by T. M. Clark
‘Perfect. African animals in the wild and you, that will help me relax.’
* * *
Game reserves had always calmed Lily as a child, and as Quintin drove through the gates of their neighbour’s game farm, she could feel the muscles in her neck relax. Just knowing that they were going to spend one night under the stars in tented luxury did that. But she knew it was also safety. Knowing that the farm’s security to keep the animals in also kept the intruders out and was probably as tight as their own at home was, if not more with their anti-poaching units constantly patrolling.
They needed time alone to talk. To process. And to cry and laugh together in private. Once again she had somehow escaped death, but she’d unintentionally put Quintin through anguish, too.
The thorn trees around the waterhole were green. If you looked closely, you could see some had almost silver branches and the mean thorns of the Acacia tree. There were a few large dead trees which stood in dark contrast to the blue sky behind as wispy clouds danced across the horizon in the distance.
In the trees sat two starlings, their blue-black feathers shimmering in the heat as they looked towards the waterhole, where the animals had trampled the grass and eaten it short like a suburban lawn. In the distance it was longer, and it was here that the tree line began in earnest, and distinct paths coming from the bushes down into the waterhole marked the terracotta earth where many feet had trodden before.
Lily could hear the wind as it blew through the treetops, making the leaves dance with a soft whistling sound. She looked into the shadows underneath the trees to the right, where she could see a small troop of baboons as they lay in the dappled shade. To the left, a tall giraffe plodded towards the water, its hooves making more paths of dust as it trod carefully, watching everywhere for predators while it nibbled at the morsels of green in the treetops. Its white and orange-brown colours were a stark contrast to the green behind them. Its strides were long, and soon it bent down in an almost elegant but ungainly way. Its legs splayed aside, it bowed its head into the water and then lifted it, showering everything around with droplets of silver and it swallowed, taking another look before going back to drinking. It was incredible that this animal had evolved to be so tall for the treetop foods, and yet still reliant on water which was at ground level, Lily thought.
Eventually it was full, and after licking its lips and nose area with a long tongue, the giraffe headed back into the tree line, and was soon camouflaged and almost impossible to see among the trees.
A couple of ducks were having an altercation and were running towards the water, heads down low to the mud, wings flapping. They made so much noise that other birds in the area turned to see what was causing the commotion.
She squeezed Quintin’s hand.
A spotted hyena walked towards the waterhole and sat in the green shallows. His hindquarters were submerged, and then he flopped onto one side, his body half underwater, while he kept his head lifted out, the muddy ripples lapping at his bulging belly as he tried to gain some relief from the heat. Another hyena with giant jaws joined a small group as they slunk from the bushes towards their friend. They were a little smaller than him. They flopped into the water to cool down—obviously part of the same cackle.
After a while, they got up and walked together through the muddy shallows, keeping away from the deeper water before once again covering themselves in the sticky mud on the other side of their bodies. When the male had had enough, he strutted around displaying his dominance for all to see as he tried to attract the attention of the two females there. Eventually, he waded slightly deeper, seduced by the coolness. He looked around constantly, as alert as the giraffe had been earlier.
Along the shore, small birds picked at insects, and like the duck crew along the shoreline, they seemed too hot and bothered to be enticed by even the fat dragonflies that flew around. It was as if the heat had sapped everyone’s energy.
The larger of the female hyenas coated herself in mud as she turned on her side, still panting. She was unconcerned about a threat from the murky depths of the water but continued to watch the shores for predators.
The male chose to move in further and was soon rolling over, with only his head showing as he immersed himself in the experience. His coat changed from striped and spotted to mud-black. His paws folded upon his chest when he was on his back, looking much like a dog’s while he rolled around. Every now and again, Lily could see his tail mid-wag above the surface as he enjoyed the cool wetness. One of the females made her way over to him, submissive as she rubbed against him, but you could see that this was a family and there was affection between them.
Butterflies danced along at the edge of the mud, their wings opening and closing as they fluttered a synchronised dance as the male stood up. He continued to scan the horizon as he walked towards the females and then over the grass and onto an animal trail and soon disappeared into the bushes.
The females lifted themselves up and surveyed the surrounds. As if realising they’d been left alone and were no longer safe, they bolted in their lopsided run towards the shade of one of the Acacia trees, then slunk further back into the brush.
Quintin passed Lily the water bottle, and she drank deeply before she gave it back.
From the bushes, a single impala took tentative steps beyond the tree line, and was suddenly followed up by a whole herd as they made their way towards the water. The waterhole was alive with a lighter shade of brown and flicking whitetails everywhere. Some of them frolicked around—testing their skills against each other.
A big ram with impressive horns walked up to a younger impala, and while they put their horns together, Lily could see that they weren’t really sparring.
The impala drank deeply and continued to mill around. Many of them came away, their thirst quenched, but with long black stockings of mud coating their elegant legs.
Lily watched as an oxpecker landed on one of the impala necks and started to clean off the parasites. The bird moved among the herd and chose another host—it sat on its head and picked at its ear. Obviously finding something good to eat.
‘It’s an impala-cleaning station,’ Quintin said. ‘They came down to the water, and they get a drink and a clean at the same time.’
Lily smiled.
The impala stayed around for a while, grazing on the short green grass until slowly one by one they ventured up back into the bushes and disappeared again.
‘I could watch these animals all day,’ said Quintin.
Lily adjusted the way she was sitting and snuggled into him. ‘Me too, there’s something about them that’s—relaxing. I’m glad you brought us here.’
‘You always did relax when you watched the wildlife,’ Quintin said.
‘I’m sorry, Quintin. I really am. To make you worry.’
‘Not really your fault.’
‘I shouldn’t have stopped. I should have listened to Khanyi.’
‘No argument from me there; you should have listened to him.’
‘Hindsight is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?’
‘Agreed, but you aged me a hundred years. I thought I had lost you.’
‘How much did you hear before you were cut off?’
‘It became all muffled, then I could clearly hear the gunshot, scratching sounds, then we were disconnected. I thought I had heard you die. I thought I had lost you this time for sure to Africa.’
‘Oh, Quintin,’ Lily said, hugging him tightly.
‘When you rang, and I heard your voice, and I knew you were not dead, I couldn’t stop shaking. I knew years ago that you were too free-spirited to be wrapped in a protective blanket. God knows our trips all over the world have proved that.’
‘When I realised I’d left you on the phone, I panicked. I was so worried about you. I knew the anguish you would have gone through, and I’m sorry,’ Lily said.
‘Me too. Sorry you got hurt—again,’ Quintin said, kissing her. ‘Together,’ Lily said against his lips. ‘As l
ong as we are together, we can survive anything.’
She felt him nod and they sat comfortably in silence for a while.
Nothing came to the waterhole for quite some time, and while Quintin and Lily watched the geese as they slept with one leg up, it wasn’t riveting viewing. Until the lookout baboons barked. Lily sat upright.
‘Something’s here,’ she said. ‘That’s a warning call.’
‘Look,’ he said.
Coming down to the water was a lioness, her beautiful tawny colour shining in the hot sun. She walked to the pool and went down on all fours as she began lapping at the murky water. She adjusted her weight distribution and moved her back legs further apart. She looked uncomfortable.
‘Look at that fat belly, she’s either just eaten her fill, or she’s very pregnant,’ Quintin said.
Flies buzzed around her head as her big paws sank deep into the mud as she drank.
‘Can you see her body heave as she pants? It must be the heat,’ Lily said.
The lioness half stood, her hind legs straightening, lifting her butt into the air, but she continued to drink for a while longer. Eventually, with one final push of her powerful feet, she stood up and soon vanished back into the trees.
‘Do you think she’s alone?’ asked Lily.
‘Looks like it.’
The sun was sinking lower. The tree line extended itself almost to the edge of the water as it cast long shadows across the ground. Quintin said, ‘We need to go to the camp, have some dinner and then we can disappear into the tent for the night.’
Lily hugged him, and Quintin held her tightly.
‘I don’t want to go to the tents and be waited on like a tourist; I don’t feel very touristy. I want to go home to Hacienda El Paradiso. You and me in our house with Tiger laying on our bed, the kids and Minke downstairs.’
‘Your wish is my command, my wifie. Home it is.’
CHAPTER
31
Someone had decorated the police offices in the first week of December, complete with a tree in the corner with coloured lights, and a handful of vibrant plastic baubles hung on the fake fur branches. Piet tried his best to ignore the flickering of the lights and tapped his finger against the side of the computer printouts. Things were spidering away. Nothing was neat and tidy. It was typical of a South African case; nothing was ever simple in this country, not even the way to cook samp and beans.
It was as clear as day that Warrant Officer Sithole was signing off all his cases as unsolved hijackings. Not one of the vehicles in his cases had been recovered. Normally, a fifty-fifty split in vehicle recovery was considered normal, especially with the number of GPS trackers increasing in usage. The statistics were stacked against his cases. Sithole had his hand in the koeksister syrup right up to his elbow.
‘Something wrong?’ Natalie asked.
‘I take it you saw that the report came back on the 9mm that Kagiso Dubazane used to try to kill Lily? It was the same one used to murder Hawthorne and was in a heap of those other cases that we have,’ Piet said.
‘I just saw that. It’s about time we got a break in the case. Pity we can’t tie it to Chelmsford, too.’
‘Follow this chain of evidence with me.’ Standing at the cork-board next to his desk, he put the picture of the 9mm in its evidence bag and pinned it near the bottom corner with his stapler. ‘There is a 9mm that was used in multiple murders—one being Hawthorne, and now the attempted murder of Lily. Kagiso Dubazane had the gun when you shot him.’ Piet put up a mug shot of Dubazane from a previous case.
‘And?’
‘Kagiso Dubazane is a family member of the Dubazane syndicate. If memory serves me, his mother, Ulwazi, is rumoured to be the head, but no one’s been able to pin anything on her and make it stick. She’s slipperier than a yellow fish.’
‘She must be getting quite old,’ Natalie said. ‘Did she retire or does she continue to run them? Guide them along?’
He pinned up a picture of a police hat. ‘This represents Sithole, in case someone in this office knows him.’
‘Ag, man, I see where you’re going now. So, you think that this is now two-pronged for us. We have to look at a crime syndicate, and we have a dirty cop who might be involved.’
‘Ja,’ Piet said. ‘Technically, we should take this to Chetty, but I am happy to bypass him if you are? I think we need to reach out to both the Internal Affairs investigators and the Crime Intelligence Division. Give us some breathing space before Chetty finds out and opens that big mouth of his. I doubt that Warrant Officer Sithole is alone in his affairs in his office; no one can sign off on cases like this without someone else checking and knowing what he is doing. And there’s clearly a link with the Dubazane syndicate because of the attack on Lily, and that’s organised crime and falls outside of our jurisdiction.’
‘This is getting too big for us to handle without help.’
‘I agree. Who was his superior?’ Piet asked.
‘I’ve marked the part about Sithole’s superior. For most of the years that Sithole has been in the force, he’s been reporting to a Captain Arno Swanepoel.’
‘You must be kidding me! That arsehole. When did they make him a captain?’
‘You know him?’ Natalie asked.
‘Unfortunately. He was at Kokstad police station for a while when I was there. The laziest of all the police ever,’ Piet said. ‘A real user. Getting others to do his paperwork, never putting in extra hours like the rest of us. Bad attitude.’
‘There has been no movement on either of their careers. Bit fishy, neither of them budging for over ten years. I know this is the new South Africa, but people still want to go up the ranks and get better pay. Do you think he’s a person of interest?’ Natalie asked.
‘Probably. It is the type of reckless thing he would get caught up in, even if he claims innocence.’
‘And not so innocent as the evidence is proving. Getting involved with murder is bad, but if you are going to do it, don’t leave a paper trail,’ Natalie said.
‘Deep, Natalie. You should write that on a poster for the office.’
She grinned at him and he turned back to his computer.
‘Ja, brilliant, my china,’ Piet said a little loudly.
‘What?’ Natalie asked.
‘They finally broke the encryption of Ian’s drive. They sent us the files. I’m printing them out now.’
* * *
Piet passed Lily the papers. ‘This is what Ian was doing when he was in Sudan with you a few years ago. He got himself involved in smuggling drugs and dealing in weapons.’
‘He was smuggling in drugs for the refugees,’ Natalie said. ‘The documents on the drive were probably to help clear his name if anything happened to him. The weapons were used to fund the drugs and payments to the rebels in the region—to not attack the shipments that he was funnelling in from the north. He had used the profit to buy expired drugs for the refugees on the black market from India. This took brains and balls to organise. It’s a side of Dr Ian Hawthorne that I, for one, never saw.’
‘Expired drugs still save lives,’ Lily said as she looked through the papers. This was the reasoning that had motivated him back then, that insistence that a plane with the drugs was coming which had almost cost them all their lives.
‘All this was possible because Hawthorne skimmed off the top of the doctor’s budget to finance the weapons.’
‘World Health’s money,’ Lily said. She had the proof she needed to take it to WHO and get their apology, but it felt like a hollow victory. Ian was dead anyway, as dead as all those people they had left behind at Zam Zam.
‘But why was he still hiding it? Why was he collecting money from the people at Platfontein at the free clinics? Why did he fill his house with artworks that cost thousands, antique furniture and imported rugs? Why was he amassing material possessions in Kimberley? What was he doing here?’
‘See that bank account? It was still active,’ Natalie said.
�
��Our accounting forensic team have now looked over all these files. It appears that he was definitely amassing money in this account again, but we don’t know what for at this stage, and he did not have an explanation for the new sets of transactions, unlike his accounts for Sudan,’ Piet said.
‘Can I keep these?’ Lily asked, bringing the paper back into a single neat pile. ‘I’d like to share them with World Health.’
‘Those are your copy, and we wouldn’t expect anything less than for you to share that with them,’ Natalie said. ‘I’m really glad IT finally delivered.’
‘Me too,’ Lily said. ‘It’s a small win in the right direction.’
CHAPTER
32
Anaya sat down on the friendship bench and waited for Ulwazi. She’d never been late before, and she wondered where she was. Could something be wrong with the old woman? Another old lady walked towards the bench and sat down.
‘Are you waiting for Ulwazi?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I meet her here every Tuesday morning for breakfast. I’ve bought her favourite, coffee with hazelnut and caramel syrup. Ulwazi has a very sweet tooth. It’s going cold.’
‘Ulwazi will not be on her bench today—she’s had a death in her family.’
‘That’s so sad. She didn’t have lots of family to lose. Is it possible to tell me who died?’
The old woman clicked her tongue much in the same manner that Ulwazi did. ‘It is a sad day. Her son was killed by the police in Kimberley. Ulwazi went to claim his body so that she could bury him in a nice place in Fourways.’
‘Fourways? Why would she bury somebody there?’ Anaya asked. That was an expensive cemetery for anyone to be buried in, and Ulwazi had never acted like she had lots of money.
‘That is where she owns a family plot. That is where everybody in her family who has died has been buried.’
Anaya passed the cup to the old lady. ‘Would you like the coffee, otherwise it will go to waste. When is the funeral? I would like to go and pay my respects.’