

  ‘The other one’s made a run for it,’ shouts Greg, as he jumps over the inert damaged body and races after the intruder, his gun poised for another shot. He bolts out of the open front door, but the killer is already heading up the driveway like a demon. Greg stops, legs splayed and the gun gripped in both hands as he fires up at him from the bottom of the driveway, but it’s no good, the killer is already through the gate, and all he can do is fire at the back of a car as it screeches into the night.

  Chapter 45

  Elsa and Greg sit grim-faced opposite Nat and Dave in Elsa’s lounge. No-one speaks. The front doorbell chimes. Greg moves to answer it and seconds later he ushers in Thabo and Mannie Govender.

  ‘Thabo’s here with the police, Elsa.’

  Elsa gives a wan smile and gets up to give Thabo a hug. She takes Govender’s offered hand and gestures for them to move to the dining room.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Thabo,’ says Nat.

  ‘Least I can do.’ Thabo’s face is set with anger. He looks grim-faced at Govender who’s already seated at the table and sifting through a wad of papers.

  ‘If you could give me all the details, please,’ Govender says, looking directly at Elsa.

  Elsa’s hand trembles and Greg interrupts with details of what they witnessed and of the police who arrived first on the scene and took the body. I look up at the passage. The tiles are white and shinning with no trace of the night.

  ‘You got no look at his face?’

  Both Greg and Elsa shake their heads. ‘Nothing; they both had balaclavas on,’ says Greg.

  ‘The dead one’s face is a tad damaged,’ says Elsa with a wry smile.

  Govender ignores her ironic humour. ‘Height, weight?’

  Greg gives a shrug of his shoulders. ‘Hard to say; six foot at least and well-built – not fat; he got away in a black Ford Cortina.’

  ‘Number plate?’

  Greg pulls a face. ‘Impossible for me to get in the circumstances.’

  Govender nods and jots it all down. Elsa looks at him with irritation. ‘We’ve given all these details to the Durban North police, Inspector; I think what we’ve got to take on board and investigate is that this is the second attempt on my life in a very short space of time, which makes it obvious to me that someone wants me dead.’

  Inspector Govender meets Elsa’s eye and turns down the corners of his mouth. ‘Possibly, but you must also remember that this is a common occurrence in South Africa. We live in a dangerous country.’

  Elsa throws back her head in scorn. ‘Don’t patronise me, please. I’m quite aware of what goes on, but I’m also quite aware that, given the circumstances of my sister’s death, this is not just a coincidence.’

  Govender feels Thabo’s eyes burning into him from across the table. ‘To date, I’m afraid we haven’t acquired any more evidence that your sister was murdered. There are some aspects, I grant you, that do not add up, but I’m sorry there is, at the moment, no hard evidence of murder. The same, I’m afraid, applies to this. I can’t assume that you are deliberately being targeted until I have evidence.’

  Thabo purses his lips at Govender. ‘I think we all realise that, Mannie, but I know you’ll agree that sometimes we also need to go with our intuition, and I’m afraid mine agrees with Elsa’s. I just don’t like what’s happening. I need you to put some police protection out for both Elsa and Nat until we get to the bottom of this.’

  Govender’s jaw tightens. He says nothing for a few seconds and then mumbles, ‘We don’t have unlimited resources, Thabo.’

  ‘I’m aware of that,’ Thabo says, ‘but I still need you to do it. If you need help, please fill in an official application and I’ll make sure you get it.’

  Govender bites back what looks like the beginning of a sneer, but nods at Thabo. ‘Okay, will do.’ He looks back at Elsa and then at Nat. ‘I want you two to stay here until I send some officers to be with you. We’ll station them at both your homes and I’ll have them follow you for the next two weeks. We’ll reassess after that.’

  Elsa gives Thabo a smile of thanks.

  ‘Much appreciated, Mannie,’ says Thabo, patting Govender on the back.

  Govender ignores the pat and hastily draws together his papers.

  ‘Are you still looking into Karlos?’ Elsa’s gaze is one of challenge. ‘You’ve been given the details of him staying at the Maharani by the private detective we employed so at least you know where he is.’

  Govender ignores the barbed tension behind Elsa’s comment and pushes back his chair, standing to look down on her. ‘As I said, we’ve not found anything yet on him, but I’ll get my officers to look into whether he’s made contact with any of the local contract killers we’re aware of. Perhaps if we can find this intruder it will help, but unfortunately you haven’t given us much to go on.’ Sarcasm drips as he utters the final words.

  Elsa bites her bottom lip. I’m sure she wants to tell him to go fuck himself.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll do your best,’ says Thabo in a measured tone.

  Govender nods and looks at his watch. ‘I’ll keep you posted,’ he says and without shaking anyone’s hand he turns to the front door and leaves.

  ‘He’s a hard-arsed bastard, but he’s good. Don’t worry; I’ll make sure he does a thorough investigation.’

  ‘Thanks, Thabo. I don’t know what we’d do without you.’

  Thabo looks at each of my sisters with a wan smile. ‘It’s the least I can do given what you’ve all been through,’ he says slowly. ‘The very least.’

  Elsa sits in silence for a few more seconds. ‘If the police don’t check the phone records properly from the hotel, I’ll get Fletcher to do it. If Karlos has been in touch with any hit man then maybe, just maybe, he’s been foolish enough to do it from there.’

  ‘I’ll make sure Mannie checks them,’ say Thabo.

  ‘Phone Fletcher now,’ says Greg, placing a tray of coffee mugs in the centre of the table. ‘I’m not having my wife made into some decoy. If the police can’t come up with anything then perhaps I’ll pay Karlos a visit myself.’

  ‘I’ll join you,’ says Dave, making Nat raise her eyebrows at him.

  ‘I think both of you should wait for the police,’ she says, ‘they’re going to be protecting Elsa and me from now on; I don’t think it’ll help things if you two also get involved.’

  ‘Nat’s right,’ says Thabo, ‘let’s see what Mannie comes up with, but I think it’s a good idea to have Fletcher watch Karlos’ every move.’

  Greg scowls and takes a slurp of his coffee. I see his knuckles whiten around the handle. I’m sure he’s just as scared as everyone else but
trying desperately not to show it.

  Chapter 46

  Karlos slams down the hotel phone and turns to Tania, his face distorted in an ugly scowl.

  ‘That was a message from the wife. They’ve caught him. Fuck, I never thought they’d get him. Pack now. We must go.’

  Tania’s head twitches. ‘Who? What wife?’

  ‘The black I phoned to organise the hit,’ says Karlos with a snarl. ‘His wife said the fucking police have just arrested him. They think he’s behind the break-in at Elsa’s.’

  ‘Shit. How did they find him? You think they’ll find out about you?’

  Karlos clenches his jaw. ‘I’m not taking any chances. He’ll squeal like a pig. Get your things, I told you. We need to go.’ His voice reverberates through the room and Tania angrily puts her finger to her lips to quieten him and points at the walls. She starts throwing the contents of the drawers onto the bed while Karlos whips out the suitcases from the wardrobes and pushes everything inside.

  Minutes later they’re heading down in the lift and wheeling their cases into the hotel parking garage without even a thought of paying their bill. I shake my head at the never-ending audacity of the man. Karlos stuffs the cases into the boot of my Golf and then squeals out from the garage into the hot Durban sun. He heads towards the west side of the city, heading no doubt for Joburg where it’ll be easier for them to get lost. I wonder if that’s where he’s really from and if all the Greytown story is just some very well-planned front?

  A white Mazda 323 pulls out from a side lane and follows him. Fletcher is at the wheel. I have to give it to the detective. He might look like a scruffy and arrogant sod but he’s good at his job. Karlos heads down the N2 in the direction of Maritzburg. He must be unnerved because I see him glance frequently into the rear-view mirror. Fletcher thankfully is no fool; he keeps his distance at least two cars behind, which surely shouldn’t make Karlos suspect he’s being followed.