He cleaned Leo’s cut foot and bandaged it up too so he could walk without pain. They got into the vehicle and he drove slowly back across the field with the headlights on, picking up the torch and as much as they could of the stuff that had fallen out the tailgate. Fortunately the two jerry cans had been too heavy to fall out. He had a feeling he would need that extra gasoline the way things were going.
They made their way back to Blethin, who was still lying motionless on the ground where they’d left him. Coetzee climbed down to examine the doctor, feeling the pulse in his neck and opening his eyes. He looked closely at the side of his head, just above the ear. Leo was too frightened to get out of the vehicle. He sat silently, waiting for the security chief to return.
He came slowly back to the open window. “We’ve got a problem, Leo. Blethin’s copped it. You smashed the side of his head in. What did you hit him with?”
Leo gasped. He felt as though Coetzee had pronounced a verdict of murder on him. “With that torch I found in the back. But I never meant to kill him. I just wanted to knock him down so I could get away. What’s going on, Mr Coetzee? Why are you people holding me like this? What’s happened to my mother? Where is she?” At this last plea, Leo started crying, a soft little boy’s cry from deep inside him, tears running down his face. “What’s happened to my mum?” He asked again in a strangled voice.
Coetzee didn’t reply, just opened the tailgate again to check on Nwosu. He was lying groaning and nursing his shoulder, the blood from his nose making a ghastly mask across his face in the dim light. The nose was bent sideways, giving him a crazed look.
“You have to get me to a hospital. My nose is killing me and my fucking shoulder is busted to pieces. I need a doctor.” Nwosu’s voice came out with a nasal whine. It was no longer arrogant or charming. He sounded weak and exhausted from fighting the pain.
He rummaged in the medical bag. “Here, chew these.” Handing the sergeant two five hundred milligram paracetamol tablets and the flask of whisky. “Take a swig to wash them down. Then shut up. I’ll get you somewhere safe as soon as I work out what to do next.” He leaned over and found the policeman’s mobile and pushed it into his shirt pocket. “You won’t be needing this for now.” He slammed the tailgate shut again and climbed back into the cab alongside Leo.
“Please tell me what’s going on, Mr Coetzee. Has something happened to my mom?” Leo asked in an anguished voice.
“Let me think for a minute, Leo. Your mom’s fine and I promise you nothing bad will happen, but things have changed and I need to think this through. Just sit and be quiet for a while.” Coetzee sat in the driver’s seat, trying to work out a plan of action. It was difficult to concentrate over Leo’s sobbing and the pained moans from Nwosu.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Polokwane, Limpopo, South Africa
Coetzee was examining Nwosu’s phone. His suspicious mind wondered who he had been calling and when. Leo was lying back in the passenger seat in a deep sleep, snoring gently with his mouth slightly open. There was no sound from Nwosu in the back. He’s probably finished the whiskey and passed out. In any case, he’s no threat. At least not for the moment.
He knew the password, it was twelve zero nine, his boyfriend Jamie’s birth date. It had been easy enough to notice and remember. The mobile lit up and he looked up the call register. The last outgoing call was at five past one that afternoon to a city code he’d never heard of, 32 2. He couldn’t know that it was a number in Brussels, Belgium, which, via the miracle of modern telecommunications ended up as a 44 207 number in London. That was just about when Nwosu was coming to meet us for the trip. Not wishing to cause even more problems than they already had, he decided not to recall the number but it provoked his curiosity.
He went through the phone agenda and found ‘Recordings’. Knowing the sergeant’s paranoia was second only to his own, he was sure to have recorded his calls, or at least those that might provide food for blackmail.
The call at 13.05 wasn’t on the list. The last recorded conversation was at six-thirty on Tuesday evening, an incoming call from a ‘not possible’ number. The night before they told us about Beitbridge, he registered. He walked away from the car and listened to the recording.
Marbella, Spain
Jenny and Emma were sitting in the kitchen. Encarni and Espinoza had both left and the women had the house to themselves. Emma was looking dejected and miserable.
Jenny tried to deflect her sister’s thoughts. “I don’t know about you, but I’m shattered and starving. Let’s see what we’ve got for supper.” She went to open the fridge door just as the telephone rang.
“Jenny? I’m glad you’re at home. I was worried there’d be nobody there.”
“Leticia? Where are you calling from?” Jenny put her hand over the mouthpiece and whispered to her sister, “It’s my co-owner, Leticia.”
“I’m still in Nice with Emilio, but Patrice had to go back to Marbella on Monday for an important transaction at the bank, so we’re coming home in the morning. I hope you don’t mind.”
“That’s alright, but you should know that my sister is staying for a while. She just arrived yesterday, quite unexpectedly.”
“Emma’s there? That’s nice for you, but are you sure I should come? I don’t want to spoil the party.”
“Don’t be silly, it’s about time you two met. You’ll like her. When are you arriving?”
“We’ll get into Malaga at twelve-thirty so I should be home before two in the afternoon. You’re certain I won’t be in the way?”
“Not at all. And I can’t wait to see Emilio again. As a matter of fact, Sam’s also coming for lunch, so we can all get to know each other. I’ll send Juan to pick you up. See you tomorrow.”
She put the phone down and sat beside her sister. “You’ll have noticed I don’t try to speak to Leticia in Spanish. Her English is almost better than mine now. Thanks to Charlie, she’s quite fluent. She’s very clever and easy to get along with.”
“How do we prevent her from finding out what’s going on with Leo? I don’t think I’m up to pretending everything’s alright at the moment.”
“You’re going to have to, because we can’t risk anyone suspecting something’s wrong. We have to behave normally, as if everything’s fine. We’ll manage, don’t worry. And she won’t be with us all the time, she’ll be in her own apartment. Last year we converted the other end of the house for her and Emilio. They need their space and they don’t want to spend every waking moment with Auntie Jenny. She usually prepares her son’s meals there and it works out very well. In any case she’s very discreet and always in a good mood. And Emilio is adorable and really funny. He’s destined to become a stand-up comedian. I’m sure it will do us both good to have them around. Now, what about supper?”
“I couldn’t eat anything now. I’m going to have an early night if you don’t mind. I feel exhausted and I need a good night’s sleep.”
“Right. I’ll make you a hot drink and you’re going to take one of my sleeping pills. You’ll get six or eight hours of complete rest and you’ll be ready for anything in the morning. No arguments.” She sent her sister up to her bedroom and put on the kettle. It’s good having family around, she mused. Even in these circumstances.
Polokwane, Limpopo, South Africa
Coetzee listened to the five minute recording twice. The second time he put the volume up to maximum. When he heard the second person whispering in the background he replayed the part several times until he was sure he’d heard correctly. It’s definitely a woman, he thought to himself. Don’t tell me this whole business is being run by a woman? He switched off the phone and stood quietly thinking for several minutes. Then he went back to the car and gently shook Leo awake.
The recent memories flooded back into the boy’s mind. “What is it? What are you going to do? Please just let me go, I promise I’ll say nothing. Let me call my mother and somehow we’ll get out of his shitty country. Please let me go.”
> “I’m going to get you out, but we have some cleaning up to do first. Come on, give me a hand.”
They climbed down from the Land Cruiser and went over to Blethin’s body. Leo was shaking with fear. He’d never seen a dead person before and this man was dead because of him. He was terrified.
Coetzee started emptying the doctor’s pockets. “We can’t leave anything which might identify him. It’ll take them at least a day to do it with DNA, so we’ll have time to make a head start.” He found his wallet with a passport inside. It was French, in the name of Ernest Blethin. That explains the accent, he realised. He passed everything to Leo then turned the body over and completed the search. “Funny. His mobile is missing. He must have had a phone on him.”
Leo’s heart was in his mouth. He’d forgotten he had Blethin’s phone in his pocket. “I stole it from him,” he blurted out. “I’ve still got it. Here.”
“Good, one less problem to worry about. Although we don’t know the password, so we can’t check on who he’s been calling.” He spoke in a conspiratorial tone, as if confiding in Leo. He needed to get along with him until he decided what to do next. “Shove it in the glove compartment with the other stuff.”
Leo opened the passenger door and reached across to the driver’s side. He pressed the button and the compartment door sprang open. Coetzee was still kneeling beside Blethin. He pushed in the wallet and other items then banged the door closed again, slipped the phone back in his pocket and went back to the dead body.
“Help me sit him up. I’m moving him to a less obvious place.” Leo gingerly took the dead man’s arm and they pulled him to a sitting position. Coetzee picked him up and threw him over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing. He carried the corpse over to the edge of the field and laid it under the bordering hedge. Gathered some branches and shrubs and threw them over the body.
Leo went back to the front of the car, trembling at the thought of the dead doctor lying alone under a hedge in the middle of nowhere, dead by his hand. He climbed into the passenger seat and took Blethin’s phone from his pocket. It was an old Nokia shell phone. He pressed the ‘On’ switch and it lit up, no password required. The battery was down to one cell. He didn’t try to make a call, there was no time. He went to Messages, entered his mother’s mobile number, quickly typed a few words, his fingers still shaking from the emotion, and pressed Send. He put the phone in the glove compartment and turned as he heard Coetzee open the tailgate and shake the sergeant awake.
“Are we at the hospital?” Nwosu’s breath stunk of whisky and his voice was slurred. “I thought you were taking me to the hospital. I’m badly injured, I need urgent attention. You know the penalty for wounding a policeman. If you get me to the hospital I’ll forget the whole thing. You and the kid just disappear and that’s the end of it. ” Although his mind was dulled by the booze, Nwosu could still spin a convincing yarn.
“So I disappear without a penny and you and Jamie piss off with another hundred grand, eh?”
Nwosu blinked his eyes rapidly. How did Coetzee know that?
“You should be more careful when you record conversations, Nwosu. Agreeing to murder three people might not be considered ethically acceptable in some quarters, even in Joburg. The penalty could be even worse than wounding a homosexual psychopath dressed in a cop’s uniform.”
“I don’t know what the f ...”
“No? I suppose you’re going to deny calling them back just before we left? Bullshit! It was probably to confirm that poor old Lambert was a goner. One down, two to go, right? And your clever plan got fucked up by the fifteen year old kid you were supposed to be hijacking. Ironic doesn’t do it justice.” He spat on the ground. “You’re a piece of filth, you depraved maniac.” Coetzee didn’t mention his other discovery, that the second voice was a woman’s. Nwosu seemed unaware of it and right now knowledge was power. Or at least it might be.
Leo was in a state of shock. Nwosu had killed Lambert and had agreed to kill Coetzee and Blethin. He’s a policeman and he’s a murderer. He shivered with fear. What the hell is going on here? Who’s organising all this? And why? What’s going to happen to me?
“Get out the car!” Coetzee continued, his Beretta in his hand.
Nwosu sat up slowly, holding his bandaged shoulder. “You have to take me somewhere to get treatment, you can’t just leave me here. I could die of exposure or get mugged or attacked by animals. You owe it to me to get me to a hospital or a doctor. We’re partners.”
“Partners!” Coetzee laughed mirthlessly. “Partners are people who work together and help each other, not plot to murder each other as soon as they turn their back. Just consider yourself lucky I’m not as pathologically motivated to kill as you are. Get out the car.” He grabbed the sergeant’s legs and swung them over the tailboard. “On your feet and walk!”
Nwosu stepped clumsily down onto the hardpan, swaying dizzily from the pain of his shoulder and the effects of the whisky. “Give me my phone. You can’t leave me with no gun and no phone. This is a dangerous place. You don’t want to be responsible for leaving me with nothing that can help me. I’m begging you to leave me my phone, Marius. ”
“I’m leaving you with your life, Nwosu. It’s more than you’d have done for me. Now piss off before I change my mind.” He slammed the tailboard shut and got into the driver’s seat. “Come on Leo. Our police escort has been dismissed.”
Leo sat back in the passenger seat, thinking about what had happened in the last hour. Thinking about what he’d done. He didn’t dare say anything in case Coetzee saw how terrified he was. I have to stay alert. My mother will have seen the message. She’ll be taking action. I need to be ready to escape if I get the chance. He fastened his seat belt and tried to show no emotion.
Leaving Sergeant Nwosu standing in the middle of the hardpan, Coetzee started up the Land Cruiser and headed back to Grobler Street. He had a plan. Now he had to execute it.
It was seventy-two and a half hours since Leo had been taken.
DAY FIVE
Thursday, July 15, 2010
THIRTY-NINE
Malaga, Spain
It was seven am and Espinoza was reading the South African Broadcasting Corporation online news page. One of the headlines caught his attention;
‘Hotel Manager in Suspicious Fall from 7th Floor’.
The article related how Barry Lambert, an Englishman, who had been manager of the Packard Hotel in Johannesburg for only two months had been found dead in the car park after apparently falling from a seventh floor balcony. An enquiry had been opened into the death, under the direction of the Johannesburg Central Police Station.
His mind went back to an affair he’d been involved with almost twenty years before, in 1992. A suspect in a Malaga murder he was investigating, a black South African, had managed to flee to Johannesburg to escape justice. Unfortunately for the man, he was wrongly identified at immigration as an anti-apartheid terrorist and was imprisoned in the police station building. At the time it was named ‘John Vorster Square’ and was the Headquarters of the infamous South African Security Branch, where countless innocent people were held and tortured and afterwards died in custody. Espinoza didn’t know what had become of the man, he had never heard anything more about him. Subsequent enquiries proved that he couldn’t have committed the murder, but by then it was too late.
He snapped out of his reverie, printed out the news page, kissed Soledad goodbye and went out to his car for the drive to Marbella. It was a sunny morning and he decided to take the Autopista del Sol, the pay road, where there was always less traffic. The reason was simple; it was far too expensive; the toll fare was over seven Euros for the thirty kilometre stretch between Mijas and Marbella.
The news article worried him. If Lambert had been killed by the conspirators, which seemed more than likely, it meant two things. Firstly, they had no compunction in killing anyone who might be considered a weak link or a source of danger. Secondly, they were already cleaning up behind
them, which might signal a change or an acceleration of their plan. Although he was still convinced that Leo was in no danger until some financial negotiation had occurred, he knew that Emma would not have the same attitude. It was going to be a difficult morning.
Then another thought occurred to him. He pulled off to the side at the Calahonda toll station and made several phone calls. Fifteen minutes later he continued on to Marbella, a plan forming in his mind.
Polokwane, Limpopo, South Africa
Blethin’s body was found at seven-thirty by a labourer crossing the field from Grobler Street to the farm where he worked. The corpse was lying under the hedge where he stopped to relieve himself. The body had been badly savaged about the head by some creature, probably a large rodent. Most of the lips, nose and ears were missing, the throat had been ripped out and the eyes were just black holes. The man vomited at the horrific sight then ran to the farm and delivered the news in a hysterical panic. Human nature being what it is, his employer went to look for himself. He too spewed up then ran back to dial the emergency number with trembling fingers.
By eight-fifteen the police had ascertained that the deceased had been killed by a blow to the head. Blood and tyre tracks were found on the sandy hardpan about fifty metres away. A quickly organised search showed up signs of a struggle and more blood nearer to Grobler Street. No papers or identification of any kind were found on the body and without a recognisable face it was likely that identification would be difficult and time consuming. The corpse was taken by ambulance to one of the morgues in Polokwane Central. By ten o’ clock the mysterious death in Polokwane was a headline in the online news reports.
Phalaborwa, Limpopo, South Africa
“How you feeling, Leo?”
“Much better, Mr Coetzee.” Last night he had lain awake for hours, reliving the events in Polokwane, unable to get the sight of Blethin’s dead body, lying under the hedge, out of his mind. Wondering what would happen to him, how he would get out of this nightmare and back to his mother. Finally he fell into an exhausted sleep until Coetzee woke him at eight and he was now devouring a breakfast of pastries and fruit. His foot wasn’t hurting and he’d placed a band aid over the small cut.
The African Diamond Trilogy Box Set Page 81